Ass. Man.
Aged 21 and in my final year at university, I worked part-time in the Virgin Megastore in Leicester. It was a good place to work, the hours and pay were OK, the cheap CDs, videos and games made gift-giving easy and the staff were generally a great bunch. However, there's always one. This one was the assistant manager.

He was a spotty, gangly 19-year-old who'd been on some sort of management course and thus thought he was retail gold, God's gift to women as well as a supreme organiser of manpower. He was, of course, not. He was a bossy, whiney, lazy under-manager who became a running joke among the staff for cocking up or sucking up, blaming others for his mistakes and taking credit for others' work. He became known by the not-very-imaginative yet appropriate nickname of Ass. Man. behind his back.

I'd been there part-time for a while (the other staff were great fun), in fact longer than he'd been around, but he made sure he gave me the crappest jobs he could find. Crawling around behind old shelf units? Repackaging entire genres of CDs? Repairing all those little plastic cases that Playstation memory cards had to go into? If it was demeaning and repetitive, he made sure I got the job.

What used to really get my goat is that he called me "young man" all the time - I was two years older than him, we _all_ had to wear name badges, yet he persisted in patronising me in order to pursue his pathetic power trip. He knew I didn't like it and I think did it all the more just to emphasise his puny authority.


Christmas was, of course, a stupidly busy time. We all worked longer, harder shifts but we thrived on it - once we'd shut the shop we usually all decamped to the pub down the road for noisy drinking, later and louder than we should but it kept us working together.

Did I mention Ass. Man. was also infamous for avoiding his turn at the bar? He liked to let us all know that he was paid more than us, but he was very adept at finding excuses when it was his round.

That year, Richard Branson had given us all very nice Christmas bonuses (as well as a bottle of champagne and a personally-signed card!) so after closing the shop at the end of a long, horrible Christmas Eve (also pay day) we all headed merrily to the pub.

I can't remember how many rounds later, but Ass. Man. had managed (ho ho) to avoid making a trip to the bar long after most of us had spent our bonuses getting rounds in for everyone. People were starting to notice, and an irritated edge was brought to our otherwise festively drunken evening. We collectively and noisily decided it was definitely his round this time and as he returned from the toilet we all let him know.

His ratty, nasty face twitched for a moment and then he resumed his usual slimey grimace - "nah, I'm sure it's [sanityclause]'s round, definitely," he said, "come on, young man, get them in - there's no 'i' in 'team'!"

I loudly agreed. (and this makes more sense if you read this out loud...)

"No, Ass Man, but there is a 'U' in c*nt."
( sanityclause is waiting until, Thu 18 Jun 2009, 15:44, 3 replies)

slight typo error fella
"Did I mention Ass. Man. was also infamous for never avoiding his turn at the bar?"

if he never avoided it, he must have been alright ;) and it's hardly deserving of infamy.

nice story tho.
(zenmeban thinks the weather could be better, Thu 18 Jun 2009, 16:39, closed)

ass, man!
thanks for pointing that out - now edited!
( sanityclause is waiting until, Thu 18 Jun 2009, 17:30, closed)

I await the day I get to use this phrase.
(kitescreech still here, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 12:27, closed)