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This is a question Being told off as an adult

When was the last time you were properly told off? You know: treated as an errant child rather than the sophisticated adult you are.

The sort of thing that dredges up an involuntary teenage mumble of "Sorry, Miss" whilst you stare at the ground.

Go on, tell us what childish thing you were up to when you got caught.

Oh, and can we have more than one-line answers this time? Cheers!

(, Thu 20 Sep 2007, 17:18)
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This question is now closed.

The innocent shame of it...
I hate travelling by tube (like most sane people)and this is one of the reasons why...

I was in a rush, it was hot summer, and no seats. The tube was packed, and I didn't really have my wits about me I just wanted to get home. A guy gets up in front of me halfway between stations and I think 'Whopee, I've won the seat lottery' and immediately sit in his seat.

Suddenly the atmosphere in the carriage darkens and I realise I have everyone's eyes on me, and I spot the reason why - a heavily pregnant woman directly in front of me that the guy had got up to give his seat too.

I leap out of the seat like it's electrified, but the opprobrium lasts with me the remainder of the journey.

First post!
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:51, Reply)
Oh, and the police once told me off
for killing that old man, and robbing the Bank of Scotland.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:29, Reply)
My wife once told me off
For conspicuously remote-locking our car through the front window every time an old woman walked past and then glaring at them suspiciously from the front door.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:28, Reply)
Speeding in the States
This one is more a story of a what could have been a severe telling off.

I went snowboarding in the states for 4 months. I was spending the day with some friends at a different resort to the one we were working at. We drove there in a mates car (it was a hunk of crap american thing, massive engine and bouncy suspension). I hurt myself towards the middle of the day so was sitting in the car in the car park waiting for everyone to finish for the day. I was sat there smoking weed and feeling sorry for myself. My other mate finished early with two others including the guy who's car it was staying riding until the lifts closed.

We, well I decided to take the car for a spin to find some skins and for a change of scenery. I pulled out the car park and drove about 2 miles down the road and climbed this long hill. After realising there were no shops the way I was going I turned round and went back the way we came. Bear in mind this is a 50 limit and cops are pretty strict about speeding. I was driving back down the hill and thought "fuck it" lets see how fast this rust bucket will go. So I floor it and it accelerates pretty quickly down this straight. I hit 110mph just in time to see the cop car that's coming in the other direction flash by. You can imagine how my stomach fell out my arse at this point. The cop does a u turn after seeing me slam on the breaks and pulls me over. The weed we had was some of the smelliest i've ever had and the car stunk. In the car park you could smell it from about 20feet away. I was pretty much shitting myself at this point.

So I wind down the window and this cop asks me for my "licence and registration". I look in my wallet to discover I don't have my licence, don't know the name of the guy (only know his first name) who's car it is and don't know where he's from. To top it all off when the my mate in the passenger seat opens the glove box to find the reg document (his hands shaking the lame cnut) the bag of weed falls out followed by a throwing knife. I'm not sure if the cop saw it or not but we hand him the reg document, he goes back to his car and obviously works out the mountain of paperwork he'd have to fill out for two foreigners who: don't know who's car there in, have no insurance, no licence, in possession of weed, were doing double the speed limit and have a throwing knife.

Luckily he comes back and tells me to slow down next time. I drove off and started pissing myself at what could have been pretty bad if he was in a bad mood.

So if you ever get pulled over in the states be extra nice.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:28, Reply)
Who are you calling fookin hormonal!
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:24, Reply)
Big Girls Blouse
Female testosterone is indicative of a hormonal imbalance. A visit to the doctor may be in order...
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:22, Reply)
I would
email his boss with original copies, dated, from my hard drive, or forward emails containing the ideas to him.

Then I'd ask the guy why he felt the need to take credit for my work without mentioning my part in it.

If no good came of it I would then institute Project Practical Jokes (see my Going Too Far posts). Then in all likelihood I'd see him out of work and make his life unpleasant.

Then I'd forget about it and carry on with my life.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:18, Reply)
Then give me some ideas as to how best to avenge myself over this fat, lazy tosser who nicked the report I wrote and sweated blood for.

(Bear in mind he spent an hour in a meeting last week banging on about it being an inappropriate time to start implementing the changes I recommended - Now they're 'his' changes we need to do them now, that is to say "I" need to do them now.)

I might go and give him a stern telling off and write about it later.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:15, Reply)
Fight! blood! male testosterone!
Makes me laugh!
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:10, Reply)
Lunar Jim
Despite imitation being the sincerest form of flattery, as an academic I regard plagiarism as the last resort of the nonentity.

Oh, also, I just got your name - kids TV!
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:10, Reply)
I hadn't worked in an office for very long when I had to attend a meeting at Eversheds, a big law firm. I was essentially there to make up the numbers and was instructed not to say anything unless necessary, and just smile politely.

Anyway the first thing I did was panic when a caterer put a plate of biscuits on the table. I picked up the plate and took a Rocky Robin, I'd never seen such a luxury biscuit at a meeting before, it was wrapped and everything. Remembering my manners I offered the woman sitting beside me one.

"Rocky Robin?"

She declined, but instead of leaving it at that I actually got up, and walked around the outside of the table of around 20 people offering each one a biscuit.

"Rocky Robin? Rocky Robin?"

When I eventually sat down someone said "OK.... perhaps can we start then?"
The meeting began, but a few minutes later the worst possible thing happened - I crossed my leg and set off my musical sock. I don't know if you've heard the tequila song, but its a really silly tune with someone shouting "TEQUILA!" over and over again.

The room fell silent and I pretended not to hear anything, but it just went on and on.
The woman in charge of the meeting said "Oh dear, can we have that phone off please?"
I said "I'm terribly sorry, its my sock, it should stop soon".
The woman said "your sock??", so by way of explanation I put my leg up on the desk and said "Yes. Father Christmas gave it to me".

This is slightly off topic as I wasn't told off, the people I was with who didn't win their contract were so pale with rage they just didn't speak to me for ages, but I've never been asked along to anything like that since.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:05, Reply)
Chill out, man - there are more important things in the world to worry about.

Save your agression for the consultant who just stole my "Infrastructure Master Plan" that took me 3 months to write made some minor changes and submitted it as his own.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:03, Reply)
Fife Police
My mate, whom we'll call big Gogs (incidentally also the bridegroom in the Porsche Porn story in my profile), used to work at Knockhill racing circuit in Fife. One day, there was a big meet on, Touring Cars or Superbikes or something.

The police were handling traffic management on the public roads, but once in the parking areas, Knockhill staff were doing it. Gogs drew the short straw and ended up directing traffic to park in a muddy field. So there he was, dressed in waterproofs, and being rained on heavily, for t'was a pissing wet day, when a young bloke in a flash car decided to park right by the gate. Gogs knocked his window, and upon it being opened a crack, told the lad he couldn't park there as it was blocking traffic.

He was met with a torrent of abuse, and the bloke said he'd park there if he wanted to as his disabled father was in the passenger seat and couldn't walk far. "Fair enough", said Gogs. "Let him out here, then park the car".

But the lad was having none of it and was becoming quite irate. Gogs was fuming by this time but acted professionally and kept the head. He went round to the other side of the car where by this time the father, who seemed to be perfectly able bodied, was opening the door. He swung it right into Gogs's face. This was too much and he lost it a bit and shoved the door back at the bloke, causing more shouting. Meanwhile, Gogs became aware that the two policemen at the gate were taking an interest.

One of them started his way. "Bugger!", thought Gogs. "I'm going to get into bother for retaliating".

Whereupon came the caring voice of Fife Constabulary....

"Hit the cunt!"

He couldn't, as he was laughing too much.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:01, Reply)
Invent your own style of headline rather than plagiarising mine. Why not cut and paste someone else's answer too, you unimaginative cock. Do I have to keep saying this?

Fucking goon.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 10:53, Reply)
Cats! Walls! Satanic Rituals!
I adopted my cat from the RSPCA, a precondition of which is that they send an inspector round.

At the time, I had a wall in my hall that I insisted all entrants to the house sign. I know. I'll never do it again.

Anyhoo... The inspector asked me why I wanted a cat.
"Ritual sacrifice," I said.
She didn't blink. But an hour later she did ring back to ask about the wall, and whether that meant I was the kind of moggie-hating lowlife that has loud parties that might upset an animal.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 10:43, Reply)
My wife is a teacher
We were walking in the woods one day with the kiddies when a bloke comes roaring up on a trailbike and starts squirting dirt everywhere, coming within metres of us. My wife waves at him, he pulls up, she says 'You do know motorbikes are not allowed here, don't you.' He shakes his head. 'Take your helmet off please,' she says, and the bloke obliges, looking remarkably shamefaced - he was in his thirties.

She then berated him for (what seemed like) 10 minutes about the dangers of biking around little kids, and how ignoring roadsigns is an indication of the moral degeneration of the nation. To show my support I wandered off into the woods, whistling, trying to hide.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 10:28, Reply)
Virgin? Not for long, matey…’Cos I’m gonna fuck ‘em!
As many of you who have been kind enough to read some of my previous posts will already know, I have been on the arse-end of an ongoing struggle to comprehend the utter bastardness that is Virgin Media (prev NTL).

(Btw, please don’t post / message me saying ‘Why don’t you just change internet provider then, you bell-end?’ I can’t. It’s complicated. I’m working on it but basically for the moment, I’m stuck with them).

Anyway, to put it mildly for the impressionable youngsters reading this QOTW, Virgin Media are a bunch of lying, cheating, blagging, lying (again), conniving, thieving, bullshitting spunk garglers who’ll say anything to fuck your miserable carcass off the phone and are generally not worth the veritable stink off my Thora.

The last time I called them and emptied a truckload of whippass on them, they promised me 20MB broadband. Oooohh


This has never materialised. Ever since this ‘promise’, my broadband speed has been up and down like a bride’s nightie, but never gone faster than a (very) brief 11MB. In fact, my BB connection is just like my sexlife…fuck all for ages, then 20 seconds of going like the clappers…woo…then fuck all again. Now it’s been getting steadily worse….and slower. I don’t get road rage, but I sure as shit get broadband rage. *Grrrr.*

I was asked to set up a laptop for a mate last night. This required internet access. But instead of the so-called 2000kbs I have been paying for, I was running on a steady….wait for it….


Fuck my arse.

Consequently, I got less work done last night than I do in my day job, which is solely spent writing anti-Virgin Media rants on B3ta.

Anyway, relevance you ask? Well this QOTW is about telling off…and that’s exactly what I’m going to do to the fuckers when I’ve finished this post

If you work for Virgin Media, I’d take the day off if I were you and get out of there...now.

That scene where the Terminator goes into the police station will be like a sweet summer picnic compared to what I’m gonna do down the phone to those snatchbucklers in a minute.

I’ll be back….
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 10:26, Reply)
How to deal with nuisance calls
You've maybe heard this before, but it always makes me chuckle. NSFW, due to lots of sweary words delivered in a loud voice.

Click here.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 10:20, Reply)
Hang my head in shame
You Americans are mostly a fine bunch, but don't always seem to get our dry British sense of humour.

I was on a business trip to Portland, Oregon of all places, and was sat in a large room full of mostly women, but a few guys too. There was the normal sort of muted nervous chit chat between people who do not know each other, and it became clear that as the only Brit, I was going to have to do something.

Now the bosses had decreed that we share our hotel rooms, so I had been allocated some useless roomate who I had mostly ignored.

So I turned to one of the guys next to me and in hushed tones, but loud enough for everyone to hear, said: "I'm not sure, but I think my roomate is gay." to which the reply was "How do you know?"

"Well his cock tastes of shit.."

Dropped pins.... you could hear it all.

The sharp intakes of breathe, the looks I got, made it patently clear to me that not a single one of them had seen the funny side of it. Least of all my roomate of course.

After everyone had filtered out of the room, looking down at me as I was asked to stay behind, I was told off for "not respecting people's feelings" or some such bollocks and for being insensitive.

Still makes me giggle at the complete and utter horror on the faces of some of those women.

Hey Ho.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 9:13, Reply)
At Polytechnic ..
Our clown was Jake.

Before our first year exams started the Dean of the faculty gave us a prep talk about exams.

"You are allowed to eat or drink in the exams, as they're quite long, but please avoid noisy foods like crisps. Drink plenty of fluids"

So Jake turned up to the first exam, sat at his table and unloaded a roast chicken and a bottle of wine.

The guffaw went across the hall like a tidal wave.

He was evicted from the exam. He probably was told off like a child, but we never got to see it.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 9:12, Reply)
Teachers without authority are...
just helpless souls in bad clothes.

Somewhere here is on topic, but mostly only kinda...

Every year at school/job/life there's a gobby gobshite, who usually deserves a slap, but gets away with it 'cause he makes everyone laugh. At school we had one or two, but P is the example here.

We were doing our 'O' Levels, those exams before GSCEs that took mildly more than signing your name to pass like now (in my day all this were primeval soup). We were 16, so kind of adults, in that puerile ladish way.

We had a "free period". While it was supposed to be used swotting for the next multiple choice nonsense, we were hanging out in the canteen doing nowt but chewing the fat. A teacher swishes by, in that special "I'm importantly busy" way they do while making that hideous noise that terminally unfashionable brown corduroy trousers make. He is a pompous ineffectual twat at the best of times. He takes his nose out of the ceiling long enough to take exception at our loitering: "What are you lot doing out of class?"

"Free period..." replies one without hiding any apathy.

"Shouldn't you be revising?"

"We're ready for our next exam, and thought best to be relaxed and not stressed before this very important step in our education" (actually it may have been "Can't be arsed")

So annoyed not to have found a legitimate issue turns to P and says "Get you feet off the table"

P: "Why?"

"Well you wouldn't do that at home!"

P: "Yes I would"

"What does your mother say?"

P: "You wouldn't do that at school"

Teacher can't answer that goes red faced back to "I'm busy and important" march, pretending not to here the unsurpressed "Twat" and laughter.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 9:06, Reply)
Fat birds are also a lot dirtier ;-)
That's not anecdotal evidence, that's a line out of my autobiography.. "Fat Birds, Bongo Mags and Loose Craps - a lifetime with Lunar Jim"
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 8:47, Reply)
On the subject of phone interviews c/f Pooflake's mate
I did an interview at 6pm, on the handsfree, in the pissing rain on the M6 in the dark of November, with a very high up chap of a large consultancy firm.

I interrupted one sentance with the phrase "fucking Dutch truck drivers" when one of the same cut me up, and the phone call, which should have been 45 minutes, ended in less than 20. I thought I'd blown it.

Turns out he thought I was teh aces *boggle* and - after the agency had told me I was still in the running - called me back for another chat a couple fo weeks later.

"Hello FPKK, it's Steve from (companynamehere) here, are you OK to talk?"
"Ah morning Steve. Yeah, I guess so - I'm in San Francisco and it's half three in the morning but on the other hand I've got jetlag and was awake anyway so what the hell, fire away"

Still at the job today :) so not so much told off as erm.....
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 8:24, Reply)
Lunar Jim
Yes, but fat girls tend to come a lot.

Just an observation based on anecdotal evidence.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 4:35, Reply)
Funny that this topic of the week should come up ...
February last year. I'm sitting in the bar, surrounded by mates (and women) who were lapping up my every word as I told brilliant joke after brilliant joke, not easy after 26 pints but then again, I've always been able to hold my booze like a hero.

A guy comes up to me, American accent I can hear. "I'm sure you hear this all the time," he says, "but you look just like George Clooney. I run an agency for body doubles, and I think it was meant to be." I didn't want to go, I'd worked hard enough as it is to become Creative Director of Apple UK, but then again the seven-figure salary offered was quite tempting.

We got over to LA in the morning. The plane we booked had broken down, but luckily I had just met Hugh Hefner - what a guy! - in the first class lounge. We hit it off instantly, and after a couple of drinks and manly jokes, he offers us a lift in his private jet. Carnage all over the place! I must say, my penis dined well that night. Anyhow, after bidding goodbye to the 16 Playboy bunnies that I 'entertained,' turning down no less than 6 offers of marriage, I get round to my first day of shooting.

'Shooting' was certainly what I did a lot of, seeing as George didn't turn up, and because all the sets had been booked and paid for, I had to fill in a whole day's work for George. Luckily, I could do my own stunts, as I had previously trained as a WWF wrestler back when they were based in Barnet, and also knew my way around a gun pretty well after my three tours of duty in Iraq. It was an action movie, as you can probably guess, but luckily there was also a scene where I got to do a certain Jessica Alba. She's shorter in real life.

From there, it got even more unbelievable, as director Steven Spielberg had been kidnapped by Islamic fundamentalists on account of him being Jewish. Why can't we all just get along? I, for one, am instantly best mates with every person I meet. Like Eminem, Nelson Mandela, Hillary Clinton and every member of the Arctic Monkeys, all of whom were involved in some way as I mounted an incredible rescue mission where my abrupt Northern manner and lessons I'd somehow learned in the pub proved their worth over and over again and everybody, even the Islamic fundamentalists, agreed what a fantastic guy I am.

I remain forever,

(, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 23:56, Reply)
Tenuous but hilarious

A TEACHER who had claimed to be Adolf Hitler's son has been banned from working in Victorian schools.

Mr O'Hara, who represented himself at the appeal, gave his occupation as an Israeli intelligence agent, and described teaching as his "cover".

He came to police attention after offering two pistols for sale. He claimed that one of them was the pistol Adolf Hitler used to kill himself in his Berlin bunker and the other was owned by Hitler's wife, Eva Braun. Mr O'Hara said he owned the pistols because he was Hitler's son. He was convicted of fraud, after making a series of false documents claiming the firearms were authentic.

According to yesterday's tribunal decision, he also gave a "colourful and fanciful account" of his life as a secret agent during the hearing, which included assertions that the pistols were bait to flush neo-Nazis "out of their rat holes" on behalf of Israeli intelligence forces.

In summing up, Judge Harbison and VCAT member Heather Campbell said without "immediate medical help" Mr O'Hara should never be registered to teach in Victoria.

"His own evidence showed us how deluded he was at the time of the trial, and still is," yesterday's decision said.

"It is totally unacceptable that a man so lacking in insight and so clearly mentally ill should be allowed to teach … we go so far as to say that he should never be registered to teach in Victoria."

Well, they told him.
(, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 23:52, Reply)
Driving niece to school
Got a royal rollocking from several of my nieces teachers at her school, after somewhat stupidly deciding to try to park the car in the staff car park by doing a handbrake turn.
Tried to claim my foot slipped off the clutch, but the sight of a beat-up green mk3 fiesta winging 180 degrees, not a chance.

Not allowed in the school grounds to drop her off now.

quick edit, obligatory first post cherry pop after long time lurking etc etc...
(, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 22:28, Reply)
I got told off by a woman in a twin set

My sister is 12 years younger than me and I love any opportunity to act like a child. When my sis was born she was bald - and I mean bald - not even a bit of baby hair. When she was 2 years old she started sprouting a mohecan (sp), bald around the sides but lovely blonde hair on the top a la a Gremlin, so we nicknamed her 'Spike' as in the little evil monster from the film.

One day I took my sister to the park. She was playing on the swings and I got distracted, next thing I know she is nowhere in sight so I started shouting 'Spike, Spike'

Luckily enough, my sister comes running, but also this bint in a twinset starts berating me about being a teenage mum (twas my sister) and also having the indecency to call my obviously illegitimate daughter 'Spike'

My sister walked over to the unfortunate bitch and said 'Excuse me, my name is ****** and you have spilled your food down your top, they're called dinner medals' and went off to play on the slide
(, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 22:25, Reply)
i've remembered a few more
2 years ago:
got told off by a doctor in casualty. i'd been in a minor prang and hit the dashboard with my skull. blood everywhere, but no real pain. got to the hospital and the first thing the doctor says is; "how's your head?". he wasn't amused when i replied "i've had no complaints so far."

2 months ago:
got bollocked by some spotty gimp in KFC for going in drunk and ordering a box of bingo wings.

quite often:
screamed at by anyone close to me for singing the armor hot dog song at the top of my voice, every time i'm pissed.
(, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 22:17, Reply)
Doing the telling off
I was for some years (all of 5) a teacher. During that time I had cause to tell many naughty boys and girls off. I could recount tales of how I used to go to work in high heels and stockings and spend the day bent over my desk or the desk of the headmaster.

But I won't because I'm not Frankspencer.

A fair few men have asked me to reprimand them whilst scantily clad, holding a cane, but still with my hair pinned up and my glasses on.

But I won't unless they ask very nicely.

One thing being a teacher of small children taught me is to never, ever show fear. For that reason most people tend to avoid telling me off or even crossing me. That and the fact that I could kill a man with my thighs ;)
(, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 21:48, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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