Mr Fucking Fawlty
The Resident Loon's tale reminds me of my very first taste of the world of work. When I was 14 on Saturday nights, I'd do the potwash at a local independent hotel and it was pure mayhem.

The double doors from the restaurant would open and the owner would skitter in, sack everyone, then skitter out cursing God, life and his luck to be in possession of such a shithouse. The chef would call him a cunt and launch a real, metal, sharp, scary fuck-off knife at his disappearing form, his timing to perfection (luckily) as it embedded itself in the swinging doors. After 10 minutes of waiters in and out, barked orders, cursing etc, the owner would re-appear, face purple with rage:
"What the fuck are you cunts still doing here??? I told you all to fuck off, didn't I?"

At this point the head chef, a bear of a man,would make a big show of dropping whatever he was working on and start heading round the hotplate to kill the owner. The owner would scurry off, there'd be more mayhem, waiters in tears, plates of food launched across the kitchen etc, then 2 pints of cold lager would appear, dropped off by a pretty barmaid. They'd sit there in full view of the whole kitchen for a few minutes, before the owner would stick his head around the door again, and announce loudly that they were for the only 2 people in the building who actually worked properly, weren't cunts, and who still had a job ie, me and my mate Dave doing the pot-wash.

Astounded, we would bury our head in the piles of pans and plough on as the battle raged around us.

Fast forward an hour and a half, everything would be tranquil,smiles all round, hotel owner sitting going through the chits with the chef, beer for everyone, nothing more said about the the mass sackings. This would happen EVERY week.

Being 14 and honest we opened our wages one week and found £12 rather than the usual £6.00, so Dave and I thought we'd best tell the owner he'd made a mistake. (Yeah, I know, innocent and un-corrupted) He looked up from a pile of papers, scowled at us, and said
"Do you not want it?"
"Um, yes,but we only did one shift"
"I know, happy birthday, now fuck off" and shoo-ed us out of the office.
This would happen on and off for no apparent reason, we never again questioned it, naturally.

Last heard of on the run from the tax man after selling the hotel to a major chain, whose accounts team spent months trying to unpick all of his shady dealings, unfortunately AFTER they had paid him for the place. My hero!
(Rsoles, Tue 23 Jun 2009, 19:51, 2 replies)

Absolute genius
I fear this it the kind of boss I'd be if I ever had the opportunity. Perhaps it's better if I don't.
(Uncle Comrade, Tue 23 Jun 2009, 20:17, closed)

Strangely Charming
I must say I rather like this person by the sounds. Kind of schizophrenic charm, an acquired taste surely but if each bipolar extreme was so regularly predictable I think I could tolerate that, maybe that's what the extra pay was for 'sorry-for-being-such-an-arse' money.
(StumpsForArms&NoEyebrows, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 0:28, closed)