The claw is your master!

So, 'Toy Story' had just come out and I was working in the absolute shittiest of my shitty, shitty early-twenties-and-all-I-want-is-beer-money jobs. To keep ourselves sane between 'No I don't want to do a market research survey on the phone, fuck off' conversations, my colleague Lex and I had started playing 'The claw is your master!'. Pretty simple - smuggle a post it note with the words 'The claw is your master!' scrawled on it into the opponents possessions - wait for the opponent to discover it - trill 'The claw is your master!' at them in the manner of the little three-eyed vending machine dwelling aliens in the aforementioned animated film. I know, I know, it sounds fucking lame - and I have no clue why we latched onto that particular phrase - but the cackles came from the increasingly devious places we found to secrete our little notes. Sure - we started out simple, just spamming each others paperwork. I then escalated: Lexor leaves the office on a rainy afternoon only to find the inside of his umbrella coated with claw-missives, and, whilst swearing on the pavement, is serenaded with 'The claw is your master!' from an attic window. Fine - he cuts out a precisely measured circle of post-it, be-claws it, laminates it, and wedges it in the bottom of my coffee cup: *glug* - *splutter* - "BASTARD!" etc etc. Within a couple of weeks we've both gone seriously Howard Hughes - paranoia, hawk-like mutual surveillance and bladder-straining refusal to go to the toilet unless the other was going as well. Whatever - it passed the fucking time. But eventually one of us was going to go too far - whether they intended to or not.

God knows how he got into my flat. But get in he did - teaching me a valuable lesson in the process. Specifically: even if you've got a woman you've just met in a club back to your bedroom, AND persuaded her to get her knockers out, she will not shag you if she slides under the duvet and suddenly finds herself stuck to 200+ post-it notes all informing her that something referred to as 'The claw' is now her 'master'. Instead she will run for the fucking hills.

Thanks Lex. Thanks a bunch.
(scunnydelight, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 0:05, 9 replies)

Tis alive......


shake his hand, see what he does
(Balron doesn't care how big his photos are, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 23:49, 4 replies)

Call center.
1:1 outgoing call to coffee break ratio.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 23:32, 4 replies)

I'm at work watching Sean's Show on 4OD right now.
Why am I watching Sean's Show? Why?

Some former colleagues of mine at a previous place of employment invented a game using a copy of Guess Who. They called it "Guess Whom" and involved asking questions about percieved psychological flaws rather than physical appearance.

For example; rather than ask "Does he have a big nose?", we would ask "Is he likely to blame all of his failings in life on his parents?"

Strangely, it still seemed to work.

This was in a call centre working nights where we also invented the game of "Muff Ball", where we would ball up the foam ear guards from discarded headsets to make a ball and play volleyball.

Chair Curling was good too; we got one of the more slightly built staff members of staff to sit on a chair and we would curl with him in the corridor.

My favourite game was "Embarrassing Kathy" (name changed to protect the innocent). "Kathy" was a 30 year old woman with a bubbly personality who was very popular. Fortunately for me and my amusment, she was also easily embarrassed by sexy-talk. Infact, when she was on a call, simply whispering "penis penis penis penis.." into her ear was enough to make her blush and giggle.

When I worked in the warehouse of my local Comet the other warehouse guy (Sean) and I used to build little forts out of washing machines. We once put one of the salesmen in a box for a Goodmans 32" TV and got as far as loading it into the customer's car before realising that unfortunately this one "had been damaged. Don't worry though sir, we've got another one in the back. Let me just take this back and I'll get you a new one." Good times.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 23:25, Reply)

I am a freelancer in the event production industry
Which means my last year involved practically no work at all due to many cancellations over the 'credit crunch'. It was not fun.

However, I decided to be practical and do *something*. I ended up showcalling a play that had two runs, despite it being possibly the WORST PLAY EVER WRITTEN. Still, I met the love of my life doing it.

Said love of life had a flatmate doing a show in Edinburgh, they asked if I wanted to help, and I ended up having the time of my life in the most bizarre circumstances and making great friends with the small cast and crew.

I did a few more shows, still didn't earn any money, but had a BRILLIANT time.

I'm now planning to go into project management, taking my experiments/experience in desperate measures of 2008 with me.

So, in short, how do I fill those hours? Doing a completely *different* job.

Is there something wrong with me?
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 23:21, 2 replies)

The first rule about work is you do not talk about fight club
When I worked at the same supermarket that Richard 'hamster' Hammond absolutely bums I was on checkouts. I envied the warehouse staff immensely, as away from the customers prying eyes they could get up to all sorts of hi jinks.

Send to the back one day to help out I was delighted to find that the warehouse crew had their own fight club set up. At a given signal all work would stop as two staff members would go at each other hell for leather for up to two minutes at a time. I was surprised to find that not only would the managers enthusiastically join in and post a scoreboard in the side office.

My esteem for this sort of action came to an abrupt end when on a works night out the entire 'fight club' got arrested. Apparently hertfordshire police look down on mass break in attempts as a response to chucking out time.

Naturally a supermarket requires a large staff to keep track of stock and keep the shelves stacked. when all but a handful of this staff cant turn up to work on account of being in a jail cell this will throw everyone into chaos. Thanks for the extra work. you thoughtless twats.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 23:18, Reply)

At one of my older jobs...
We'd regularly commandeer the rider truck from the warehouse, which is a motorized little half fork-lift for shifting pallets about. Then we'd take it in the walk-in freezer and go mental on it. From above, I imagine it looked a lot like a game of pinball only instead of bumpers and flashing lights, there was exploding pallets of stock.

At the same place we'd also arrange several hundred packets of toilet rolls and jump onto them from a ridiculous height. I'm quite surprised no-one was ever hurt.

In the summer we'd play games of Frisbee with a modified ice-cream lid and ride giant bales of cardboard down the ramp into the warehouse yard and I found out towards the end of my time there that if you put the floor-cleaning machine on full lock one way, increased the amount of soap output and held on really tight without moving your legs, you could do an endless amount of donuts.

Occasionally, we'd do some work.
( mike woz ere 7442200 & 7696970 getter, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 23:01, Reply)

How to sleep at work
Find a nice quiet closet, big enough to lie down on the floor comfortably.

Scatter a whole load of paperclips on the floor.

Lie down on the floor, on your front, head right up against the door so that if someone opens it, it hits your head.

Go to sleep.

No-one comes in? When you wake up, clear up paperclips and go about your day.

Someone comes in? They'll hit your head, waking you up, but you can cover by claiming that you were picking up the paperclips. They'll feel bad for hitting your head and if you DQ it out a bit you might get sent home.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 23:00, 3 replies)

Many moons ago
in a call centre yonder, we did tech support for other companies who couldnt be arsed to do it themselves *cough*crosoft *cough*indows95 and the like.

Twas dull so we made up a game. Someone chose a phrase of the day that had to be used in a conversation with a customer. Being geeks, the first one was "ha! You cant do THAT in OS/2!" and laugh awkwardly.

Actually you know what, the rest of this story is quite long and to be honest its quite boring. But it will involve the following topics: The KLF, a printer, a reboot, and a muslim festival. Make it up yourself I've lost the will to write it.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 22:50, 1 reply)

If it weren't for teh internets...
...I would probably be slowly swinging from side to side, my tie the only thing connecting me to the bathroom ceiling.

I have mastered the alt-tab and ctrl-tab magic of windows so nobody is fast enough to see the combination of b3ta, facebook, bbc and sickipedia that my day comprises of.

It's not so much that fact that during each 8 hour day, I have roughly 2 or 3 hours of work maximum. Its more the people I work with.
My colleagues are the oddest bunch of people I have ever met.

Lets start with J. Evil, conniving and ever so simple, she uses every opportunity to shout (she always shouts) and belittle me, or anybody else for that matter. I work in a very busy office, so try to answer the phone quickly as to not irritate certain workmates. Once J decided this was not acceptable and exclaimed "Will you stop answering the phone so Bloody fast?!" Upon enquiring as to why she felt like this she responded
".......because it's Bloody annoying thats why!" and stormed outside for a cigarette.
She makes snide comments about my attire (smart trousers, shirt and tie), whereas she finds it perfectly acceptable to wear tracksuit bottoms to work.
She ordered an extension cable for her printer, as she didnt realise that you can physically move printers once they have been placed on a desk. I walk into her office to the sight of J sitting on the floor utterly confused, trying to connect the two female connections together with the two male connections on the floor in front of her.
She has on numerous occasions tried to convince the rest of the office to change the lottery syndicate numbers because "We haven't won yet". I tried the classic argument "Why don't you just pick 1 to 7? You'll have the same chance of winning." which she refused to believe.

Then we have D. D is the most lewd, sexist filthmonger I have come across in my, albeit meagre, 22 years. Some classic quotes of his include:
"It's been so long since J has had any cock, shes probably got a dead hedgehog in her pussy."
"Go in there and bend her over, colonel69, her fanny will be so wet you won't need a gentlemans wash first"
"She's only got a dog so it'll lick her out, because no human would, the scruffy bitch."



Sorry for length/slight off topic-ness, but I have no human companions to vent my rage to. Just a sticky keyboard.
(TheColonel, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 22:46, Reply)

Songs
I find lyrics in songs which relate ever so slightly to an aspect of the job and re-write the songs lyric to be a parody of the workplace. I have done this many times. My colleagues hate me.
(Fles is a man amongst gods., Thu 8 Jan 2009, 22:26, Reply)

The Devil and the Idle hands of young men
Working at the tip over you summer holidays at uni isn't everyones cup of tea. The job entails sweeping and tiding up and making sure that some old duffer doesn't kick off when told he cant put his asbestos in with the glass recycling. Like the trenches this sort of work leads to long periods of boredom, followed by short periods of headless chicken like activity.

In a lull in stuff to do myself and one of the other lads came up with a new game to pass the time:

MAGNET CHICKEN. The rules are simple, climb inside a empty skip and take it in turn to throw magnets at one another.

you average tip is lousy with discarded stereos, a swift toecap to the speakers yields a collection of magnets. As your empty skip is basically a 5m long steel corridor a thrown magnet will vear off and stick to the wall with a wonderful 'SPANG' noise. The aim of the game is to see how hard you dare to throw a magnet at your friend.

One fine yet dull day me and a workmate decided to take up potions and begin a game. I tossed the first magnet, pitifully it slammed into the left wall whole feet away from my opponent. He retaliated by overarm bowling a 3lb monster from a car subwoofer at me at lightening speed. 'WANN-NNG' the whole skip reverberated as this thing slammed into the wall next to my head after missing my eye by mm.

"you cunt, have some of..THIS" I replied wrenching the magnet from the skip and hurling it back at him. I throw underarm and am quite cack handed so something different this time happened. Once the magnet had cleared the top of the skip, It shot over the side as if guided by a lazer and landed out of sight with an almighty reverberating KER-SPANG.

Leaping out of the skip we were confronted by a horrifying sight. A middle aged man, pale faced and shaking with terror was frozen to the spot halfway through the process of removing an oven from his boot. An oven with a crater sized dent centered around a speaker magnet, in it.

Quick thinkingly I came up with "errm, sorry its our job to look for the magnets cause sometimes they repel one another and it acn get quite errm dangerous" The man mumbled a hasty "oh I see" and hurried off. After that the game of magnet chicken was no more.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 22:23, 6 replies)

SCIENCE!
What happens if we leave a pint of milk in a warm office overnight?
Overnight turned into 'a few days'.
A few days became a week.
A week became a month.
A month became...'however long we can'.
Eventually it was named Steve and did more work than the people who left it there.
It all backfired when our line manager brought some visitors in, and picked up the box files it was hidden behind. Then opened it to investigate. One woman was sick in the bin.
(and now for someone completely different, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 22:23, 4 replies)

Quite a few...
I used to work as a checkout supervisor, and at nights this would often mean I was the 2nd-highest ranking person in the place, below the duty manager. As work was ridiculously quiet at night, a lot of new workplace games were invented.

Store Olympics was a great one. We did high jump over the racks of baskets, shot put with the old produce test fruit, trolley drifting down the aisles and sort of hurdle-vaults over the checkouts. However, this was put an end to after our reigning champion collided with a customer during trolley-drifting. Took some explaining!

The intercom was also a source of great amusement. We would communicate storewide with this thing: "Michael, can you please get your lazy arse back to checkouts, you've been up there 25 minutes and I don't want to know what you're doing!" We would also sing songs and announce our birthdays.

I think the best game, though, was "safari". The building was about 45 years old and seemingly hadn't been checked on in that time - the ceiling was falling in in places. (small wonder the place closed down last year!) There were a lot of hidey-holes (perfect for Power Cut Hide'n'Seek) and we would devote most of our "dead time" to discovering more of these! The best one was a small cubby-hole in the roof above the bakery, in which there was a spy-hole through which I could observe the entire store. Great fun.

Then of course there were the old standards - making customers feel as stupid as possible, trying to convince the deli-boy to give us free ham, catching and ridiculing shoplifters, and when a celebration was called for, ordering pizza and offering to customers because "it's so-and-so's birthday today!"

I miss my job. I'm surprised I wasn't fired - in fact, I received a number of Customer Service awards, and was always praised for my efficiency and friendliness! People are gullible indeed.
(Captain Communism isn't any sort of communist., Thu 8 Jan 2009, 22:19, Reply)

Good Times......
I work for a well established retail company in the mysterious depths of the stockroom....oh the fun we have!

The favourite game on quiet days is hide and seek. So many different places to hide in a stockroom, a game can last for hours!

During the hot summer months, we frequently prop the fire escape door open and sunbathe on the balcony at the top of the stairs...cue launching various projectiles off into the loading bay below. Similarly, we took the safety guard off a fan and launched pens/bottles/whatever we had to hand at it.

The more creative members of my team once made a cardboard man, named Old Gregg McLovin. We regularly leave notes and/or graffiti for other team members to find.

Then there's the play fights involving sellotape, sweeping brushes, chairs. And the full scale duvet/pillow fights...(they hurt so much more when they're vacuum packed!)

Then there's the numerous games of makeshift basketball/football/cricket.

The pranks....oh the pranks...usually poking holes in people's drinking bottles, or chopping off the bottom of straw's when people have cups of soft drinks....always amusing!

And to top it all off, working with complete nutcases has it's advantages, like dressing up days.....see videos below.....

uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ce3UA9Zhal8
uk.youtube.com/watch?v=5Q-EQlNHuok

Like I said.....Good Times!
(blubbergob09, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 21:54, 4 replies)

Marion
Ah, yes, dear Marion.

Marion was a tall, heavily-built German girl who occupied the cubicle next to mine. She had horn-rimmed glasses and a permanently serious look on her face, which collided badly with a comedy hairstyle- two cones of curly black hair which stuck mysteriously to the sides of her head (think Gary Larson, and then some). Not the sharpest spoon in the drawer, she kept herself to herself (apart from letting on that, rather enjoy the southern European summer here, she preferred to sit in a room with the windows closed and sweat. Nice.)

Marion would get locked into things, and would let parts of the day drift by in repetitive actions. You could walk by her desk on the way to send a fax (this was a while ago) and find her industriously polishing her glasses. You send the fax, wander off for a coffee and a smoke, and come back, and she would still be there, still polishing the same lens on her glasses. with the same vacant serious expression on her face.

Her only vice was tea. She would boil the kettle on her desk, and brew up a cup. From the other side of the partition, you could hear the tea bag drop into the bin, and then there would be an agonising wait as she put a spoonful of honey into the brew.

And then she would stir.

Metal spoon in an earthenware mug.

And get locked into stirring.

It was only a short while until the idea of timing this performance came up. The other cubicle rats were quickly irritated by the noise, but became less so as I would post the day's result. A silence would descend, everyone waiting to see how long she could last.

Metal spoon, earthenware mug, the varnish on the inside of the mug presumably getting thinner and thinner as time wore on.

Just before the office was reorganised, I was able to leap to my feet, fists in the air, screaming "RECORD!" as Marion at last woke up after a mammoth two minute, seven second stirring stint.

It wasn't to last. The office was redistributed, and Marion, after a peculiarly out-of-character screaming fight with a colleague (who she apparently tried to brain with a metal stapler) eventually moved back to the cool of her homeland.

To while away the long days at work, I sometimes like to think of her, contentedly stirring away, the ceramic on her mug worn to a paper-thin wall holding the cooling honeyed tea in...
(groover j lazerus, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 21:38, 2 replies)

Spud Gun
Many years ago I temped in a flour mill on rolling shift basis 6am-2pm 2pm-10pm 10pm-6am with you changing each week. In truth it wasn't a bad job- it was warm, relatively well paid and I was treated as a human by my full time workmates. My job was to operate a flower bagging machine. This was a fabulous device that looked like a colaborative venture between Rube Goldberg and Nick Park. It took a flat packed bag, blew it open, filled it with flour, glued the top and checked it for metal before sending it off to a palletiser. All this was performed in a mass of gyrating whirly bits.

Alas, bagging orders of 200,000 bags did lead to boredom levels creeping up somewhat. The machine could be pre loaded with 1200 bags a time which led to 20 minutes where it essentially ran itself (it stopped if a bag blew up anyway). As such the full time employees' attention turned to the compressed air supply. This could pump hundreds of kilos of flour around the mill to various locations. It also had a outlet to allow flour that had been turned into bread making flour to be pumped back into a tanker. However if there wasn't any flour you could push a vast amount of compressed air into- well anything really.

One of the fulltime employees had decided to extend this to its logical conclusion by connecting a length of spare system pipe to the end of the flexi hose. Drop a baking potato into the tube, turn on local switch for the compressor and open the tap. The results were impressive.

Fired on a flat trajectory, the potato would smash a hole in the boundary fence and roll to a pulpy stop about 50 metres on. Fired at a 45 degree angle, the spud cannon would land a king edward on the railway station roof about half a mile distant. Experiments with football socks full of golf balls (an excellent anti zombie weapon), melons (generally sorbet by the time it left the muzzle) and of course bags of flour (double bagged these would land on the station roof with a satisfying white blast) and the weeks of my employment flew by. I have never since worked at a company that had produced such a spectacular time waster.

If I am honest my current job does not really allow for the sort of premier league arsing about that some of you have perfected. However as a recognised part of my job I got paid to make (and given the funding to produce) this;

i235.photobucket.com/albums/ee257/mampap_ungulate/Room1.jpg

(I've no idea how to actually make the image appear).

So essentially I've got a multichannel home cinema in a soundproofed room- some of the big amps can do planes taking off db levels. Blu Ray, PS3 and Sky HD are available as is stereo if you want. This is brilliant as actions carried out in this room are considered work.

Length? However long a sample evaluation takes baby.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 21:27, Reply)

Coffee-shop boredom...
Espresso-cup bunnies:

Very popular with kids at Easter.

Abusing the whiteboard:

(understaffed, Saturday, Rugby)

Granola Bar cricket:
Bowling a granola bar to a batter armed with a poster tube, mop, or other similarly shaped item.

Wheelie-chair jousting:
Requires a store with a large office or outdoor area. Two players use only mops or brushes to propel themselves on office chairs, trying to topple the other player when in range.

ISI Javelin:
Using an empty cream canister charged with ISI gas, players propel marker pens as far as they can. More charges may be used (with care) for a more explosive result. A variation on this is Cream Roulette whereby players take it in turns to aim canisters at the face, one being charged with cream.
(cherrygloom could kick your ass at Guitar Hero any day, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 21:18, 2 replies)

I work in a place
where we get through lots of envelopes. What do we do with the boxes that they came in? This:


(Himjim died a little more inside on, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 21:01, 8 replies)

I'm an estate agent
and times are really tough at the moment. I don't look out of the window in the morning, as I would not have anything to do in the afternoon.
( mazurka wants two's up on your mum., Thu 8 Jan 2009, 20:43, 4 replies)

I'm working out in the field, boss!
I'm the assistant to the CEO of my company. When I joined, there were 10+ employees, due to the "economy" there are now 4 of us plus the boss. This means that I'm doing everything from office management to marketing and publicity.

We are pretty dead at this time of the year, and it's also the best time of year for trout fishing.
So once every couple of weeks sees me tottering into work in my heels and skirt, doing my morning management routine and then declaring I have a meeting with the manager at T-Mobile/Verizon/Sprint at a store that would require me to drive 100 miles round trip.

I then speed my ass up to the lake, and proceed to fish in my heels and office wear while emailing managers of said stores on my laptop or PDA while filching the lake wifi (with their permission)
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 20:34, 4 replies)

Pod People
During a time of churning uncertainty for the company, with bits being sold off and legislation meaning some remaining bits couldn't talk to the rest of the bits, our department's morale was low. I mean, people who were already a bit gloomy were predicting we'd be eating one another inside a month, and the emotionally fragile would occasionally weep quietly at their desks.

Management decided something should be done, and decided we would be rotated out to go on a course they'd found. It was something about having a positive attitude, and in a stroke of genius it was cascaded down to line managers who all agreed to send the bitterest, most cynical doom-mongers as the first wave (rightly suspecting that next month a new initiative would come down and this one would be forgotten).

A week later and back they came, smiling and laughing. "It's not the end of the world!" and "Work to live, not live to work!" and other such platitudes tumbled from their incessantly cheery lips. It was the biggest turnaround since Jesus decided not to let being nailed to a cross get him down.

Frankly it was creepy - this was, after all, pre-Teletubbies and that much relentless happiness was alien to our world.

Until finally one morning Lou, previously the most blackhearted Cassandra of them all and now Ms Chirpy Sunshine, returned from lunch one day to discover on her chair a perfect replica of an open, giant pod from "Invasion of the Bodysnatchers". A bunch of us had got together and commissioned it from a local artist.

Sadly it's been over 20 years since I worked there and I never had the pictures, but she was not amused. Yes, we'd finally dragged her back down into the pit with the rest of us. Mind you, it cheered us up immensely.
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 20:33, 1 reply)

Sounds lame but...
I do all the puzzles in the Times, starting with the Sudoku, and ending with the cryptic crossword.

Gosh. Only now do I realise how truly rubbish I am.
(Omnizor Spooning bits of road for breakfast., Thu 8 Jan 2009, 20:32, Reply)

200, 700, 900
I've just spent the past half-hour reading up on various series of Volvo cars and giving myself little quizzes, like what number of P1900 cars were produced, the differences in the 740 and 940 series and what year the 240 went out of production. The sad part is I'm self-employed. I am able to identify a model of Volvo from a distance based on the headlights alone, though.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 20:28, 4 replies)

warehouse fun!
after two years of being a lurker finally have a story to tell :)
I have a few work boredom stories,from several work places.
First one being at an industrial laurndrette,being a temp with my mate and my ex girlfriend.we made a great impression with my mate smashing a 9ft strip light from the ceiling with a section of the racking we were building.after being given our duties to fill the racking with nice soft fresh clean table clothes,we left on our own,oh what a mistake :)
On came the ipods and made beds out of the newly furnished shelves and got two hours shut eye.then had a quicky session off hide the sausage with my ex misses while my mate was flat out three aisles away.staked a few more aisles and got another few hours sleep untill home time.we repeated this every day we were there,we were almost rumbled when my mate forgot to wake at the right time and found himself staring at the bosses wifes ankles.
Next we amused ourselves by exploring the companies newly bought warehouses where we found this old fashioned caravan at the back of this warehouse.we went in as youthfull curiousty took over and found the bedroom/toilet of a hobo,complete with urine stained matteress,empty bottles of cheap rum and obviously used copies of the sport.cue a quick exit for us and made it back just in time for a quick nap before the bosses routine check.
Skip forward a few years and we find me hard at work at the local food dispenser,known for its being good with money and rather annoying christmas adverts with a stupid song which was played over and over again on the in store stereo.there we find pheonix,his mate from back at the laundrette and another mate from back at school,with the last being our supervisor we obviously shirked our duties in search of more fun things to do than stacking shelves and helping old biddies read price labels.
From the year ive been there we got up to a fair few larks including:
Turning one of the new lads into a cardboard optimus prime,
Finding the biggest super bouncey ball and throwing it between us getting further and further apart down the aisles.
Spending the hour we have to wait behind after the shop shuts for a delivery reading all the lads magazines and smoking
Finding ways to annoy the most rude and pompus member of staff with merry pranks such as piercing one of those liquid washing tablets and slipping it on to his stool as he sat down.
Pushing one of the others around on empty closed cages at high speeds untill they either puked or crashed into something
I have a few vids of our highjinks so if you want me to upload em click i like this.

Length?wanted to pop it properly!
(pheonix07, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 20:22, 2 replies)

Whiteboards.
Moving to a new area of the office, the room used by our support manager had a nice large clean whiteboard. The temptation was overwhelming..



This started as a normal face, then had ears and hair added by someone else, and comments added my another.

On a seperate occasion, "Developer Dodges Workload. Its Super Effective" was written on the board. The next day "Clint Eastwood Shoots Developer again" surfaced. This was appended with "Developer goes all Neo on Clint's Arse".. then "Fireman kills Neo and Client".

They started hiding the pens after a while.
( glasnt is playing herself off., Thu 8 Jan 2009, 20:20, Reply)

*wistfully
remembers the days when I had a job where I had more than 10 minutes spare time*
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 8 Jan 2009, 20:20, Reply)

rubiks cubes
mmkay?
(Freddles, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 19:58, Reply)

Powerful magnet + Surplus paper clips =
What can only be called The Mound

( Willwillwritehiswill An arse like a slapped face., Thu 8 Jan 2009, 19:49, 5 replies)

Following on from Rogerzilla
I wrote a version of Connect 4 for VBA (versus the computer) and it looks like a normal Excel spreadsheet table.

The Excel version of Worms/Scorched Earth unfortunately couldn't really be disguised as anything else.
( Thrill_My_Chinchilla is old and unimproved, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 19:22, Reply)