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This is a question Why should you be fired from your job?

I spent three years "working" in the Ministry of Agriculture carefully crafting projectiles out of folded paper and drawing pins that I would then fire at colleagues with an elastic band. On discovering I'd been conducting all-out warfare when I should really have been in a field counting cows, I was asked to "reconsider my career options" outside the service.

Why, then, should you be fired from your job?

(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 13:04)
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This question is now closed.

Repost (so don't bother clicking "I like this"), but it did well last time so enjoy...
I should have been fired (or at least disciplined).

5 years ago I had a boring admin job whose only redeeming feature was that I worked on a team with 3 lovely young ladies. Abbie sat to my left; she was 21, slim, blond, attractive but a total space cadet and jittery with it. Very jittery, if somebody dropped a file loudly she would flinch noticeably.

Whenever I made the coffee she would always remind me that she only took half a teaspoonful of coffee, what she called “granny coffee” as it was so weak. This one time I accidentally used a whole spoonful so I put more milk in to hide the stronger colour and taste. Abbie didn’t notice.

Now I’m not a bad person, and I liked Abbie, but the mischief switch in my head went and the challenge was on to see how strong I could make her coffee before she noticed. Obviously I had to start low and increase the dosage each time.

A few days later a manager named John caught me in the kitchen counting out 4 spoonfuls of coffee into Abbie’s cup. “What are you doing?” he asked. I didn’t know he was stood behind me so I was a bit flustered and just fessed up, “I’m seeing how much I can drug Abbie with coffee, you see…if you use more milk it masks the colour and taste…” I trailed off nervously.

The manager took a step closer, looked at the cup, looked at me again and said without changing facial expression, “Well put some more in then”. Well thank fuck for the Y Chromosome! If it had been a female manager I would have been toast.

It had to stop a few days later, I was up to 5 spoonfuls which to put in context is a 1000% increase in dosage. Abbie was noticeably twitchier. I got a phone call that was for her, I turned to my left and said that I was putting a call through which she duly acknowledged, when she picked up I said in the killer from ‘Scream’ voice “HELLO ABBIE, DO YOU LIKE SCARY MOVIES!?”….

She screamed. Loudly. Then cried. A lot.

The female power-dressing megalomaniac office manger fixed me with a cold stare. Nothing was said but the experiment was over. I was super nice to Abbie after that and reduced her coffee intake back to normal “Granny” strength. I’m sure drugging colleagues with coffee is a sackable offence, it should be.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:32, Reply)
I used to work in a well known supermarket chain
doing 'code control', which was basically checking the dates on items and removing them/reducing them to sell if they were out/going out of date.

I actually walked around talking to colleagues for eight hours a day, getting paid for it.

And I cost the supermarket £10,000 in damages by not doing my job and letting things go out of date, etc.

I got fired. But not for doing a shit job. It was for moving away and not talking to them for 11 weeks. I never even got my letter of dismissal through, just got told by a colleague over three months after I stopped turning up.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:30, Reply)
slimey discharge
I haven't worked a full day (or even 1/2 day for that matter) in months. Having a desk at the back of the office is handy :)

I come in, and surf the web all day. Occassionally I'll be badgered into doing something, but for the most part, I'm lurking on here, or facebook or ebay.

As well as this I'm also scouring the server room for things to flog on Ebay. In the last 3 months I've netted almost a grand by selling stuff the company had forgotten about (and somethings that it hadn't forgotten about).

Yeah, I should probably be fired.

Good thing I'm the only one with access to remove our proxy server web logs eh?!
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:30, Reply)
photocopying assistant
My second job after getting fired from Waterstones for "not being a team player" (sorry for not wanting to be part of a team of underpaid drones who think working with books makes the minimum wage seem nicer).

I did everything I could think of to get fired:

1) On the boss's birthday, I made a card featuring a man teetering on the window ledge of a skyscraper and wrote "We're all behind you" inside. Hallmark would have been proud.
2) Was Basil-Fawlty rude to customers day after day. As a gent walked in at closing time I breezed right past him on the way out. "Have you got time for a quick copy, son?" "No."
3) Took numerous days off each month with 'stomach trouble' and went instead to London to enjoy the galleries and museums, or to sit in the parks.
4) Accidentally photocopied about 200,000 flyers for a dog charity and threw them straight in the recycling so no-one would notice my mistake.
5) Gave colour copies away free to old women who couldn't pay £3.50 for a piece of A4.
6) Pinned a copy of my degree certificate up on my noticeboard so everyone could see I was pissing my life and talent away there.
7) Photocopied essays from local students so I could take them home and laugh at their poor spelling and grammar.
8) Ditto spicy pictures of a naked Russian model... but not to laugh at
9) Took extra long lunches to read the paper in the local library.
10) Used 'marketing' as an excuse to walk about the town popping into bookshops and having tea at teashops.

Never got fired. No idea why.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:25, Reply)
why should I be fired from my job?
because I'm being paid $80 a day to lurk about on b3ta, read web comics, and play flash games.
in all fairness though, Theres not much left to do in my job, and I could have the entire thing finished in roughly an hour, as in, everything, and seeing as I'm paid by the hour, I take it upon myself to take my time.
I guess I might do a bit of work today...
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:20, Reply)
I've been dying to post this,
This is genuine correspondence from an unsuccessful job applicant. It's only slightly relevant, but I love it!

Dear xxxxx,

Thank you for your reply to my application. I notice that although the email was sent to my address, the letter began 'Dear Trevor'. Is this because 'Trevor' was due to get the rejection letter and I was to get the invitation to an interview, and by some terrible administrative error the messages have been sent to the wrong people?

Perhaps, even now, 'Trevor' is mentally preparing himself for the job interview that should, by right, have been mine. Imagine his distress when he turns up at your offices only to find his name is not on the interview list, it could undermine his confidence for life.

Of course, I realise this is no fault of yours, you give a minion a job to do and they mess it up. I know how you feel, in future you need to be strict, xxxxxxx, very strict.

Anyway, nil desperandum, I'm available for interview all next week, but if I don't hear from you before Friday I may seriously have to consider whether xxxxxxxxx and I have a future together.

Pax vobiscum,


On 24 Jan 2007, at 11:22, xxxxxxxxxx wrote:

Dear Trevor

Thank you for your recent application for the position of xxxxxxxxxxx with xxxxxxxxxxxx. Unfortunately on this occasion your application has been unsuccessful. We would however be happy to keep your details on file, should any other suitable positions arise.

May we take this opportunity to thank you for your interest in xxxxxxxxxx and wish you every success in your search for new employment.

Yours Sincerely

HR Manager
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:20, Reply)
My company is essentially a payroll bureau. We pay about 80,000 people every week. It's all run from a mainframe. I'm the last, and only person who knows how it works. Intimately.

I can do anything I want on it. For example, I can pay some contractors who mysteriously only ever work 1 week in 20. They do a lot of hours that week and get a lot of overtime. We pay them about £89 an hour. We charge the very very big clients about £119 an hour. I can pay the contractors with cheques - unforunately they move around a lot, so they have a few PO Boxes in really small Post Offices where there is no cctv.

The big clients query these contractor payments occasionally, but they have thousands of queries all the time, they get misplaced. After a while, they end up in a big pot with other missing transactions.

Sometimes, some of my brother's, lets say, less well to do friends, have bank accounts they dont use much. Thats always handy.

Sometimes i go on holiday for quite a long time.

But to cut a long story short, I nick the tea bags.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:13, Reply)
as Frankspencer posted...
Early last year;

Jeccy has posted 2000 messages on the main board

Secondment onto another job which I had no idea about for 9 months;

Jeccy has posted 7000 messages on the main board

Plus during that time in work I made www.doitwoman.me.uk :D

I rock.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:13, Reply)
Because I have just finished a 2 hour wanking binge at my desk
I finished the vinegar strokes over the face and hair of the girl who sits in front of me.

Mind you I work in a software company, so far no-one has noticed because of the fat sweaty git who keeps swearing out loud about microsoft, the really smelly woman with thick glasses and Nana Mouscouri hair who smells of rotting haddock and vaginal fungus and the beavis and butthead style laughing from the QA team.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:08, Reply)
Races! Police Cells! Office Humiliation!
By sheer coincidence we had our office day out last week. Here's what happened... I should be fired, and there are so many more stories...

How to impress your colleagues

I have worked at the same company for five years. This years have been generally successful, ambitious and moderately sensible. However they have been punctuated with some notable disasters. From the Christmas party when I ended up 60 miles from home, to the races of two years back when Natalie and I caused mayhem and she was threatening to force sex on Andy, to the incident with Rob in the car park which led to speed humps being installed, to the incident with Rob, the earpiece and the maggots. I have been told that for all my qualities I remain the person most likely to generate a lawsuit by accident. This is not something I'm proud of, and I promised myself I would change.

"This year's horse races will be different" I said to Nat, meaning I'd have a few pints, get a bit merry and go home and do some household chores. Naturally, bearing in mind the title of this journal, you've probably anticipated that this isn't what happened.

Natalie, being a knob, was pissed within the first five minutes of getting to the track. The afternoon was spent in the company of lots of people going "Aah" and "Ooh" as the races were run, the crack of opening cans, the sound of Oli and I skinning up and cries of "Fuck!" "Cunt!" "You know, don't you!" and the World's Loudest Cackle were heard coming from the balcony of our hospitality suite. These sounds were audible from the trackside bookies sites' some distance away. "Lo!" I thought smugly. "Surely that isn't the fair Nat! Not at the races? Again? While I'm sober?" I may even have laughed out loud.

It was Nat. And I was about to learn that smugness heralds embarrasment. Embarrasment, Inconvenience and a bit more embarrasment.

The embarrasment began as we were leaving the course. That hideous gravity that compels us together on company days out, pissed, began to come into affect. Nat's volume grew, my irrelevance became worse, and our MD (a patient and forgiving man, fortunately), knowing what was coming, kept us apart as we reached the coach, ensuring a peaceful journey home and nothing dreadful to worry about the next day.

His plans were thwarted. Nat bashed a colleague, a lot and called everyone a bunch of cunts (all affectionately meant). I had a falling out with my mate Andy. He affectionately called me a fat cunt. I suggested that the hobbit should fuck off back to The Shire and slapped him on the head and so he punched me.

There was unseemly grappling for a moment, a colleague began doing a racecourse commentary, we agreed to fight later and then we forgot. Then I remembered as we diembarked the coach and am told I had him in a headlock. We again forgot it and made friends again. Now it's amusing. Then it was a sensation.

I left the pub and met a friend to do something else, briefly, before returning. Natalie and I were thrust together once again, a brief and obscene conversation followed, and then, after explaining we wouldn't change one another for the world despite our occasionally frosty working relationship, and exclamations of "If you didn't exist I would have had to invent you!" we decided to leave the pub, enjoy some personal time, and get smashed.

We stumbled out of the door clinging on to one another for both balance and support and made our way to my local. I was removed from this pub 3 days prior to this as my mate couldn't stand (thanks Steve!). I hoped Natalie would be better behaved. Foolish really, aren't I.

We went outside, smoked, argued, and decided on Sambuca. Natalie, who is a lady with a loud voice, and louder cackle, somehow pissed off the landlord and I was asked to escort her out. So I did. So we went to another pub. I fell over. Nat was waving her arms and howling for the moon. They wouldn't serve us. We went to a shop to buy vodka. We did, but were once again ejected.

I called a cab. Nat needed a wee. Found a hidden doorway and let go. Class act! Then she was confused as to why her wee looked so dark. Convinced she needed a doctor, a bit of worry crept into her voice and was only dispelled when I pointed out she was on tarmac, it was 10.30 at night and demonstrated that mine looked the same.

We then thought we'd like to stay out longer so we cancelled the taxi and stumbled to another pub, swigging from the bottle. This was silly. We had planned to go to mine with more booze, get some sleep, cope with the inevitable innuendo the next day at work and not feel too hungover. Yeah. As if it was likely.

The next, and final, pub started well. In between gossip and mutual assurances of our deep yet platonic affection for each other, punctuated by creative swearing, we began to get more pissed. And louder. Then it happened. A man bumped into Nat, spilt her drink and suggested she should get the fuck out of his way. Nat asked him to be more polite ("What the fuck are you doing, cunt?"). He called her a whore, or something a little worse. I objected, to calm things down, but my hearty greeting was misinterpreted, I was assumed to be Nat's champion and defender (correctly, as I'm the only person allowed to cast doubt on her sexual habits, parentage, and history) and I'm sad to say he clocked me one. I nutted him, Natalie joined in with relish, and there was a brawl that culminated in 7 or 8 people getting nicked. Us amongst them.

This was bad, but got worse. I had something naughty with me, got some privacy in the bog with an officer on the door and boshed the lot, swallowing the container. This led to my calling my accompanying officers PC Munchkin and PC Cheesy Feet.

Nat and I were separated, desolate, and asked what had happened. Neither of us were really sure, and suggested we had been unjustly set upon. They believed us as we were evidently that daft looking at the time. We kept in overnight, Nat was released at 7 and I was kept until 6pm. PC Cheesy Feet was evidently a vindictive man.

The crowning glory of the night were the phone calls to our already disgusted sales director, half an hour apart, saying "We got nicked! Might be late in." This was bad. The Ballad of Disasterprone & Nat 2007 (Summer) is ended, other than the incessant Bonnie and Clyde jokes, the Free The Office Two posters, the photoshopped prison images and other piss taking.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:01, Reply)
The divisional director (my boss's boss's boss)
sent a memo to everyone, in the typical "write it in Word, attach it to an email" style. At the bottom was a high-quality scanned image of his signature.

"That'll come in handy," I thought, and saved it to disk.

Two years later, on a slow Friday afternoon, I stumbled across that saved file again. It was the work of a moment to knock up and print a convincing-looking memo.

The memo said "You smell", and (just in case it wasn't obvious enough that it wasn't real) I put "P.S. Tee hee hee" after the signature.

I thought it best to send it to Bob, cos though I knew him well enough to know he had a good enough sense of humour, we weren't such close friends that I'd be the first culprit he'd think of as being behind the prank. Also he now worked on a different floor, so he'd probably be guessing for a good half an hour before he tracked it back to me.

I put the memo in an internal mail envelope, wrote Bob's name on it in disguised hand-writing and sent it.

"That'll brighten a dull Friday," I thought. How wrong I was.

Car-Sharing Steve told me Bob's reaction on the journey home. Unbeknownst to me, Bob had recently got quite chummy with said Divisional Director (he was just a man in the sky to most of us plebs), cos they were simultaneously buying property in France and so had plenty of tips to share.

On receiving the memo, Bob had walked straight to the DD's office and asked, "Did you send this?"

An investigation was launched; I came clean to Steve and Bob, who were good enough to cover for me. Had a pretty tense week though.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:01, Reply)
"Frankspencer has been a member for 1 year, 1 month and 1 day and has posted 425 QOTWs"
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:01, Reply)
Dear God no!
Do you think we're stupid - our bosses are probably on here too!
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 15:00, Reply)
It wis all ma fault.
Och man, ma name's Tam. Ah worrk at Bonny Clyde's used cars an' calor gas depot up by beautifee Glasgae.
Ah sellt an auld Jeep an' sixteh leetahs o' bootane tae a pair o' luvvly wee black fellahs.

Thae looked a bit shify, but ah nivver thocht aboot it 'cos thae sed it wis theer first time campin'.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:57, Reply)
Like so many poor youngsters, I ended up working briefly in a telesales job. The horrible cunts who employed me first tried to get us to write a list of people whom we knew and their home phone numbers, so that we could ring them up at home and try and flog our dreadful wares to them. After these lists were exhausted, we were asked to cold-call people and cajole them into buying product by any means possible.

I managed six whole weeks before they realised that I was shit; I found it exceedingly distasteful to call people at home and try and flog them crap, especially as it was something I wouldn't buy myself, and I didn't like the fact that a supervisor had to close all sales, thus stealing all the commission for themselves. I was 'let go' as the job clearly wasn't for me, although I'd managed to make a meagre amount of money from them which wasn't bad at the time, as I was still at school and living at home. Kept me in beer, fags and drugs at any rate.

I also managed to fuck up my boss's car, by driving it from the car park to the street when I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I was only 16, after all.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:57, Reply)
Toilet break
For playing Puzzle Bobble on my phone whilst sitting on the bog for so long that my legs go numb and I can't stand up.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:57, Reply)
This morning I was supposed to proof read a report. Instead I read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:55, Reply)
Besides surfing?
I worked for a company for 5 and a half years. Under no supervision and not really giving a toss I started slacking. I did no work, I came in, surfed the net, tried to beat my high score on Tetris and then went home. I worked about 3 hours each week. During this time I got a pay-rise and a bonus almost unheard of within the company.

I left. Not because I was asked to but because they weren't paying me enough! For doing no work. Even now I'm amazed at my own brass balls for holding the company to ransom over my salary. I got another job and true to form I did no work there either. Only difference was a lack of web access. So I wrote a novel instead. Whilst pretending to write emails, I produced an 82 thousand word novel.

When that contract ended after 10 months, my old company recruited me and I came back with 50% increase in salary. A year later, I'm still here. Still doing no work. The only thing that has changed is that I visit different web-sites. Next performance review I'm tempted to ask for a pay-rise.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:55, Reply)
I spend most of my day playing with cuddly toys and children's board games. Also posing for pictures, making tea and cake -

Oh wait, that IS my job.

Lucky me.

I do spend more time than I ought to on b3ta though....
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:53, Reply)
Apart from B3TA
The foolish management in my building regularly big themselves up with twatty meetings and all buddy-buddy handshakes thinking they are some kind of Jafar from Stargate or something. The reason that I refer to them as foolish however, is that they frequently send out newsletters with photos of themselves on there thinking that we care.

I've been saving these photos, and randomly post out 'shops of them shagging any kind of animal I can find on google. Fecking tossers. Also, one of the guys from a "coaching team" (or "bollocking team" as I call it, they don't help you at all) pissed me off so much, I made this and randomly add more to it as time goes by. The twat.

PS I should be fired so I do get another job or quite simply don't die in the land that people with skill and actual talent are forgotten. It's the only IT department that I know of who are rated more in customer services rather than "fixing abilities". Fecking NVQ homos the lot of them.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:52, Reply)
Because I am deceiving my employer
For 2 years now I have used viagra to maintain an erection during filming sessions.

Full colour climax productions have been deceived by me into thinking that i can maintain 12 inches of hard man meat for 2 hours straight before unleashing 8 ropes of hot fat over the face of my leading lady.

("Gracefully unleashing" if you follow the review of my last film "White Trash, Black Splash" in Which Grot Film).

But no, I am using chemicals to keep my ramrod hard.

I also use laxatives during the scat scenes - sure they aided my "fecal fountain" signature scene, and netted the company millions in sales from the rave reviews, but I am a fraud.

I have been putting bromide in the tea of other male actors in the business, to allow me to get roles they can't 'sustain', and when bromide fails, I show them nude photographs of Lisa Riley and Lizzy Bardsley from Wifeswap. If that doesnt work, I sneak up on them in the changing rooms and beat them repeatedly on the balls with a hammer.

Oh the shame.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:49, Reply)
When I'm really bored...
...I run off to the loos for a J. Arthur. The hard part is maintaining an erection walking from my porn filled pc to the toilet. 'Cos obv. I wouldn't wank at my desk - that would be gross.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:47, Reply)
and that I am regularly half an hour late, I take two hour lunches, and I do little to no work whatsoever.

I have also stolen about a hundred quid's worth of printer paper, ink cartridges, sellotape,
pens, laminator pouches, rewriteable media like DVD's and CDRW's, a desk fan, and about forty quid in international calls to friends I've made on b3ta.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:44, Reply)
because i spend
All day on B3ta, never get work done and blag a reason for it not being done. Spent an entire week while boss was away web surfing.

Last call center job i had i used to wreck the carpets flicking blu - tack at people and come in pissed but they didnt mind as i could sell shit to a shovel.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:41, Reply)
I probably will be...
I spend about 5 times as much time surfing than I do working, I turn up late, take extra long lunches, a few smoke-breaks and p!ss off home early.
In fact, the only things that keep me here must be my reluctance toward outright theft, raping of colleagues and indulging my pyromaniacal tendencies.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:40, Reply)
b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta
b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta b3ta

that's why...
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:40, Reply)
I should be fired for
posting this
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:39, Reply)
I've spent most of my damned day waiting to be first on b3ta qotw rather than doing any work

and I missed it....

and it's my birthday.... Edit: on second thoughts, this isn't a reason why I should be fired
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:39, Reply)
Darn it!
Only job I've ever been fired from... was because I failed to come first.
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:38, Reply)
Since I have no job...I've been fired from every job I've ever had!

There was the paper round, where I had an argument with my mother and subsequently stormed off, leaving my supervisor to do the round and then offer the job to my sister. However, whilst he was doing the round he realised how long it was, so hired my sister on more pay at a reduced round.

Then the Early Learning Centre, where I had to collect things, put them in a bag, and take them upstairs. They fired me for wearing jeans, after giving me 5 mins to get there after college, and nowhere to change. I was only ever on the shop floor for 30 seconds a shift!

Then an engineering company, where because I sat down whilst stripping wire I was branded lazy. I was also paid £90 a week for working 8-5, 5 days a week.

Then a ceramics workshop, which I lasted 18 months in, then the new girl got me fired for being rude to a customer. I had explained to this customer how the pricing system works, and she asked for the cheapest item, which was a £5 figure, and £2.50 paint fee. However, when she came to pay, she looked up at the slightly more expensive figures, at £7.50, and complained that if we had shown her those, she would have chosen one. I explained the system, for the 20th goddam time. She left, new girl said I'd been rude.
So, I went to a party, and the next morning, given a choice between staying in bed with a lady, or looking after screaming four year olds, I chose the obvious.

The Cinema...hurt my leg, whilst I was off the managers changed...they stopped putting me on the rota. I think I might still work there...

Then the Cash and Carry. Same again. Party, followed by p45.

Subway! I was given a choice between sandwich artistry and completing my course. As tempting as it was, the lure of an education proved too much, and I quit.

And now, I'm unemployed, which I would quite like to be fired from, preferably into a job that isn't run by cunts. My track record may not be fantastic, but none of the jobs have been particularly...compelling, to say the least.

Length is all well and good, but I've got the girth, and thats where it counts, isn't it ladies?
Make a 'O' with your thumb and middle finger...Fear the Girth!
(, Thu 9 Aug 2007, 14:36, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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