I'm the boss!
If you haven't been a boss you'll never understand. Particularly if you own your own business - the responsibility for coming up with payroll, the knowledge that your employees are depending on you for a large part of their well being and prosperity - it can drive you crazy when they start whining. I try very hard to be a good boss and a good person. But I am merciless with repeat screw ups. Why should I sweat blood to support them?

Mort
(mortdubois lacks imagination, doesn't play well with others, Sat 20 Jun 2009, 1:30, 2 replies)

The keys to the entire building...
Straight to the bollocks, for the heinous crime of not looking happy enough.

It didn't help matters.
(a gun that fires other, smaller guns full of jizz, Sat 20 Jun 2009, 1:25, Reply)

Various bosses
On my meandering path through life i have had quite a lot of jobs and as a result a multitude of bosses. Some were good and some were bad and most were truly average.

One that sticks out in particular was during the time i worked in a scrap rail depot the foreman was a little irish fellow not long from retirement. He was mean, he was moody, he was unintelligible on the whole and he had a direct line to the MD of the firm which made him and his decisions more or less bullet proof.

I joined the company to ultrasonically test welds on rails and so naturally I was set on with the task of cutting up lots of magnesium crossings with a set of burning gear. A job so far removed from what i had trained for you couldn't see it with a set of binoculars.

Not so bad you might think. I got to play with Oxyacetylene cutting equipment and you'd be right, it was cool apart from the fumes. Oh god the fumes! It was like satans arse had been thrust under your nose after he had eaten a five alarm chili! When you cut through this stuff choking green smoke billowed out which got right to the back of your throat and made you want to pull your own lungs out and beat them against a wall to clean them. I was developing a cough normally found on a Capston full strength smoker and wheezing everytime i had to move.

When i objected to this job on health and safety grounds (i was the only one doing it)i was given a cardboard mask which was about as much use as tits to a nun and told to put up with it or go away.

The worst of it was that the foreman's educationally subnormal son also worked there and was allowed to get away with wandering round the yard scratching his arse and grunting. He occasionally lit a cigarette and looked amazed by his lighters ability to produce fire.

Needless to say I didn't last long in that job and went onto pastures less manual for the sake of getting clean air
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Sat 20 Jun 2009, 0:22, Reply)

I can't figure out my boss...
He's a bit strange. Turns up to work when he feels like it, spends most of the day watching telly or browsing pr0n^H^H^H^H the web (although he does tend to work late and does some very long days).

And today he took the whole day off to drive to Plymouth to help this girl he's madly in love with move house. Even loaned her the money to hire a van (she's promised faithfully to pay it back when she gets paid next week). Apparently she's now introduced him to her mum as well.

Quite honestly I wonder how he ever gets any work done but the company is making a profit. I think he has some sociopathic tendencies though.

PS: I'm self-employed.
(RabidRodent I'm the person your mother warned you about, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 23:50, 1 reply)

One from my crazy ex-boss
This may have been the worst thing my ex-boss did to me (and that list includes mental torture, bad candy, contaminated brownies, a nest of bugs, and much more general craziness). One of my co-workers came in wearing a gorgeous new shirt, and she was telling us all about the great sale at the department store where she bought it. So my crazy ex-boss (I'll call her Fran, because that was her name), said that she should go check that out to get some new pajamas for her (very unattractive and with an even worse personality) boyfriend. Why? Because he wears hospital gowns to bed.
.
.
.
Oh. Dear. Lord. The last image I want to have in my mind is her ugly boyfriend's ugly, pasty asscrack sticking out of a hospital gown. And also the two of them sleeping together. Ugh. I very nearly needed therapy. Maybe I still do.

Fran was a mess. She would inevitably leave the coffee pot on after she made tea (even though she always complained that the tea tasted funny. Well, yeah, tea's not going to taste very good when you make it in a coffee pot.) She left a chewed-up lollipop stick in the copy room. She left a used tea bag in a big stack of papers on her desk. I found it when I was looking for something I thought might be in her office. I got to the tea bag and the soggy papers around it, and then I thought, this just isn't really worth it. So I put everything back and left. A dirty cookie plate (with smears of jam from jam-filled cookies) also ended up in a stack of papers on her desk. She tried to leave it on another co-worker's desk, but it was returned to her before long.

She made me return a book to the library that she had spilled a cup of coffee on. It wasn't just a spot--it was soaked in coffee. I hope she had to pay for it.
(magiceyes, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 23:11, Reply)

he's a patronising
TWAT, and he's a cunt and all.
Looks like Where's Wally in a suit, talks shit, patronises us all and does a terrible line in regional accent impersonations. He never tries to do mine tho' - he knows I think he's a twat.His trademark saying?
WESTSIDE!
(BlackMagicWoman, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 22:20, 1 reply)

His favorite joke
which would be repeated every day without fail was,

What do you get when you cross a brown chicken with a brown cow?

[Said in a singsong voice] Brown-chicken-brown-cow...

Well, we did laugh a bit to humor him the first time.
(Rem Sir, why are you thrashing about on the floor?, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 21:58, 4 replies)

The same boss...
that gave me an official verbal warning for "unproffesional behavior and endangering lives"

for just switching the 'n' and 'm' keys on his keyboard

once said to me,

"I'm NO david Brent!"

...and did the dance.

help me :(
(suicidalducky has too much time on his hands, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 21:55, Reply)

My boss made me the woman I am today.
I was a mousy little thing when he first employed me; did everything he said unquestioningly, even rummaging in huge bins to retrieve things he'd thrown away and coming back to the office filthy.

Of course my nature and eagerness to please made such an impression on him that before long he was punishing me for the smallest mistakes: typing errors, not enough sugar in his tea. Not just verbally disciplining, but physically, too. Even more strangely, I found that I was actually enjoying it. The more time I spent with him, the more my confidence grew and I started to dress better, and invite the punishment that mistakes would bring.

One day, it all stopped. Just like that. Things built up to such a climax that we ended up fucking on his desk, and after that, he fired me, ashamed of his actions. I was in pieces. In the meantime I had ended up engaged to another man, a childhood friend, but my heart simply wasn't in it; he couldn't give me what I needed, he bored me and I would only let him make love to me - the most frightful, tedious, vanilla lovemaking, which I didn't even pretend to enjoy, so much was my mind with my boss - with the lights out. On the day I was choosing my wedding dress, I ran to my boss's office and begged him to give us a chance. He agreed, on one condition: I stay motionless in his chair for three days and nights.

Some tried to talk me out of it, some encouraged me, comparing it to similar acts of religious devotion. At the end of the three days, however, I had been true to my word: singing to myself to keep myself occupied, not eating, not drinking, motionless, and when he returned, he took me home to bathe me, care for me and that is where I remain.
( Maladicta, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 21:32, 32 replies)

Melvin.
This fellow was my first line manager when I worked in the (vast) distribution centre of a certain Bradford-based supermarket chain. He was about 40, looked uncannily like a shorter version of James Cromwell with a shaved head, and seemed quite intimidating. More often than not, he was impatient and short-tempered, but he was generally reasonable, had rigid self-control and never lost his rag (although he could give first-class bollockings when the occasion demanded.) He was a very straightforward, no-nonsense type; if he told you to do something, you did it, and if you tried to bullshit him or worm your way out of it he'd give you a hefty (albeit metaphorical) kick up the arse.

Unsurprisingly, many of the slackers hated him, but I actually got to like and respect him, as he did his job well and expected the same from everyone else. This kind of simple, efficient work ethic is all too rare, and I try to implement it as much as possible; in the long run, it will hopefully serve me well.

My tenure at that place was brought to an end after I spent a weekend, including the Friday night I was supposed to be at work, vomiting blood and shitting gravy. Naturally, I phoned in sick several hours beforehand, but because of my absence the office-based management deemed me "unreliable" and summarily ejected me about a week later. Because it was two weeks before Christmas, everybody had taken on all the staff they needed and I ended up spending nearly two months on the dole, in which I nearly went insane from boredom. Thanks, lads.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 21:30, 3 replies)

I used to work for this man

(PagettyPol something something something, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 19:40, 1 reply)

Two
There was one who whenever he got application forms in about a position would throw away the ones written in either blue or black ink, on the theory that he didn't want unlucky people working for him.

My Granddad had a large engineering company in the 60's till the early 90's (till his son/my uncle fucked it up) before if would take on any member of senior staff, he'd take them out for a meal and if they added salt or pepper to their food before tasting it, they wouldn't get the job. Apparently people who do this make rash decisions. I'm inclined to agree.
(Kip, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 19:30, 9 replies)

He's still there!
Should I name the company?

Yeah, sod it...

United Springs at Rochdale have the misfortune to have a General Manager who is a cunt...

A year or so ago, the receptionist "mistakenly" (haha) put out a call over the tanoy for him. She shouted out "Telephone call for Brian Prickford". He's actually called Pickford, but she was SOOO accurate!

Anyway, at United Springs, there is only one guy who is his mate - Adrian "yes man" May - who is the biggest and most spineless arse licker on earth.
(Tap 'ead, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 19:27, Reply)

Malcolm
Malcolm was a lovely man. As gay as a jamboree though. And he took a rather deep and focussed liking to 17 year old me. One which I did very little to discourage when I realised I was getting bonuses and free meals and perks that the other staff weren’t getting. (£15 an hour for working Christmas day when everyone else was on £8 was no little thing to a skint teenager)

He gave me a £300 trench coat (which took some explaining to my parents who I think to this day still assume I ‘serviced’ him in return)

He took me shoe shopping when he decided that the shoes I had weren’t smart enough for his restaurant. He gave me the keys to his Landrover the day after I passed my driving test so I could ‘fill her up’ when she needed it.

He tried very hard to get me drunk enough to do things that I am not naturally inclined to do. (and, given my age at the time would have been illegal anyway) But he failed. I just got drunk on leftover wine from weddings and staggered the few hundred yards home on my own.

I eventually left when he took me shopping for a new suit and tried to hold my hand while we were walking around the store.

Even then, I may not have left if it hadn’t been for the fact that a girl I had a crush on had a Saturday job at the store and told everyone at college on the Monday that she had seen me out with my boyfriend. Yet another person that I never got to have sex with. (her, not him. Wait…that sounds wrong…I never had sex with him either)

God bless you Malcolm, I hope you found the boy of your dreams eventually. (I’m 35 and still available if you’re still rich…but I still won’t let you fuck me)
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 17:30, 2 replies)

I once had a boss
who found it quite incredible that I had a couple of degrees. (Believe me, its a source of constant amazement to myself). He sat me down and said: "What you got those degrees in, then?"

I replied: "Economics."

He mulled this over for a bit, took a bite out of his sandwich, and then said something that I'll take with me to my grave. He said: "What... you mean cooking???"

I went to speak, to explain that I didn't actually put a home infront of what I'd said. That he was infact a thick twat who needed putting down or at the very least deserved a severe beating until he was bloody and bleeding, closely followed by a rigorous rolling in a pit of salt followed by a good dousing with boiling hot lemon juice. But I didn't. Instead I just sighed and replied:

"Yep. Cooking..."

(This bloke was an area manager for a national mortgage broker, and he didn't even know what a fucking economist was. Scary)...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 17:29, 4 replies)

Re-Wipe
Setting the scene:

Monday Night:
A cheeky after work drink for our tattoed, bodybulding skinhead (the nice - non racist kind)purchasing director turned into a gigantic piss up with lashings of the black stuff and the obligatory 1 am collie kebab.

Tuesday Morning:
9:10 N. ,the aforementioned skinhead purchasing director rarely a pretty sight when sober and not hungover, drags his knuckles from the entrance of the office to his desk and orders one of the minions to go and get him an "expresso" (they've even go that printed on the onsite cafe menu!)
9:20 N. announces to one and all that he is now "going for an eartha" and he recommends avoiding the toilets for the forseeable future.

9:33 N. returns from the toilet looking relieved and visibly lighter.

9:35 A colleague of mine, had two chinese clients come to visit us in crewe to sign off on a potentially massive bit of business. As N. is sat with his back to the door he can't see them coming as he stands up and lets out the most gutwrenchingly vile fart I have ever heard/smelled/felt. He then loudly says, "Oh shit, I'm gonna have to go for a re-wipe now " He then turns round, stares directly at G. the accounts manager and the gobsmacked clients, grabs and shakes their unresisting hands, introduces himself as someone completely different and calmly walks towards the exit.
(Fausted Sticking his faust where the sun don't shine, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 16:45, 1 reply)

A Long time ago at a certain car warehouse (again)
Before all the wankers in management there, there was the guy who opened the building way back in the early 1990s.

He had his desk in the corner of the office so anyone could approach him, he knew everyone by name and while he could be strict, he was never less than fair. Sure he had his favourites, but it didn't stop him praising those outside his 'inner circle'. If he made a suggestion (as in "GoodLord, we're making you redundant but there are some new, French-speaking positions being made, I suggest you get your CV up to date and bring it in") you knew it was a suggestion worth following.

Then he went and got cancer and died. Opened the floodgates for all the wankers, arselickers and fucksticks that followed in his footsteps.

Life's a bastard at times.

GL
(GoodLord doesn't have time for sigs., Fri 19 Jun 2009, 16:30, 2 replies)

Angry MD
Some of the stories I have from working for a large telecoms distributor in cheshire are frankly unbelievable. But I'll leave that for you to judge.

The sales team was split in two, National Sales and International Sales. Being a foreign language speaker, I was one of the lucky, almost blessed ones. We were spared the more harsh treatments, we were rarely sacked on the spot. We never, for example, had our office chairs taken off us for a week (if sales were low this would happen, if sales were very low or indviduals pissed off the boss, he made them stand on their desks) and didn't have to ask if we could leave our desks to use the lavatory.

During sales meetings the MD also used to play with a clawhammer, feigning "alien hand syndrome" and nearly bashing out the brains of any unfortunate that was sat within striking distance.

He also once waited for one of his sales managers to go for a shit before setting fire to a particularly displeasing and error strewn report and throwing it into the cubicle whilst said sales manager (the author of the report) sat there.

I was spared the worst of it, because I was both very good at my job and also 6'4 and 22 stone. He did however refuse to aknowledge my existence for a week, because i dared to get the last word in against him when slinging a bit of office banter back and forth.
A few minutes after this, I walked into his office to get a deal signed off and stood directly infront of his desk. I coughed to get his attention and he just picked up the phone, called his secretary and asked her to tell me to just "fuck right off, before I get stabbed in the throat with a pencil".

As bad as it was though, I have NEVER had as much inappropriate fun as I did working there.

I have a few more stories from this place, hope to get around to posting them too!
(Fausted Sticking his faust where the sun don't shine, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 16:21, 4 replies)

Too many
With over ten years working for a well-known yet now defunct music retailer and then 5 years with a book seller I have had the pleasure of working with at least a dozen bosses, and been one myself a few times. So where to start? Maybe I should say a few words about all of them or just concentrate on the 'highlights'?

The managers at the Record shop varied between the really good bloke variety and the totally insane bitch variety. The supreme totally insane bitch to whom I had the misfortune to be the underboss probably takes the biscuit though.
She left me instructions on a few tasks to perform on her day off, which included the *Vital* task of throwing out some old paperwork. Although there were more important things to do, like deal with the punters, or whatever, I realised she would throw a major hissy-fit if the paperwork wasn't binned as demanded, so I set to. Normally I would have delegated this to one of the lesser minions, but she had been quite insistent that I did this personally, so again, I got on with it. Getting down the box of paperwork from a top shelf I dislodged a zip-loc bag containg a controlled substance, so being a bit suspicious I decided not to keep the 'shrooms for myself. I mean, who would hide a 'dealing' quantity of drugs in our unused stockroom? This smelt like a plant to me. (well, being 'shrooms, I guess it was!) So I locked the stash in the safe and called the company security lads to tell them. Within ten minutes the guy turns up, (unusual, we normally only saw them in a day or two after calling them) and he and I examine the 'stuff' He agrees that it's a controlled substance and flushes it down the bog double quick. Then, to add to the whole 'set up' nature of this he doesn't record this discovery anywhere, takes no statements from me or the other staff, and gets on his way saying the drugs had probably belonged to 'that lad on your staff who od'd last month'. Well I knew the dead guy pretty well as he was one of the decent souls about the place, and mushrooms were not his gig.
This was such a blatant set up it wasn't true. The dope was clearly planted in a place where only I would find it, and the security guy was obviously in the area when his area covered the whole south of England from Birmingham to Brighton. If I hadn't called him in I reckon he'd have been waiting outside at home time to conduct a search.
The psycho bitch and I had had a row a bit earlier, and she had been trying to catch me out and sack me ever since. Her grand plan failed though, she didn't realise she was dealing with someone she had already driven to the brink of paranoia! I don't think she was too popular with the area manager though as he soon got me transfered to a better location with a sane boss.

Most of the Music shop mangers were cool, but the regional manager was a bit of a cow and tried to sack me a couple of times. (I have this effect on people, but then I've never been a brown-noser.)

I managed a couple of shops for them, but this coincided with my divorce from my faithless wife. As such I went on a three year bender of drugs and booze, and rather lost the plot. I was drinking every lunch time and sleeping every afternoon but I think the staff liked me! Probably because I seldom bothered them! Eventually I got 'headhunted' by the Book Retailer, and then it all went wrong again.

The Boss at the Bookshop was well weird, one minute he was a great bloke, the next he was psychotic. I spent several great afternoons with him smoking weed in Lincoln's Inn Fields rather than working, but also saw him reduce staff to tears through his 'random' violence, and tearing up her contract in front of a girl he wanted to sack. Eventually his temper got so unpredictable that I complained to the Regional manager about him. The Regional manager refused to act unless I made an official complaint. Not wishing to get into even more bother I backed down, and within six months the mad manager had left. I learnt afterwards that the Regional manager wanted to sack him and couldn't wait for an 'official' complaint. If only I'd known! I thought the regional manager was weak for not dealing with the problem himself, but leaving some other poor sod to do his dirty work.
The mad manager was replaced by the most uncharismatic boss ever, who was clearly promoted for his ability to take it up the shitter from his bosses with feigned pleasure. I left, and have been unemployed ever since. It's far less stressful!
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 16:03, 2 replies)

ROBOCOP
Ben was a bit of a mummys boy. A straight down the middle, no nonsense, salt of the earth type of fella. He spent his time away from the office prancing about in a uniform being a cardboard cutout copper, or to use the correct terminology, a community support officer. He wanted desperately to get into the rozzers so he could punch hippies and plant drugs on ethnic minorities for a living. Ben had absolutely no sense of humor, no sense of fun, and seemed to live, eat, and sleep law and order. I swear that one day when he came into work he sat at his desk and removed his cycle helmet with the aid of a Black and Decker drill, removing the great big fucking bolts that were buried deep in either temple. He really was fucking Robocop. He was also my supervisor.

One time on a slow Friday afternoon we were sat round the office when one of my co-workers, a petitie girl named Natalie who had a bit of a thing for Ben, noticed something sticking out of his bag. “Oooh, Ben!” she cooed. “Is that your uniform?” And it was. A dayglo jacket thing. Ben explained that he’d come straight from working a nightshift as a CSO, protecting and serving, dealing death and retribution to criminals, smashing international drugs rings, giving tourists directions, and so on. Natalie continued: “Do you have any handcuffs?” Oooh, saucy! This got everyone’s attention. I even stopped emailing my mate a photo of an amazing oversized diseased cock I’d found on the internet so I could see how this developed.

Ben explained that he did have some handcuffs with him. Natalie, being a bit of a dirty minx and desperate to sample Ben’s baby maker – fuck knows why - went on: “Could you try them out on me?” Ben blinked. I could almost imagine the little computer printout behind his eyes as he scanned through his internal programming. Natalie’s request didn’t seem to fuck about with his prime directives, so he eventually said: “OK, stand up in front of me.”

Giggling, Natalie went over to Ben’s desk, stood in front of him and held out her wrists. I was quite looking forward to a bit of harmless office bondage, I have to admit. But Ben being Ben had to fuck it up. He reached into his bag, found his cuffs, and then without a word he reached forward in a flash, grabbed Natalie brutally by the arm, pulled her wrist back violently so it was sticking half way up her back at an uncomfortable angle, then with his free arm Ben rammed Natalie’s head forward so it slammed hard on the desk.

SLAP – SLAP !!!

The cuffs were on. Natalie appeared stunned and slightly concussed. “There you go,” said Ben. “That’s how you do it properly.” Fucking nonce, I thought. You’ve completely fucked that one up. I returned to my important diseased cock work. Natalie was released and went back shakily to her desk where she remained, quietly lost in a haze of stars only she could see, until hometime.

When Ben came into work the next day he looked a little flustered. Apparently somebody in the office had rifled through his bag while he’d been in a meeting. This individual had written in permanent marker on the back of his toy-copper uniform jacket: I’M A BIG GAY BEAR !!! And apparently this was pointed out to him by a real copper when he’d been in the police station – after they’d let him walk round like this for a couple of hours first...

Ben was not a happy chappy, not at all.

(Tchh, just can’t get the staff nowadays)...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 15:52, 9 replies)

I've had quite a few cunt bosses.
Here's an example of the last one's shitheadedness, he's been my boss more than once.

CuntBoss "What visibility are you giving?"
Me "100km."
CB "Bollocks. There is no way you can see 100km from here."
Me "Bollocks? Go down to the road and look West. The peaks you can see in the distance are the Hornby Mountains. They're 120km away. They look a bit hazy so I'm calling it 100km"
CB "I don't believe you."
Me "You want to do my job, be my fucking guest. You asked what the vis was, I told you."
CB "I still say you can't see that fucking far from here, because of the curvature of the earth.
Forecasting Bloke "Then you're a fucking moron. we're not at sea level, we're 200 feet above it and the peaks are a good deal higher than us."
Cunt "But they're not that far away."
Sweary Dan "See this map? Here's us. There's the Hornby range. Look at the fucking distance shit for brains. 120km just like stuj said."
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Fri 19 Jun 2009, 15:45, 2 replies)

"guitar groups are on the way out" **
My first job from Uni was at a firm that made & sold posters to other students, if you've ever seen a poster sale at a uni advertised with yellow & black plastic signs, that will have been us.

Sometime in the mid-late 90s we had a certain chap named Robin working there. He used to drive an old British Rail van and was something of an artist. Seeing an opportunity he approached my boss with some of his original art with a view to making some posters of them, and was promptly rebuffed with "It's all good, but it won't sell".

Turns out it was this fellow:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banksy

GL
** De-Ris: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Decca_audition
(GoodLord doesn't have time for sigs., Fri 19 Jun 2009, 15:45, 1 reply)

Gaylett: Part Two (aka: ‘Cock Lobster’)…

This post introduces you to the mongoloid monstrosity to management that is Gaylett. If you can’t be arsed to read it, I stated in it that every relationship he had ever had in his life was with an employee at the car parts warehouse where we used to work.

After I had been there a couple of years, I was promoted to the role of ‘Key worker’ (supervisor), which put me in the enviable position of having both the middle-management above, and grunts below hating me with every fibre of their being.

I was drafted to a team which was considered the ‘Flagship’ and ordered to report to Gaylett as my Team leader. I was then treated with about as much respect as the steam from fresh dog snot atop a pile of filtered donkey vom on a winter’s morning. Maybe I’ll go into that more if I write a ‘part 3’, but believe me, it runs a bit more deeply than just somebody taking credit for all your work and ideas and permanently stifling you, and using you as an unwitting and undefended whipping boy for their mistakes simply because they’re afraid of your intelligence and potential – although that happened too.

Anyhoo, at the time in question Gaylett was in his second marriage to a woman in the office, but in the meantime had started a shamefully blatant affair with a hideous, mutated boggly-eyed 80’s throwback troll who looked like her makeup was applied with a shotgun, and whose hair was spayed so far back it made her cheeks bulge right out of her forehead. Her name was Debbie, and she was a filthy mare who had ridden through half the blokes in the place and eventually fell upon Gaylett thinking he could put an end to her money troubles.

Either stupidly oblivious, or arrogantly considering that nobody would notice their blatant displays of affection, they carried on flaunting themselves about the place, thining that nobody would dare to question his general superiority as the boss.

One day, a good friend of mine (Hi Mudbutton!) was driving home and he spotted Gaylett’s brand new car in a layby. Thinking this strange, he slowed down somewhat, just in time to catch a (frankly disturbing) glimpse of a semi naked Debbie, bouncing up and down like the clappers on top of a sweaty, heaving Gaylett.

Quite rightly, Mudbutton thought to himself ‘Well that’s a pretty decent bit of gossip’ and it was soon spread around the warehouse like wildfire with wild petrol poured over it.

Within about half an hour of the word being out, I was ushered to a quiet spot of the warehouse by my illustrious leader:


Gaylett: “I’ve heard that some people are spreading rumours about me”

Me: “Hmmmm – they’re not really just ‘rumours’ are they?”

Gaylett: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Well…*rolls eyes* - you ARE banging Debbie aren’t you?”

Gaylett: “Absolutely NOT!”

Me: “Well what were you doing 'bumping uglies' with her in the layby then?”

Gaylett: “I wasn’t!”

Me: “Oh, for fucks sake! – You were spotted Man! – Just admit it will ya?”

Gaylett: “NO! The thing is…She is…erm…having some personal problems…and I was just trying to …erm….reassure her!”

Me: “Hmmm 'reassure her?'...by shagging her ragged…for the last couple of months? Come off it, the foul cat's out of the bag...Everybody knows…”

Gaylett: “Look, I ORDER you to tell everybody that I am not having an affair with her”

Me: “Even though you are?”

Gaylett:”JUST DO AS I SAY!!”

Me: “Fuck off!”

The atmosphere at work for the next few days was frosty to say the least. He promptly scuttled to his manager and insisted that I be removed from his team, and also be disciplined for refusing to accept a direct order. When he wouldn’t tell his boss what the ‘order’ was, he then changed his story and said that due to my poor performance, I should be transferred from the ‘Flagship’ team.

This understandably pissed me off no end, so I was grateful for the opportunity that weekend to go out and get blitheringly cunted down Rugby Town Centre.

The night went well, and as I staggered along towards the taxi ranks I felt the need to use the local facilities (i.e - an alleyway near The betting shop). This is a popular place for people having a late night slash, so I wasn’t overly surprised to see a couple of other people there…However, these two were right under a street lamp…and one of them was a woman…

At first thought I assumed that perhaps a lady had also been ‘caught short’, and in these times of equality had decided to squat down to have a crafty pee next to her man…so I was about to turn away to give them their privacy when I spotted something familiar in the dull street light– A hairdo so striking that it was either Debbie, or a hideous tribute to one of the girl singers from the B52’s. This of course got my attention and I crept forward a little closer, then upon recognising that her plastered-on make-up was almost glowing in the dark, it confirmed my suspicions. It was Debbie…with Gaylett.

I then witnessed TWO things that I will never forget as long as I live.

Firstly, I overheard something… just over the sounds of piss splashing against the wall and trickling to form a mini lagoon along the alleyway ground, I heard a slight ‘grunting’ sound,and as I peered closer I saw a distinct lump begin to appear from under Debbie's hitched-up skirt.

She was having a shite! – in an alleyway! Classy bird or what?

As I choked back my gagging action, The next thing I saw was equally as disturbing, yet however, like watching a car crash, I knew it was wrong to stare but I couldn’t tear my self away. As Debbie remained crouched, waddling unsteadily as she squatted, I noticed that gradually, the stream of piss from Gaylett next to her slowly started to cease. He then turned, and in one motion shoved his cock deep into Debbie’s welcoming mouth, whereby she proceeded to blow him with such vigour that she could have suck-started a Harley Davidson.

He hadn’t even shaken the droplets of piss from his dick.

I thought for a second – weighing up my options – trying to conjure up a plan that I could use to capitalise on what horrors I was witnessing first hand...

However...pathetically, I just.couldn’t.think.of.anything. I was simply too gobsmacked to comprehend rational thought...

So all I did was hold in my piss, turn on my heels, and walk away.

I never mentioned it to him.

…

I Told everybody else though ;)

Unsurprisingly, soon afterwards I was subsequently transferred from the team, Gaylett's wife sussed what was going on and divorced the cunt before making a better life for herself. As for Gaylett, like I said before, he’s now the warehouse manager, and married again, to some other poor employee whom he met on a secondment to Romania...and yep, you guessed it - he knocked her up.

I hear he’s already bored with her and is looking elsewhere.

Poor woman.

In fact...Poor women...everywhere.

Part 3 here
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 19 Jun 2009, 15:44, 10 replies)

My old "boss"
was a stinking little Ewok of a man. I used to work in a team of window cleaners and he hated me because I would keep an eye on our wages and question him when they came up short, which was all the time as he used our wages to buy his lunch every day and go to the bookies at dinner time.

He wasn't all bad though, he could be quite amusing at times. He was at an upstairs window once when he suddenly started shouting "Hey! Hey! Hey! I can see you!" and banging on the window..... the female occupant of the house had just emerged naked from the bathroom to see his gurning toothless face at the window. We met her in the street a week later. Bashful as always, he hit out with "Hiya hen, didn't recognise you with your clothes on!"

Classy.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 15:35, Reply)

There's always a deal...
I've read a couple of Pooflake's descriptions of the Warehouse management at a certain warehouse, but as I was office based, here's one of the office managers (I ain't going to hope to match PF for vitriolic style or metaphoric panache though).

Not long after our team was brought together (merging two site's teams into one) it was decided we'd all go for a curry, so there's about 20 of us in the curry house and I find myself opposite the manager in question (who shall remain Mike).

As we're perusing the menus and deciding upon starters, rice, naans etc. he leans over to one of his new cronies and says "order up twenty poppadoms but tell them we want a deal fro a bulk order and we want them for 20p each" [instead of 25p]

So to sum up, this sentence alone means:
1) A grand saving of £2 off a £200-odd restaurant bill.
2) The staff of the place who are about to cook your dinner think you are a tosser (and so god knows what they do to the food) and
3) All your staff think you are a twunt of the first order, and not only that, but that you haven't got the guts to be a twat yourself, you have to get a minion to do it.

The fact that I stayed there another 7 years is more testament to my idleness and high tolerance of shite than his getting any better as a manager.

GL

Oh, and he ALWAYS pronounced "specific" without the 's'
And at least three of his staff cited him as the reason for leaving in their exit interviews, myself included - it was only his planned retirement being weeks away that stopped him getting fired.
(GoodLord doesn't have time for sigs., Fri 19 Jun 2009, 15:19, 2 replies)

I used to be a Research Scientist
I had a Boss Dr B--- I shall call her, who was a lovely lady but absolutely fucking metal.

The main mentalism was she had names for things; the Liquid nitrogen freezer for instance was called ‘Friar Tuck’ because it was a big fat squat thing. It’s a shame it is the only one I can remember, but she had them for everything in the lab, also she had nicknames for people and places.. we called them “B---isms”

Okay this isn’t that mad but when I tell you she would use them without any explanation in conversation with anyone. Once at a conference at the DTI she used at least 10 of these “B---isms” while talking to the Minister for trade and industry. I had a great photo in the lab of the Minister (John Battle) shaking hands with B--- with a bemused expression on his face.

We also had a meeting with some Japanese scientists. We had to do a presentation and were warned that they would be using a translator so we had to keep it simple. Her presentation had many B---isms and a hefty dose of her own versions of that buzz words /corporate bollocks speech spouted by the apprentice types. I was sat next to the translator whose pen hovered hesitantly every time a B—ism was used. I’m sure the translations back said “and I have no idea what this mad woman is talking about”

Jonathan Caner the Daily Mail astrologist spoke directly to her

She could do the quick Crossword & the cryptic crossword of the aforementioned horrid paper in the time it takes to fill them in
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 15:05, Reply)

Better no boss than a bad boss.
I work for a public transport company, selling tickets, helping people to get to places, and normally working in a one man office.

My boss, a bloke I liked and thought well of, strict but fair, had left. He wasn't to everyones taste, but then some people don't like having to do their jobs.

So the company promoted a woman, lets call her Sybil (nothing like her real name), into his job.
Problem number one: This woman had a clique of friends, most of whom worked in the station she had her office at. So from the day she was appointed, they would all find excuses to spend hours in her office going over figures...sorry, smoking their lungs out and drinking tea (requests for which would come through to the staff frantically trying to deal with customers.) Dare to comment on it, and your roster became earlies at the furthest point from your home she could manage.
Problem number two: Her people skills were barely noticeable. When the results of 'mystery shoppers' came out, her friend with 80% got more congratulations than her non-friend with 100%.
Problem three: She could be emotional. I worked a shift where the electricity went off. No trains, no internet, no tannoys, and very little info being passed on by phone. So I wrote an email later suggesting that if it happened again, it should be the job of somebody at her station to ring the outer stations and explain the problem. I wasn't nasty, I had a bit of a moan because I'd been moaned at by the passengers because I couldn't tell them what was happening. Ten minutes after I sent it, her deputy rang me to ask me to apologise to her because I'd upset her.
Problem four: She never responded to personal messages about matters concerning the job.

This went on for about two years, we'd get information when,and if, she could be bothered to send it.

Eventually, enough was enough. One of her friends had a month off 'sick' (we knew she was doing her garden), another one we worked out was having enough fag breaks to represent nearly a months paid leave over the course of a year, and the monthly 1-2-1 meetings we should have had with her hadn't happened at all.
I contacted our independant review body, about another matter but mentioned that our boss had shown no interest in a safety issue.
A couple of days later I got a phone call asking me a load of questions about her, and asking me to submit a written report.

Two months later, she was seen to be clearing her office out, under supervision, and was then escorted from the premises.
It turns out that there was quite a lot of the stations budget finding its way into personal objects, and several people had complained about her attitude.

We then got a great boss, the staff liked her, she treated everyone fairly, and really cared.
Then she got pregnant, and moved up the ladder.

And now we've got the original boss back, still pissing the lazy buggers off by making them work.
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Fri 19 Jun 2009, 14:46, 1 reply)

Crazy Steve
There were 3 managers in a fast food place that I worked, two that loved their jobs and the other, Crazy Steve, who clearly didn't give a shit.

Some of his highlights include:

1. Shooting an attractive girl in the face with a mayonnaise gun because she was complaining. (They have pretty impressive range actually).

2. Often just telling customers to get out if they complained and even dragging one out by his shirt.

3. Turning the cctv off and helping 3 guys that pulled up in a van lift the statue of said food chain's famed mascot into the back. (He didn't even know these guys, they just pulled up and tried to steal it randomly).

4. Leaping over the counter and having a fight with a tramp outside the store.

5. Giving a kid a giant ice cream in one of the buckets for chicken and acting like it was normal.

6. Closing the store one time because he wanted pizza and phoning up Dominoe's and offering a trade. They accepted.

7. Setting the fire alarms off accidentally about once a week and giving all of the fireman free food when they showed up. He also found some gizmo in the office draw and was dancing around clicking it until the police showed up and informed us it was some panic alarm thingy.

8. We had some points reward system; he'd just give them to us regardless. 'You want a new playstation game Jonny? Here, have 4000 points and get it out of the catalogue.'

9. Would give children the whole set of toys with one meal.

10. Giving some guy's dog an ice cream outside.

11. Would just park his car in the drive thru and pretend it had broken down if we were too busy.

12. Writing bizarre complaints about the other managers, such as 'I don't like Dave's ears' and putting them in the drop box.

13. On a few occasions he'd take a bunch of french frie bags into the office and write the names and numbers of the employee working the stand on them and slip them back in to the pile. So I'd then inadvertantly hand some girl a portion of fries with my number on. I even got a call once.

14. Told me to take the trash home, which I found bizarre, but put it in the boot of my car anyway since he was so persistent, to find he'd just filled a black bag up with bags of mini-eggs from the store.

15. (one I forgot) He threw out all of our name badges and ordered us new ones from head office, including 'Fanny' for some gay bloke and 'Lil rem'. I was given the appropriate 'Ahmed'. I'm white.

16. (Another I forgot as it's not so much crazy, but just nice) We had to monitor the waste at the end of the shift and put it in some bin, incase we had a surprise inspection the next day and they counted it for the week. But he'd just pretend to put it in there and let us take whatever we wanted, then give the rest to homeless people on the way home. The other two managers were strict that it MUST go in the bin.
( Regger, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 14:37, 16 replies)

The deaf CEO
About 15 years ago I went for an interview at the head office of a small retail chain. First i/v fine. Second i/v was with the CEO (lets call him Ciles Glarke) – who tells me he’s deaf and so I end up having to bellow loudly to answer each of his questions.

Despite this, I get the job, spend a week working in a store to get experience and then turn up at the office the following Monday. So there I am, first day being walked around the office being introduced to people when this deaf CEO comes bounding in to the building at 200mph, sees me, stops & says “good morning Battered”. Remembering he’s deaf I shout a reply of “good morning Ciles”.

He stares at me for about 10 seconds, forehead bulging and turning red then storms off. The whole office (about 40 people) is in silence. Turns out he wasn’t deaf – he had an ear infection when he had interviewed me which had cleared up by the time I started the job.

We never got on after that – I had to spend quite a bit of time with him despite being a junior who reported to someone several layers down & he eventually fired me a year later. Cunt.

He is now Chairman of the ECB and to my knowledge still a cunt.
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 14:34, Reply)

Where to start
I worked in sales at a small computer software design company last year, which was really the pits. Everyone in the office was good fun, had a good time, got lots of work done... until the manager turned up.

He was only there before 9 and after 5 so he never saw what went on during the day.

Because he owned the company and had studied IT briefly back in the 1970s, he assumed he still knew more than the highly trained technical staff he hired, so whenever one of them had problem with the software, he would try and 'help'. This usually meant coming into the office with a 'solution' that made no sense and was usually for completely the wrong problem. But he would insist that the staff stop the work they were doing and try out his solution. Of course it didn't work, so he would say that they were incompetent.

Economics was certainly not his strong point. He genuinely believed that not putting prices on the company website was a good thing, even though all our competitors had their prices listed. He would happily charge considerably more than rivals for products that did a lot less - in one wonderful example, he decided that we should design our own GPS software for handheld PCs, but with only the functionality that you could see your location on a basic map, none of the actual routing etc. that people expect. He wanted to charge double the price that the other firms in the market were charging, saying that 'we would have to establish the product in the market first' before lowering the price to compete - I created a fully detailed sales report for this product that had a total annual sales figure of 0 based on talking to some potential customers - he sent it back with 500 scrawled on. Other times I sent him reports about software products and how improvements had to be made to keep up (many were five years old, with manuals making no reference to XP for example), they would be sent back with grammar and spelling corrected but obviously no notice taken. I think he thought I just wrote them to amuse myself...

He turned up one evening with a plan to create an incredibly elaborate piece of software for the vehicle routing industry - an enormous market, dominated by big firms with dozens of developers. We had two. Needless to say, after 6 months development, at the cost of all other projects, it was barely off the ground and was abandoned.

Advertising, the key to business development. Not here it seemed, a few poorly targeted googleads were the only things I was allowed to spend money on. Apparently their previous print adverts had not been profitable. I later found out that although the company was B2B, the adverts had been placed in a tiny readership academic journal (I think the boss knew the editor).

Ultimately sales figures were my downfall - he presented me with a number of annual sales targets for the various products, all of which were wildly more than any previous sales figures (seriously, I had to sell 500 copies of a piece of software that had sold 1 in the two years it had been on sale) - at the end of the year he said that the failure to reach these was completely due to my incompetence and fired me. Apparently I should have been cold calling companies from the phone book - I tried to explain that this was not only illegal but a complete waste of time because the software was so specialised that only one in a thousand firms would have any use for it (and when did you ever hear of people buying £10,000 bespoke computer software from cold callers?)

Phew, got that off my chest!
(R-T-C Got arbitrage profits?, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 14:21, 2 replies)