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This is a question Workplace Boredom

There's got to be more to your working day than loafing around the internet, says tfi049113. How do you fill those long, empty desperate hours?

(, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 12:18)
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This question is now closed.

I am a past master...
of procrastinating and work-dodging if the mood takes me.

Whilst working as a tech-support phone monkey many moons ago, I managed to tear the ligaments in my wrist (too much typing at a crappy desk, combined with a nice mountain biking accident led to a wrist like a brittle twig) - this required me to liberally apply steroid gel and wrap it in a bandage/support...nothing much unusual there, except it was my right wrist and I am right-handed, so I needed the assistance of the office first aider. Who I happened to be dating. Cue many "medical visits" to the first-aid room where I got my wrist wrapped and she got a damn good seeing too - the rolls of bandages had bite-marks from trying to stifle her noise...

Other than that, I found that when I worked as a software developer, the time I could waste (sorry, usefully fill with work-related tasks) increased quite dramatically, as I would have to let code compile. On five different platforms. Which meant I could do half an hours' coding, then have to wait an hour or so for the re-compiling to test what I'd just done and find it didn't work. Needless to say I drank a lot of coffee. And I think I single-handedly ran the colour printer out of toner by printing off Autotrader ads whilst searching for a new car. Oh, and I also wrote the business plan for the company I started during various compiling sessions. And printed off the numerous copies I needed in glorious colour on the aforementioned printer...

Working at a London ad agency should make for a busy day, but once I'd re-written their project delivery methodology and trained the various PMs on how to actually use MS Project and do their jobs, I found that things pretty much ticked along. This lead to the obligatory seven fag breaks a day, long lunches in the pub and the discovery that you can wander round the building chatting to your mates as long as you have a pad with notes on it, a mobile that beeps to warn you of "meetings" and a determined walk. Never dawdle and you'll never be questioned. Admittedly, I also worked my share of all-nighters and my predecessor had literally gone insane with the pressure of the workplace, so maybe I just got out before it got to me...

Now I have a great job running the online marketing for an oil company (talk about recession-proof!) and the ability to work from home when I need/want to. My days are busy, but I can get out at 5:30 (instead of 10:30 at my old agency) and the people are lovely. In fact, if I can wheedle a pay rise once I've finished this year, I'll probably stay for the long-term - it's not exactly exciting work, but it's interesting in parts and it lets me actually see my wife during the week - bonus!

Actually, another time-wasting strategy would seem to be: have a very gay line manager. They are always willing to waste an hour chatting about big brother or gossiping about office politics and you can't be disciplined for taking long lunches when your boss drags you all into Wagamama with the company credit card in his hand... definitely a winner!
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 16:20, Reply)
I have just had the bollocking of my life...
Fucking bosses...

Don't need this on a Monday.

Basically, the company I work for sends people out and about round London to pick shit up. (Not literally).

The easiest way to get round London is by Tube, so most of the day for these poor fuckers is spent sat in a big long metal phalus underground that smells like vomit, piss, and stale continental tourists. Not very pleasant. (I prefer my phalli to smell like raw bacon, but that's probably just me).

To spice up their rather dull working day I divised a game which incorporates something that happens almost daily on the Tube, and for some unknown reason I find to be fucking hillarious...

The Tube Suicide Game.

Ten points if somebody performs a spot of track diving with accompanying train eating whilst your on the same line. Or a whopping hundred points if someone decorates the front of the train your travelling in with a colourful collarge of blood, bone, skin, and organs.

I had a spreadsheet with the latest scores and everything. All very colourful. Could really tell I put hours into making it.

Fucking bosses...

Maybe I shouldn't have named the file Tube Suicide Game...

Oh, don't go via Kings Cross if you can help it. Its like lemming central down there.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 16:10, 4 replies)
OK, so not the result of boredom at all...
...but it certainly helped to pass the time.

I've mentioned before my liaison a few years back with a gorgeous brunette colleague. We'd often nip back to hers at lunchtime so that we could roger each other senseless.

Of course lunch was often a long time away. We'd often try to pass the time a little easier by nipping into a meeting room for a quick fumble, or (more riskily) escorting her up in the lift while I tried to slip my hand up her skirt and into her knickers and back out again before the lift doors flew open. Then there was the time when I stroked her thighs under the table while we had a meeting with our team-mates sitting right opposite.

How we never got caught is beyond me. Good times anyway.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 15:22, 18 replies)
Egham’s Razor?
The halcyon mid ‘90s.

When I had my first office temp job it was in a place called Egham in Surry. Nice place. However the job I had to do could be done automagically by specific Access queries. None of the people there knew what to do so I wrote the necessary queries then laid back and did…well nothing really.

So for 2 months… I grew a beard. Because I was doing such a magic and efficient job using ‘computers’ nobody asked me to follicly sort myself out. For two months I stared out of the window into Egham whilst gently tugging my facial hair to improve growth (I don’t think it helped actually growth but it certainly promoted peaceful contemplative thoughts float through my mind)

And I downloaded literally MEGABYTES of interracial scut stories.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 15:03, 4 replies)
retail pwnage
many moons ago, i worked for a company, rival to jessops at the time, selling cameras and film and junk.

we were in a small store in a small mall in a shitty town, so there was a LOT of bored time. this is where i met my mate doug.
his introduction was an inspiration to us all. it went thusly.

8:45- pete turns up for work. shutters closed, usual manager off, so i figure replacement is en route.

9:45: pete has now started to feel distinctly annoyed at not hearing a word about what was goign on, still outside a locked shop.

9:55- doug arrives. doesn't have the alarm code, but i do. ok, no matter. man seems a little.. morose? unconcerned about the time? we open

9:56: after a fart that could etch bulletproof glass, in a small space, doug announces that he needs a 'cup of fuckin tea', skins up a comically large spliff on the counter, and fucks off.

10:56: doug returns, stoned as a cunt, and goes to sit in the stockroom and text people. i come in and call him a cunt, tell him i'm off for break. he smiles and offers me a joint as apology. i accept (easily amused, i am)

so eventually, after talking music and chicks and pot, we get on, and as the manager's sickly, (but FIT as hell) he becomes a regular co-conspirator.

i think our finest hour was when we had sepultura blaring out of the stereo in the stockroom, i'm serving, he's sat ON the counter with his back to the customers, swearing like a sailor, and rolling the ubviquitous joint when a little bearded fella i know i've seen but can't quite place where, comes in, makes a furious beeline for the counter, and as he strides in, i glance down to get some change, and there, peering at me from the company newsletter is his face. fucksocks. how we didn't get fired i don't know.

the other prime moment was when one rainy day we 'modified' the barbie the regular manager kept under the desk (i do't know either) with black hair, electrical tape hooker costume, and a cigarette filter in her hand complete with red ink tip, and string, and a speech bubble saying 'not tonight love, i'm on the rag'

that did NOT go donw well with her.
not well AT all.

length? 2 rizlas BARE minimum.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 14:48, 2 replies)
Back in the days when people had jobs, I had one too.

I used to work in the mailroom of a large (and now insolvent) investment bank. Sometimes when I was bored I used to take ordinary words and try to persuade anyone I was delivering letters to that they were actually derived from acronyms. For example, I once persuaded a pensions analyst, who was showing off his new Rolex, that the wrist in wristwatch didn't mean the thin bit of your arm, but stood for Wearable Roberts-Irons Small Timepiece, as wristwatches were first mass produced and popularised by the Roberts-Irons company of Delaware US.

Another time, about a year and a half ago, I tried to convince one of the fund managers in the office that contrary to what most people might naturally think, subprime mortgages were actually the highest rated, because the sub in sub-prime stood for Super-Ultra-Best, which was Moody's new investment rating above AAA. Unfortunately he believed me, and then went on to persuade all his banking chums while they were down the pub.

(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 14:45, 1 reply)
Today's game...
To pass the time at the moment, I am playing "Identify the smell in the SCR kitchen". It's endlessly interesting. It smells like liver currently - but that's changed from this morning. I still can't put my finger on how it smelt then.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 14:08, 3 replies)
Keyboard fun
A couple of simple things to do with keyboards:

- Swap the letters round. On most desktop keyboards (for christ's sake, don't try it on a laptop), the keys can come off and go back on again reasonably easily, so we confused one of our colleagues by re-arranging his keyboard, so that the top row read "FUCKSHIT69". I take no responsibility for any keyboard breakages :P

- Swap the actual keyboards round. If you work at a desk where there's someone very close by to you, swap their keyboard round, so when they start to type something, you can type something incredibly offensive on their screen instead.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 13:34, 2 replies)
With my ravishing good looks and glittering personality…

It was a matter of time before I got a job as an airline attendant.

This happened briefly in the nineties.

On long haul flights I would busy myself by being a surly, obnoxious cunt to the mindless drones in business class, who were packed in like plebite battery hens waiting for the DVT to kick in.

Here's an example. It was mealtime during a flight on a British Airways plane:

"Would you like dinner?" I asked the pompous-looking cum-cake taking up two seats on the front row.

"What are my choices?" the man asked.

"Yes or no, you thick twat" I replied.

Good times.

I’ll soon be starting work as a translator for Barack Obama…I can’t imagine how I’ll get to have any fun doing that job ;)
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 13:13, 6 replies)
Work Work Work!
And not enough play...

When I'm not at work, my time is spent running after these two! http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=pfCGa1a-NqQ&fmt=18

you want more?: uk.youtube.com/watch?v=O9JeSY73wAE&fmt=18

(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 12:52, 1 reply)
I have found one activity that when performed reguarly in the modern office, has almost no negatives, and will endear you to everyone. It has the added benefit of actually being useful, requires no significant skills, can be dragged out for a while, can be performed many times a day, and whats more, warms you up. Your colleagues will like you, your office managers will love you, senior management when they catch glance of you doing this will mentally note that you appear to be a team player, you dont mind getting your hands dirty, and you are willing to ensure a healthy, productive and friendly workplace.

I'm talking about doing the washing up. If youre in the type of office with a kitchen, there are loads of tiny little tasks you can do. Run fresh hot water, squirt a bit of washing up liquid, (additional timewaster: run out and get some fresh supplies when youre running low/bored), get a nice fresh cloth (a-tw: wash cloths, buy new ones, wring them out, hang them up nicely), wash round sink, surfaces, taps, clean out the plug.

Dont forget to reorganise the cupboards, make them more 'efficient', wipe them out, chuck out old stuff, buy new mugs. Dont forget the fridge - its filthy isnt it? That could take a while. Why not nip out and get some milk as well. Maybe get over to Costco for coffee/teabags/sugar etc? How fun is Costco?! you could do a day there really.

Then, you can offer to make a round of drinks, every hour or so. Dont forget to clean up after that, it never ends! Dont forget to start conversations with everyone who pops in.

If you have a vending machine or a canteen, then obviously you cant do this duh. Never mind, do some work.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 12:29, 4 replies)
I start rumours…

Like so many things in life...It began small.

Stuart, the flange-flap from finance pissed me off one day so I spread the word that he had been spotted hanging around the public toilets in the Park at midnight…wearing just a pair of leather trousers with the arse cut out of them.

Everybody believed me…so I took it further…

I told the girls from the canteen that ‘Naughty Natalie’ from Sales sucked me off in the copy room so hard that upon blowing my stack, it was too much for her to swallow in one go and she had no alternative but to gob the remainder out into the toner cartridge…which explained the white streaks down the weekly report.

I have gone to HR and asked for the forms to facilitate my impending transgender operation and my hereafter being referred to as ‘Esmerelda’.

I have emailed the entire company asking them to embrace Scientology into their hearts as I have, and added that if they invest a stake in my timeshare apartment scheme in Slough then they will get a guaranteed place on the spaceship…and a free Flymo.

I have told my assistant that I have access to her psychological profile. (When she insisted she had not filled one out, I said it was a subliminal part of her application form). As a result of this I informed her that It was a categorical fact that she enjoys it up the wrongun’. (She blushed…but then nodded).

As a result of these rumours, I am not taken very seriously at work anymore...but the joke's on them...because the rumours detract from the fact that I am really just a workshy alcoholic.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 12:09, 3 replies)
kitty cats
My favourite way to waste hours and hours at work is looking at the kitten-for-sale ad on gumtree. I'm not sure I'd buy a cat from gumtree as I think a lot of them are bred ruthlessly and unscrupulously, but damn there are some cute kitten pics up as a result of the so called backstreet breeders.

Only show ads with photos is even better: www.gumtree.com/cgi-bin/list_postings.pl?posting_cat=9910&search_terms=kitten&min_price=&max_price=&photos_filter=Y
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 11:58, 3 replies)
Bender Vs Flexo
I have a reasonably identical twin brother. He is not that evil. In fact I am probably more of the Bender than the Flexo to be perfectly honest. Or so I thought.

Last year we thought it would be hilarious if we both went to each others Christmas party to impersonate each other. We didn’t think anyone would notice but we both tried to subtly ruin each others reputation and make bizarre claims about ‘ourselves’. As long as it wasn’t too outlandish and plausible and it didn’t ruin our careers it would be ok. We could always pretend it was the booze.

So I outed him as a repressed vegetarian and refused to eat the turkey. I wrote an odd poem on a napkin and gave it to his secretary. I also claimed that ‘I’ was planning to go to Neasden for ‘my’ holidays this year as a social experiment.

All fairly harmless I thought.

He claimed that my poor vision has miraculously cured itself because he went to church the weekend previously and embraced Jesus into ‘my’ life (his explanation as to why he didn’t wear glasses when I do). He claimed that ‘I’ had an allergy to cranberry sauce and that’ I’ would die if ‘I’ tasted it. He also rather disturbingly claimed that ‘I’ am homosexual to the HR rep.

This was too much.

This got me into particular trouble as I when I came back to work I found that ‘my’ informal application to sit on my company’s LGB committee had been accepted by HR and to which I couldn’t readily escape without renouncing ‘my’ homosexuality.

Curse you Flexo! (also hi spaz, you read this, don’t you?)

Any suggestions for me to get him back next time we swap?
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 11:44, 3 replies)
Gordon is one...
I go on Mormon chat rooms, pretend to be one and progressively get more offensive. I had thought that when I started doing this two years ago it was just a phase but I find myself still enjoying it.

They really are weird fuckers.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 11:39, 5 replies)
Finally a post I can relate to…
I am currently working abroad illegally after being brought from my country to replace the current untrustworthy work force the company owner had employed. The hours can be hell and I also live on business premises due to the fear of being deported back to my country if the boss (or anyone else)catches me off site.

Work itself is quite dull, other people looking into our place of work do think it looks like a great place to be and that every day must be fun but let me tell you we lose around 10 - 15 workers a year due to hazardous work equipment or one of the latest tests done by our boss.

Aaanyway to relieve ourselves from the tediousness of everyday work me and the boys started to use our time thinking up amusing rhymes or songs, we would then compare lyrics at the end of each shift and also attempt a few dance moves.

A few months later I was glad we had started the whole thing as our boss invited a bunch of kids to tour his factory (With disastrous results, thankfully our singing did lighten the mood and taught the remaining people the lesson that should have been learned).

I would apologise for length but I am (Allegedly) tall for an oompa loompa
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 11:28, 1 reply)
BT Directory
I'm sure a few B3tans have worked at the esteemed Phone company who sound like ET and looked up a few of the names?

Who remembers Bob Sherunkle? Was he real? or were the developers just a little bored do you think?
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 11:20, 12 replies)
Intranet pictures
I work for a large company, and in that we have access to the directory of employees, best part of the job is seeing the pictures they put of themselves. Never have i seen an average joe. the top 3 me and my collegues have found was a bill bailey look alike, a woman with the biggest behive in the world, and man who seriously should have gone to specsavers as his glasses look like they were made out of thin tin foil. Obviously this makes for great email topics for boredom in the office.

On fridays we can go on the net, so me and a collegue invented a game where we find the funniest picture on something like graphjam.com (b3ta is blocked, very sad about that) and then try and take a call from Bangalore without pissing ourselves laughing. Happy days.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 11:12, Reply)
Bookshop wanks
When I was working in a bookshop, one of my favourite jobs was working in the basement unpacking the books. I could put the radio on, listen to some choons, eat corn-based packaging and basically chill out (although I did actually work pretty hard at it). But from time to time I would take a break to read an 'erotic' novel and take a wank.

Until the time the (female) boss caught me at it. Not a word was ever said, but I felt the time had probably come to stop.

For the forensics specialists among you, a fair amount of my semen is probably still to be found in the rubble of an old lift shaft at the bottom of the Royal Festival Hall, for 'twas there I was working at the time.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 11:12, 6 replies)
Ridiculous Office Games
Like many others B3tans, i too have felt the soul crushing monotony of being an office drone and decided to make a stand to regain my sanity.

Out of this my Colleague and i developed the game of Pipe Hairball.

The rules are simple. While facing each other at desks about twenty feet apart, each contestant puts a pipe in their mouth and declares the game ready by shouting "Lanyard PULL!". The aim is for the first player to throw a balled up piece of A4 (or the tramps knuckle as it came to be known) at the other player with the intention of hitting their hair. Not their face, or upper torso. Only a direct hit to the hair (A syrup dipper) would score a point. First to five wins. If at any point one of your shots hits the opponents pipe (Briar Strike) they then have to Riverdance furiously for ten seconds. Also any flinching or dodging results in lost points.

This seemed to be a perfect way to brighten up a slow day and improve hand/eye coordination.

It also seemed perfectly logical and it is not until i have written it down and read it back that i realise quite how retarded it sounds. Bugger.

Length? You wouldn't want it as a wart on your nose....
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 10:36, 1 reply)
The word game
I'm sure this has been mentioned by many people but working in a tech centre and the challenge was to get various words into the conversation.

This usually started with mundane words such as lemon, dog and escalope but eventually worked up to more suggestive words like moist and chafe...

Oh yeah, and seeing how many pints we could drink in our 30min lunch at the pub over the road and still being able to function in the afternoon
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 10:35, 2 replies)
Today I will be mostly...
...creating a database that tracks my weight gain/loss, how many fags I smoke, triggers to my depression, if I've remembered to take all my pills (tick box), and any interesting and unusual events in the day.

This I will do for fun, and the genius of it is that it *looks* like work.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 9:59, 4 replies)
the workplace ninja cares not for these things
soo.. more from the bike shop days
this, being a place unburdened with the cares of the internet and so on, gave life to some of the more... well, for want of a better word, creative fuckarsing.

highlights probably include the time we made ninja stars from old disc brake rotors (these are fuckin VICIOUS... weighty, hardened steel, will stick into metal panelling) and a throwing spear from shelf brackets and a mop pole, and spent the afternoon decimating bike boxes with them.

then there was the 'creative sleeping' which essentially involved taking some bubblewrap, clambering up the shelving units in the back, and falling asleep behind some boxes, OR disguised AS a box. this only worked if you trusted your coworkers to a: not rat you out, and b: remember you're there so you don't wake up at midnight in a locked store.

the tannoy system, was a boon. as was the 'stewie from family guy' speaking keyring...
i remember one time, i glibly passed the buck to a colleague to deal with an enraged, militant lesbian (probably) he's spent fiteen-twenty minutes straight being harangued, having his intelligence, looks, workmanship, lineage, and height assaulted, he's about fit to explode... the woman leaves, is halfway down the stairs, and i grab the phone, press the tannoy buttin, and jab a button on the talking keyring at random, as was the norm- and what plays? 'DAMN YOU VILE WOMAN!!' cue militant lezzer doing an about turn and storming back up the stairs, apoplectic with rage.. my mate was NOT happy.

we also mastered the art of customer baiting. this took on some odd twists.. the 'two word limit' one- whatever they ask, you have a two word max response. or the 'zone out' where you start explaining something, then go vacant and space out, with points for length of embarassed silence. i managed over a minute once, the guy was just looking at me quizzically.. :D

we also rigged a bike to self-destruct once the front brake was pulled, and left it locked outside with a shitty cheap lock. mainly because we were so sick of catching flak from higher up because crackheads were robbing us blind. it was quite funny watching the dude wobble off, off his tits, wobble, brake, bike suddenl;y becomes one wheel and a set fo forks lighter, and the guy slides down a muddy embankment on his face. evil? yeah.

apologies for length,. but admit it, you want to touch it.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 9:31, 1 reply)
half a day internet
the other half is spent sleeping in the park across the road. im in sydney so its nice and warm. one of my staff asked me where i got my sunburn from the other day though:)

Also, in my last job, me and one of the trainers would head to the pub from about 2pm monday to thursday, and stay there till closing. Fridays were different. Fridays we would head down at about 11am. We never worried about getting fired seeing as we convinced the CEO it was a great idea (he was a great guy, always up for a laugh).
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 1:43, Reply)
I tend to dick about with stationary
This was my greatest triumph and highlight of my working life to date. It is a fully working siege catapult I made from pencils, sellotape, an elastic band and a spoon. It was amazing.

(Tell me if i'm not supposed to put pictures in a QOTW, I'll link if needs be)
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 0:45, 13 replies)
mein own typical work day,wasted
academia is the way.you work from home (you live on campus sometimes).you have no deadlines.every time someone stops you in the corridor (on the rare occasions you go into work) you act distracted and mumble about anticlines or Kierkegaard or lepton displacement or some crap.Every six months or so you get something published that enrages the retired academics who subscribe due to it being cobbled together,felched from out-of-context quotes or copied from an episode of Hollyoakes.You give fewer lectures and act more doddery as time passes and you might even bring out a book full of felched quotes and navel-gazing speculation.Eventually you retire on a comfortable pension,take out a subscription to the publications you once wrote for and get enraged by the half-witted ideas of young academics who have cobbled something together out of felched quotes and speculation.
(, Mon 12 Jan 2009, 0:44, 3 replies)
Well theres the obvious one...
Wanking like an enraged baboon.
(, Sun 11 Jan 2009, 23:44, 1 reply)
Tenuous post - I'm in a paediatric fracture clinic . . .
and it's usually feral in terms of numbers - 70 to one hundred to be seen in a morning (3 hours) between 4-6 doctors. Today was plodding along well (see a patient, grab next history, check x-ray, call next patient, repeat). . . until about 5 min ago - I've just been puked on.
Just to give you the feeling of realism as you read from your comfy chair/office/bed/other place of b3ta reading-ness, the poor little kiddie got my shoes, trousers, and a large expanse of floor. It now smells slightly sour in here, despite the copious spraying of deodoriser. We're not even halfway through the numbers in today . . .

I think this should get me out of the rest of clinic . . . else I'm resigned to spending the morning screwing up my nose against the vomitus aromus, and plodding on . . .

Bored? Well, I might have been if not for the spew . . .
(, Sun 11 Jan 2009, 23:34, 3 replies)
Worked in bakery, invented new product!

Jam eggs!

Blob of jam. Roll in donut sugar.

Jam eggs!
(, Sun 11 Jan 2009, 23:20, 1 reply)
Fly Swatting
I used to work in a pub that had a bit of a fly problem. It was next door to a cow farm and the sheds where they did all of the milking so they were everywhere.

Nothing would work to get rid of them, fly paper, repellents etc.

I took to squashing the little bastards with a cocktail stick. Very Effective!
It was easiest when they were mating. 2 kills for 1 shot!

I managed to kill about 60 in an hour once. Bloody carcasses and pieces of flies all over the place.

I think 90 from another bored co-worker was the record. Can anyone beat that?

Length? about 6 inches long with a round bit at the end.
(, Sun 11 Jan 2009, 22:46, 4 replies)

This question is now closed.

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