Making me think!
I haven't been told off for ages. Damn, I'm overdue.

Is there anyone, anywhere that wants to admonish me. I have been a naughty girl, probably.
( girlinthehole, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 15:19, Reply)

Sort of telling off...
Cruising down the M32 last December in a bit of a stupor at rush hour, on my way to a lovely evening's rowing in the rain and dark on Bristol docks.
Merc in front of me slows down rather rapid. "Shit shit shit" goes I and swerves into inside lane after getting very very very close to the Merc.
OH MY SAINTED TROUSERS how lucky was I that there was nothing there at that point. I thought I'd hit the thing but apparently no.
Then appears a beeping flashing car on the hard shoulder.
"Wtf?" I look over. Doesn't make eye contact then drops back.
"ok..." thinks I and carry on.
Down the bottom of the M32 at the traffic lights comes a knock on my window.
"OI!"
"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees"?
"You hit me!"
"Did I?! Shitsticks! I thought I'd missed you!"
"Raaaaaargh raghrgaghaghaghg" etc

So outs I get and his ranty got quieter. I ain't the tallest (by rowing standards I'm at the tiny end of the olympic scale :( ) but I had about 6 inches on fatty merc boy shortarse. Plus I hadn't shaved for a few days and was wearing a hoody. So it was a sort of telling off...

Got away with it too! Would have been about £50 to polish out but he never called back. I crapped meself when I saw the golf clubs in the boot of the personalised numberplate wearing silver thing.
My rover had it though. Beast car it was. Till I blew it up about a month later.
Turns out I didn't have an MOT at the time either. Whoops.
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 15:09, Reply)

Where's your sense of humour!
ooh, just remembered this one. Had been at Farnborough Tech Student Union for some punk gig (yeah times were hard, doubly so in Farnborough). Scored some abysmally shite weed, most of which was smoked over the course of the evening.

Having all decided to walk home - well run a bit, we had a race down the road during which Steve fell over and apparently broke his arm, didn't know until the next day when he couldn't move it - we ended up hanging upside down from the railings outside the Thompson Local building (as you do).

Cue upside-down policecar with woowoos going full belt drawing up infront of four giggling idiots. Turns out that our inverted shenannigans had terrified the security guard who had called the cops - I dunno, maybe we looked scary upside down?

Enter stageleft, sneering rosser with cap pulled down over his eyes like Terry Scott in Carry on Up the Kyber giving us a right bollocking for being juvenile and wasting police time (not us mate, the security guard). Being slightly worse for wear (read struggling to stand up straight) I giggled.

'Right!' says he, 'Turn out your pockets'

Oops says I pulling a matchbox out of my pocket with the tiniest blim you've ever seen in it (a mouse would have trouble catching a buzz from that). The bollocking I was then given would make you think I'd just pulled the Medellin Cartel's entire harvest out of my arse. His face went red, he spat as he talked, and yet all I could do was stand there in a boozy haze trying not to giggle again (while wiping his spit from my face).

To be honest, he probably would have let me off with just a thick ear if when he said 'I don't like drugs!!!' I hadn't responded with 'that's ok, I do!'...

Remember, things you think and things you actually say! Those cells aren't as uncomfortable as they look in The Bill. The matresses are quite comfy.
(clockworkkillbot, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 15:04, Reply)

I've just been told off....
... by one of the QA managers.

I wasnt really paying attention though, I was thinking about whether to varnish the doors in my house with an antique pine finish or paint them white.

I'd decided at the midway point to varnish them, when I heard the words..

"Totally unacceptable lack of preparedness on your part...."

I drifted off then thinking about the car this morning whose exhaust fell off just after he'd cut me up on the parkway, and I started laughing.

"What's so funny?"
"Uuuh, sorry x, what were you saying? I wasnt really paying attention"

Cue really deflated look of middle manager who has had the wind removed from their sales.
She wandered off muttering something under her breath.
(Vic Flange, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:56, Reply)

The worst put down
Has to be:

"I'm very disappointed in you"

"I would have expected better of you"

Sigh - "Ok, I'll deal with it then"

I've had all of those and each and every single time, it's a thousand times worse than getting yelled at....
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:45, Reply)

Chart Cat
Has reminded me of my own little IT story.

I was good and tested something - I'll not bore you with what it was - but I was good and documented it, raised the right paperwork, etc, etc.

Anyway, I sent out this software to 10 servers. Fine, not a problem.

Phone rings:
Caller: "JTW, did you do x??
JTW: "Who are you?"
Caller: "Did you do x?"
JTW - Irate: "Who the hell are you?"
Caller: "The n council service desk manager"
JTW: "So?"
Caller: "Well, what you did had the result of...."

He went on to chew me out about why what I'd done had taken down the n service desk (for turned out to be 2 hours). The worst part was that he was right and that I had no comeback as I was completely in the wrong.

The rest of the morning was spent fending off phone calls from all sorts of account managers and the like asking me what I'd done, why and that it was "terribly unprofessional".

The worst part was that noone shouted at me or had a go - there was just a lot of sighs and "we don't expect this from you of all people, JTW"

Council name withheld for legal reasons (Really...)
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:44, Reply)

Crayons! Roadsigns! Eggs! Gestapo!
I used to be a Student in Sheffield. I lived in a Student Village consisting of hundreds of individual houses. Inter-houseshagging was common, and friendships and jealousies were rife.

The house behind us got annoyed at our drug-ridden noise and antics, and our constant opposition to their shagging our housemate, Anna. So they egged our house. Then floured it. This was an attack on our manliness so Jim and I retaliated.

We began by breaking into a rail compound and stole whatever lights and signs we could. We meandered back up to the Village and got started. We broke in, and put signs and lights everywhere. Then we folded up a large metal Stop sign and jammed it through their letterbox. Then we got creative.

Jim was an artist, and had oil crayons. These are hard to remove from wood and plexiglass. So we drew a large selection of cocks all over their house. We stood back and admired our work, exchanging regal nods, satisfied with our work.

Then we felt hands on our collars, and a gruff voice saying "Evening lads, you've been caught." It was site security...

We squirmed from his grip and legged it, but we were well known by the authorities. Punishment was severe.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:42, Reply)

Students!
I am a bioethicist, which means that I have been known to teach medical ethics to medical students.

A couple of years ago, I was working at a med school in the midlands. Most of the teaching staff were medics themselves, and this meant that they didn't really need much by way of office space; it was felt that a large, open plan affair was appropriate. I, being a humanities type, was more used to having my own office and being available to students pretty much all the time. Indeed, they even have my home phone number.

One day, a couple of students knocked on the office door, wanting to know if N, one of their lecturers, was in. She was - indeed, only she and I were.
"Sure," I said as I let them in. "She's down at the other end of the office."
A few minutes later, the students left, and N came thundering down the office.
"WHAT did you think you were doing?"
"Huh?"
"Letting students in!"
"They wanted to see you. They had a question. You run the course the query concerned. You were in. QED."
"Students are NOT allowed just to come and see staff at any time! They are NOT allowed in here! I could have been setting an exam!"
"My students can come to see me any time they want. And if I'm setting an exam, I'll turn off my monitor. 'S'no biggie."

N looked baffled. She honestly had no idea that her job might involve, like, trying to inspire students with a love of the subject.

NOTE TO ANY FRESHERS READING THIS: You DO have a right to see your lecturers. Just knock on their door. If it's not convenient, they'll say. If they aren't pleased to talk about the subject they're supposed to be teaching, they shouldn't fucking well be doing it. And they might take you out for a drink, as well.
Thank you.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:40, Reply)

Hmm - Motoring too
Well, I've been on the receiving end of some idiot driving and given it too....

This one time, I was seriously sleep deprived and not with it. I forgot to look behind me and just slipped into the right lane of a dual carriageway, well, I tried to as I looked over and there was a car. Right there. Oops.

I knew I was in the wrong, pulled back in, and was expecting the usual yelling, etc so I steeled myself for it.

He pulled alongside me, looked at me and with an apologetic and almost sympathetic look, shook his head and drove off.

Boy did I feel like a twat.

Just like I did 2 seconds later when I nearly ran into the back of the lorry that I was originally trying to pass....

Fucksocks
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:30, Reply)

In-Laws
Met my new boyfriend's parents for the second time recently, they are nice people but his Mum's an ex teacher and his Dad's a retired headmaster. Say no more.
We were happily swapping stories about people mispronouncing things (they are Northern, they mispronounce everything a far as I'm concerned!) and I told them about the lady at work years ago who pronounced sorbet as 'sore-bit'. Encouraged by the laughter from all, I went on to tell of the package of foam pads labelled 'form pads' - well that is how you pronounce foam up in the Valleys! Then I got told off for 'being unkind to people'.
How is that unkind? Even the QA manager laughed at the time, and he was a Plaid Cymru voter.
Next time I'll tell them the sheep-shearing joke.
(biscuitsocks random gene expression, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:08, Reply)

West African Parking Attendants
Fuck me, London has gone to rats since Red Ken took over. So much so that "Welcome to London, have a nice parking ticket" has been adopted as the new 2012 slogan.

Anyway, having been stung repeatedly outside a certain London hotel I made the effort recently to politely ask one of the "gentleman of foreign persuasion" in a fetching blue uniform (not sure if I should say foreign cunt dressed like a sack of shit in QOTW as a description for London's finest) where I should park my new Merc as my ticket was about to expire.

*mumble*, ticket, *unitelligable*, move car forward into next space was the reply, which I took to mean just move my car into the next space and purchase another ticket, which I duly did. Anyhow, I goes into the hotel and thought fuck it, I am going to go back out and check on my car just to make sure. 2 minutes later and sure as eggs are eggs the slippery little fucker had hid behind a tree and was ticketing me for "not parking within a defined space", AKA the two front wheels were over the line next to the meter where obviously I couldn't park anyway and where I had been instructed to do so.

Ok, this is unsporting to say the least. The response this time was *mumble* ticket * unintelligable* supervisor *something about dust* my fault. OK, now I have a £70 ticket. Fuck it, the car can stay there - I have paid for it.

So, I goes into my meeting, 20 minutes later, I come out again. This time Dr. Dre in rags has had me clamped. Explanation? *mumble* clamp *unitelligable* no ticket. OK, fuck this for a game of soldiers. I have now been clamped for not purchasing a ticket, despite the fact I had already received a penalty notice. Apparently if no ticket is purchased within 15 minutes they clamp you.

Now I am pissed. I went back into the hotel, got my bags, checked out and went to my car. Except no car. Mr Lover Man had it towed for still not displaying a ticket within 30 minutes of me being clamped.

That made me transform from Mr. Nice into Mr. Sweary. I wasn't best pleased but his feeble attempt to "tell me off" was the highlight of the day.

I shouted so much he fell over, his hat and tickets blowing all over the street. I can still remember the sight of him cowering, repeatedly flashing me with his digital camera and crying "talk to ticket. Talk to ticket, Please mister no hurt my job".

Man down, call for backup....

Those fuzzy wuzzies, they don't like it up em you know. I would have liked to see those pics though. I ended up leaving the car there for the company to sort out and flew back to Cornwall that night.

I would like to dedicate this post to the hard working men and women of Westminster city council. Fuck you. Fuck you all.

*edit* my therapist says I was very traumatised by the whole incident and I have "anger issues". Bitch. After I had finished beating her she soon changed her mind.
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:04, Reply)

Re: Mad Cat Woman



I had a similar bollocking from one of those nutters.

I took my cat to the vets for her routine shots. Of course, she hates her carrier, the car and the vets so is quite vocal in her displeasure.

So, despite me and the vet's assistant giving her attention in order to calm her down, my cat's having none of it and wailing away as if her tail is on fire.

Into the vets marches this battleaxe carrying one of those humane traps for catching feral cats. She looks me up and down.

"What have you done to it?"

Eh?

"What have you done to your cat?"

Apart from sticking her in that (points at carrier) and brought her here for her shots you mean?

"You must have done something more than that to make her so upset."

Nah, she's always like that isn't she (Said to assistant who nods in agreement)

"Well, (Gets all sniffy) she sounds like she's being mistreated to me."

I laugh at this.

"(Turns to assistant) Right! Where's (name of vet) I want to speak to him immediately."

He's busy right now.

"No matter, I'll just pop in and talk to him (Marches into surgery without knocking)"
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 14:00, Reply)

Mad Cat Woman

I got bollocked by the joyless, stern-faced, mean-spirited old bitch who runs my local cat shelter.

My girlfriend and I bought two kittens from her last month. Cute little cunts, bless ‘em, but no end of hassle to be honest.

Anyway. We went along to this shelter, had a look at the cats, and decided on these two poor little critters that had been treated very badly by some stupid fucking shithead.

I’ve never had a cat before, so I was asking this woman her advice about feeding, cleaning, medical treatment, etc. All she was interested in was slagging off vets, insurance companies, pet food manufacturers, and anyone else she’s ever had to deal regarding her animals.

I just wanted to get the fuck out of there, so was desperately trying to nail down some answers and minimise her ranting. For example:

Me: So how often do we feed them, and what type of food is best?

Mad Cat Woman: You should feed them a couple of times a day, and leave biscuits out so they can always feed if they’re hungry. Only use these types of biscuits. The others are inferior, and over-priced. The food companies are only interested in making as much profit as possible, they don’t care about the well-being of the cats, as LONG AS THEY SELL THEIR RUBBISH FOOD, THEY’RE HAPPY! OH, THEY SAY IT’S HIGH QUALITY PRODUCT, BUT YOU’LL SOON SEE WHEN YOUR KITTEN ISN’T…

Me: OK, OK. Right. Got it. That type of biscuit. Thanks. What about fleas and tics? How do I deal with them?

Mad Cat Woman: Use this spray for fleas and tics. When you go to the vet, they’ll try and sell you this one drop product which they claim kills all pests for 3 months. That’s what they say of course. But that’s not what happens, is it? WHAT I WOULD LIKE IS ONE OF THOSE VETS TO COME HERE AND SEE HOW WELL HIS PRODUCT WORKS EVEN ONE MONTH AFTER IT’S USED! OH IT’S VERY EXPENSIVE OF COURSE, AND GOD KNOWS IT COMES IN SOME VERY FANCY PACKAGING! BUT WHAT GOOD IS THAT IF IT DOESN’T WORK, HMM? HMM? £24 FOR EACH DOSE??!! I DON’T THINK THESE PEOPLE EVEN HAVE CATS OF THEIR OWN! IF THEY DID, THEY’D SOON SEE…

Me: Fine, fine. Flea spray then. Forget the drops. I understand. (lower voice) Jesus Christ Almighty. (raise voice) What about neutering?

Mad Cat Woman: Yes it is very important to neuter females. If you don’t, if she is ever upset, she will spray all over your curtains and furniture.

Me: Sounds just like my girlfriend.

Mad Cat Woman: ………

Me: It was a joke

Mad Cat Woman: Looking after mistreated cats is not a laughing matter…

…and on and on she went. About how I needed a great deal of maturity to be a good owner, a quality which I appeared to be lacking. Blah blah blah. Luckily, my girlfriend, who is a veteran of dealing with the fall-out from these positions I find myself in, managed to diffuse the situation, and we walked away with the kittens.

I think I might print this out, and send her a copy with the following footnote.

Dear Annie Wilkes,

Here’s an idea. Get a fucking sense of humour and try and make some human friends. That way, the police won’t one day be called in to examine the smell coming from your house, only to discover dozen of cats feeding on your bloated, rotting corpse.

Cunt.
(geegee, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 13:09, Reply)

Happy Motoring the sequel
I have been in 2 motoring incidents recently and suffered totally different reactions.

The first happened as I was going down the M6. There were a few lorries in the slow lane so I was in the middle lane doing around 80mph, cruise control on. Slowly, a van crawled right up behind me with what looked like a strategically shaved chimpanzee driving and what was probably his girlfriend in the passenger seat. He went so far up my car’s arse that I’m surprised he couldn’t reach over and press my accelerator pedal down himself. He started flashing his lights at me.

As I watched his face contort with rage in my mirror, I thought to myself ‘Why the fuck does this twunt not just overtake me if he’s in such a hurry? That’s what the fast lane is for isn’t it?’

Lo and behold, this spacker moves into the fast lane…inches up beside me, promptly hits the maximum speed limit his shit-heap van will allow...and stays there, going the exact same speed as I was.

Now as I’ve got cruise control on, my speed has not altered one iota, but as far as this mong is concerned, I have put my foot down to keep up with him.

As we’re driving along side-by-side this becomes a bit embarrassing to me and I don’t want to look over…but I do and see this mutant thrusting his groin towards the steering wheel in a vain attempt to gain any extra speed. I smirk and wink at his embarrassed-looking girlfriend as his arms flail about like he’s having some sort of seizure. The pleb is forced to give up, drops back to the middle lane and right behind me again, where he continues to scream and turn a delightful shade of haemorrhoid purple.

Apparently, despite the fact that my speed had not changed by 1mph, this twatbrick had decided that this white-dog-poo of a van’s shitty lack of acceleration issues were all my fault.

To be honest, I could’ve stayed there all day watching this fucko burst a blood vessel but was bored of him by this point. I flicked him the ‘V’ sign, made the international gesture for ‘wanker’ and sped off, leaving him for dust.

Little shit-biscuit.

The second incident however was very different; I was turning off a roundabout onto a dual carriageway when I just slipped into the fast lane without checking my mirrors. When I finally did check behind me, I found that I had inadvertently cut up a youngish couple in a little hatchback. I didn't think it was much of a problem, but it was nonetheless my fault and so held my hand up apologetically. However, did the driver scream, wretch, hurl abuse and insulting gestures?

No, he smiled a sarcastic smile and applauded. Slowly.

God, I felt about 5 years old….and like a proper spod.

(Very) long story short…. raging like a fucking deranged lunatic doesn’t get you any sympathy, but calmly being told that you’re a twat makes you think twice before doing such twatty things again
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 24 Sep 2007, 13:04, Reply)

Happy Motoring (part one)
A friend of mine was recently doing one of those 'first stage phone interviews’ where some HR shagstain or even worse, recruitment agency parasite tries to ascertain whether or not you are a total cretinous window licker with a brain the size of a gnat’s left bollock.

Anyway, he was doing this interview in his car, chugging merrily down some motorway (don’t worry, health and safety nazis everywhere, I’m sure he had his ‘hands free’ on and obeyed all proper road standards etc etc blah blah….well I’m not really sure, in fact I couldn’t give a rat’s ringer-stinger but hey ho).

Now my mate is one of the many (from what I’ve read on these pages) who turn from a fluffy, piglet type into a snarling, aggressive cock-piece with a total hatred of all lifeforms when he’s behind the wheel. Unfortunately, during this interview he was being delayed….a lot...in his opinion…by some obvious Neanderthal who had the bare-arsed cheek to drive at the designated speed limit and nothing more. What a bastard eh? He had to pay....

My mate realised however, that most employers don’t seem to be too keen on vicious, car-toting psychopaths….Thus was his dilemma….he chewed the rage back and got on with the interview.

It started going very well: “Oh yes, I’ve done this, I’ve achieved that, that’s no problem for me etc” he gushes, easing himself into the affections of the berk on the other end of the line.

The car in front of him ambles on…

My mate starts to feel a bit confident: “Well, I would approach that particular issue with a different point of view” he boldly states showing that he is not just a ‘yes man’ and would be a credit to any company, who would be lucky to have him.

He dabbles with a joke…sometimes a dodgy move …….but success! He gets a laugh from the interviewer and starts to think “this one’s in the bag!” Before long he has total confidence and control, the interview is turning into more of an informal conversation between buddies, involving some annoying details about a job - my mate is starting to see dollar-signs in his eyes regarding his salary package etc.

…Unfortunately, he then gets a bit TOO relaxed with the conversation…as the guy in front of him slows for no apparent reason…

“Oh yes”, he says, “I used to do that exact thing in my previous job, but took it to another level. In fact, I was single-handedly responsible for a turnover increase of WILL YOU PUT YOUR FUCKING FOOT DOWN, YOU FUCKING SLOW-ARSED CUNTSACK!”

……silence…..

“Ooooooh shit” thinks mate…

“Ahem, I’m sorry” he quivers, “I forgot who I was talking to then.”

“Oooh double-shit with sprinkles” he thinks now, as he realises that this comment has now made him look not only like a rampaging road-rage rectum-face, but an absent-minded one at that.

…..silence…..

“I really don’t think that was appropriate behaviour…erm…we’ll get back to you” says the shell-shocked cock-spot on the phone, his voice drifting off before hanging up

Suffice to say, they didn’t get back to him.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 24 Sep 2007, 12:43, Reply)

Are you sure you want to send that?
Not long after starting work I ended up on the IT desktop support team, which involved looking after the trading floor for the bank. It took me a while, but I gained the trust and respect of the fickle teams I supported by keeping my promises, fixing important things quickly and having a sense of humour.

Unfortunately, my reputation was almost destroyed by one click of the mouse.

When I started out-of-hours support, I received a pager. Contained in the box was the device itself and a printed sheet with two similar phone numbers on it. I thought it would be prudent to test it so I logged in to Vodafone's website, entered my name --big mistake-- then sent a test message to myself with a cheery reminder (“Don't forget Andy's birthday!"). There was no 'Are you sure?' message, no warnings whatsoever, it just sent it. I was impressed by the fluidity of it all…

…until about five seconds later, when I heard beeping behind me. Then to the left, then to my right, forwards, in the distance... then phones started going off all around me. It was like the final scene of Lawnmower Man, when all the phones in the world start ringing simultaneously. "Who's Andy?" asked my colleague. Oh crap.

As I was based on the trading floor, I had a dealerboard phone with 40 lines. They started lighting up quickly, then my boss raised his furrowed brow over my screen, grinned nervously and whispered "chart cat, do you realise what you just did?"

I'd paged the entire' Priority: RED' distribution list. This is reserved for disaster management so it included the entire management team for the bank, the board of directors, head traders, front, middle and back office and the IT department. Worldwide. Around 3,000 VIPs in total.

Suffice it to say that I spent most of the morning and afternoon fielding phone calls from high-ranking, irate people who wanted to know who this Andy figure was and why I was abusing the alert system. One director in New York called me to complain that I'd woken him up for nothing, another in Singapore called to tell me how I'd ruined the expensive dinner he was enjoying with his wife. One chap sarcastically wished Andy all the best and offered to send him a ‘present’. I felt dreadful; my fledgling career looked like it was in ruins just because Vodafone didn’t distinguish distribution lists from personal numbers, or provide any kind of warning on its website. Then my mates got wind of the situation and began prank-calling me, which was exactly what I didn't need.

After about 5 hours of apologising and being made to feel very small indeed, interspersed with my friends doing their best to make me feel even worse, I'd had enough. I picked up the phone for what felt like the millionth time and on the other end was one of my mates, again, this time pretending to be the head of Global Data Centres. He'd made up some ridiculous name and was speaking with a particularly ludicrous voice, so I gave him a piece of my mind using as many swear words as I could cram into the rant as possible.

Sadly for me, it really was the head of Global Data Centres. I frantically checked our group directory and lo' and behold, I was talking to the top IT manager for the company. I’d called him a stupid, feckless cunt and insisted he stop wasting my time. To his eternal credit, he took my disgraceful, provocative and seething gross misconduct unbelievably well and told me to be careful who I spoke to in future, as other managers might not be so forgiving.

From that day forwards, I was known as 'Pager' until I switched roles (hooray for graduate training programmes!).
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 12:39, Reply)

I recently...
.. was working for the BBC in the children's TV department.

My job was to set up the phone in competitions and present the results to the viewing public.

We acquired a new cat, and ran a competition to give it a name, many results came in, but 2 showed signs of being most popular.

As the phone in drew to a close it was obvious that one name was the clear winner, but instead of putting "Cookie" in the winners placeholder on the VT editing software, I accidently typed "Skullfucker".

It got a bit tense, and the board of goveners were called in to investigate corruption in BBC phone ins..

Apparently they drowned little skullfucker in the show's roof garden pond and they're going to re-run the contest next week.

Boy did I get a dressing down for that little faux-pas! Made me feel a proper fool.
(Vic Flange, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 12:36, Reply)

Puggs
Aswell as being a ham-toucher, you also have AIDS ;-)
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 12:14, Reply)

Caught flashing
When I was living with my bunny boiler ex, she frequently used to wonder around the place topless, especially when getting ready. No problem with that, I hear you cry, and I would tend to agree with you.

However we used to live in a block of flats, of which the outlook from ours of was another identical block. It seems she didn't take as much care as she should to prevent unauthorised viewing of her jubblies.

This was apparent when we were walking around the local Waitrose and a little lad of not more than about 7 points at my ex and states very loudly:

'Mummy, it's that woman with the boobies, now you can tell her off for being rude'

Cue a mortified blonde scuttling out down the fruit and veg aisle. I found it hilarious.
(quantum raspberry quizzically quashing Quebecans, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 11:54, Reply)

Being told off as an adult by a little kid
Got another story.

My boyfriend's sister is a sweet little 6 year old kid and sometimes says the most hilariously unexpected things.

One night, boyfriend and I were getting ready to go out. Declaring myself to be incredibly thirsty, I started gulping down a big glass of water.

The little sister appeared from behind me.
"Don't drink that too fast," she said sternly. "Or you'll wet your pants!"

Then just as we were about to leave, she asked me in her best grown up voice, "Now Chicken, have you been to the toilet? You should probably go before you leave."

Her brother and her mum told her to stop being bossy, but we had a bit of a giggle when she flounced out of the room. I'm glad someone is looking out for my bowel movements.
(TheChicken Five hundred thousand points from Gryffindor, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 11:20, Reply)

Why I left the newsagency
I had a job at a newsagency for about two months ago last year. Now, before I had applied there, I'd worked in another newsagency for over a year, so I'd say that I know pretty well how it all works.

However, my boss was not only the most anally retentive man on the planet, but also convinced that I was incredibly stupid as well. I got in trouble for replacing the change in the tills, in case I mucked it up or stole the money (wtf). I got in trouble for counting instant lottery ticket winnings without telling somebody, in case I mucked it up.

It really bothered me. I'd comfortably carried out a lot of duties at the newsagency I worked at before, yet at this place, prestigious tasks such as operating the phone credit machine was reserved for senior members of staff - usually only two people rostered on in a very busy newsagency. Apparently us non-senior staff were not to be trusted. If we made a mistake, we would be wasting time. Let me point out that the staff ended up having to stay half an hour over time (without getting paid) at closing time because so much stuff hadn't been done. Sigh.

Anyway, back to me. I finally decided to leave this anus of a place when I was told to pull out the poles that hold up the doors at the front of the shop. After fiddling around with this great big bloody pole which was probably three times my height, I began to carry it to the storeroom out the back. No problems, right? Suddenly, my cats-bum-face of a boss steps in front of me and says sternly, "I need to talk to you about something."
"Sure," says I.
"You're not carrying that pole right."
I was then lectured on how to carry a pole. How I was to carry it at a slight 45 degree angle so I could see where I was going yet not hit the ceiling. How I was to move it to the side when i was pulling it out of its slot, otherwise I would damage the door. And on and on it went for 10 minutes, and was then told to hurry along because I was wasting time.

I couldn't think of anything to say except for an agreeing mumble. Lectured for 10 minutes about how to carry a pole. Bloody hell.

After my shift, I phoned a mate of mine who was the boss of a video game shop to get a new job as soon as I possibly could.

And I haven't even told you about the lecture I got about the proper method for mopping a floor... jesus christ.

Length? Not as long as the pole.
(TheChicken Five hundred thousand points from Gryffindor, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 11:18, Reply)

Farting in Maplin
I let one go in Maplin last weekend. I didn't think it mattered too much, as being stinky in there seems to be a badge of pride.
Anyway unfortunately a small child and his mother came around the corner at the wrong moment and I blasted the kid full in the face. His expression still haunts me, and his mum said "well how absolutely disgusting". I nodded agreement and tried to look at the child accusingly but she was having none of it.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 11:11, Reply)

Mindless vandalism and nudity (not at the same time)
Both me and the missus have been told off recently.

Mine was on one of the few sunny days this summer. A mate of mine asked me to look after he 6 year old daughter while she went shopping. The kid is a quiet, arty type so I didn't mind at all. Since it was a lovely day and I didn't fancy being indoors, I stopped on the way to my mate's house and bought a box of coloured chalks. I then went to my mate's, took the kid out into the cul-de-sac they live in, gave her the chalk and told her to go for her life. She spent a happy afternoon decorating each paving slab with pictures of flowers, smiley faces, the sun etc. I read a book and got a tan.One of my mate's harridan neighbours spots this artwork and goes completely fucking tonto at me, claiming it was mindless and wanton vandalism and that she would be calling the police. She ranted at me for a good 10 minutes, even calling me "young man" (I'm 30). I continued reading my book. Once she had finished ranting and headed back indoors, my mate's kid drew a great picture of a witch on her drive with an arrow pointing towards her front door. I bought her an icecream.

My missus has been told off a number of times over the summer, in the changing rooms of the gym for getting her piercings and tattoos out in front of other women's kids. She merely tells them that they should fuck off to the familly changing rooms if they are offended by them. Normally in those words.
(ScousersPet, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 11:11, Reply)

I worked as a holiday rep
and got told off a lot, especially as most people seemed to think that we were all like the ones on those 'reps uncovered' shows. I got blamed for someone falling out of her wheelchair and smashing her front teeth while out and about in resort. I was also blamed for delayed flights, punters getting pick-pocketed before they even left the baggage hall and some stupid guy and his family who marched past all the reps and into a taxi to the apartments he'd assumed they'd be staying at only to find that as a late deal he was actually staying at the other end of resort. I hate all holidaymakers!
(libbyloo <insert cool quote and pretend I came up with it>, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 10:45, Reply)

disappointment
I went out for a couple of quiet beers to watch a "Super Saturday" i.e. 3 six nations rugby matches one after the other. It shortly became an orgy of alcohol and stupid bets culminating in me being returned to my mums house by the police wearing only one shoe.
now I moved out aged 18 but the copper new my dad so......
my mother opened the door to see her son, soaking wet (apparently the old bill found me swimming along the stream that runs through town) wearing one shoe and a stupid grin and said
"smiler, I've never been so ashamed of you in my entire life!!"
I replied "oh come on mother you must have been"
(The kneeling rifleman Is slowly getting there.., Mon 24 Sep 2007, 10:37, Reply)

My degree has longer terms than the other wastrels in uni
and so when all of the other departments were revelling in the post-exam timewasting before the holidays, we were still in lectures gazing out of the windows, even on the day of the summer ball. On a Friday. Until 5pm. Naturally a lot of my classmates had bought tickets for the ball which started at 3pm, so they all left after lunch to get ready for the festivities. Now while on a normal degree the lecturers would just roll their eyes and write it off as typical student behaviour, we have to sign a register proving that we attend every single lecture making it more difficult to skive, and on that particular afternoon our course leader decided to call in to class to give us a talk: 'what the... where the... where is everyone???' Out of 160 of us, only 40 or so were left, cue the biggest bollocking about non-attendance to the people who'd attended, plus a repeat the following monday when everyone was back in. I was there and I still felt guilty!
(libbyloo <insert cool quote and pretend I came up with it>, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 10:36, Reply)

the other weekend
i was trying to get my two year old nephew to tidy up and go to bed.

eventually, i said, "look, all the cars are sleepy. they want to go to bed. can you help them go to bed?"

he just looked at me as if i were completely retarded (he probably thinks i am), and said in tones of pity and contempt:

"no. cars don't sleep!"
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 10:24, Reply)

Customs officers
Lunar Jim's post below reminded me of a time ten years or so back when my mate Dave and I went to the Belgian Grand Prix.

Dave lives in Guernsey, so he flew to Heathrow, and I picked him up on the way then we drove to Folkestone and went through the tunnel. After a week's tour of Switzerland and a weekend at Spa for the GP (F1 fans - it rained, as expected!) we drove back through Belgium and France to St Malo (I think?), from where Dave flew back to Guernsey and I went back to Cherbourg to take the ferry to Southampton.

I was driving through the docks after giving my ticket to the officer at the booth, when I noticed a very agitated French chap in a uniform blowing his whistle and running after my car. Turns out I'd driven right through the Customs checkpoint without stopping. (In my defence, this was a small wooden shed with no obvious "Douane" or "Stop" signs). The chap was not happy and I got a bollocking for not stopping.

Of course, he then asked all the usual questions, and when I said I'd been to Belgium and was returning to Scotland, I got the "so WTF are you doing in Cherbourg?" look. He then proceeded to take everything out of my car, and look through my bags, under the boot floor etc. He didn't find anything, mind.

As if this were not enough humiliation for one day, after 5 hours on a boat I got off at Southampton, and was called over by UK Customs officer and had to go through the whole thing again. But at least they didn't give me a telling off, and they were nicer about it, being British.

At least I didn't get my arsehole examined for contraband. That would have been too much.

Length? 45 laps.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 10:23, Reply)

To cox2inhibitor and your pavement vandalism




At the bottom of the street where I grew up was a stretch of pavement which had a dog's paw marks running the length of it.

It was there for a good forty years until the council replaced the footpath, erasing the whole thing.

As a kid, it used to fascinate me no end wondering what the dog looked like, where was it going, who owned it etc.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 10:17, Reply)

As a member of Her Majesty's Customs and Excise...
...I regularly get to tell people off and make them feel like the stupid small insignificant little insects that they are.

You see I sit at the booth on the quay at Dover dressed in a smart uniform which gives me more power over the cowering holidaymakers and booze-cruisers than God himself.

One time, I was polishing my insignia when a driver in a Peugeot estate pulled up. He looked like a dodgy character, and his wife had a face like a bulldog sucking a lemon, so I quizzed him at unnecessarily long length about his purchases.

His name was Ron, he and Dorothy his wife had come from Loughborough at 3am to be in Calais for a day's tax free shopping at 9am. They had bought wine, beer, cigarettes and clothes.

On examination after an hour of questioning them, I found there to be a higher than allowed quantity of cigarettes in the boot of their car.. (2 packets to be precise) and called our boys over to remove everything, categorise it, and hold them whilst we calculated the tax owed.

After 5 hours of detention we decided they owed £4.25 on the excess cigarettes, so I had a severe word with them, after polishing my insignias and putting my official hat on.

I berated them for cheating the honest british taxpayer with their illegal and nefarious activities, and made them kneel in front of me and apologise.

What a surpise for them when they returned to their car and found that whilst my boys had disassembled it to look for stolen contraband, they had no put all the parts back together.

The last I saw of them, they were both in tears after 7 hours in the customs shed, loading their car onto the back of a transporter, and being driven off to a peugeot garage to pay the exorbitant fee to get their car put back together again.

I dont know, people!
(Vic Flange, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 9:53, Reply)