Come to America and you can have longer, more desperate hours.
I currently work in a soul destroying hateful job in the USA – working for a man who has no concept of life outside work, and who expects us to feel the same way. It’s in a research lab with 14 employees, mainly technical staff, a couple of graduate students, and a handful of postdocs – oh, and one deathly dull bitch admin assistant. We are expected to work from 8-6 without leaving the building – although we do get a lunch break, there is normally a meeting scheduled during it, so we have to bring lunch in, and eat it in a hurry either before or after the meeting. We get 10 days of holiday a year, but are expected not to use this allowance – plus we have been told that we need to start working weekends and public holidays as not enough is getting done. This means I’m in the lab/office for at least 60 hours a week. Next week we have to be in from 8 am to midnight for a ‘lab retreat’, which I’m told always ends in tears. Since I have the attention span of a goldfish, this gives me a VAST capacity to get bored at work.

I have been here 6 months, and in that time I have
- started a lab wide word game which we play during meetings – one of us nominates a word, and we all have to get as many words out of it as possible by the end of the meeting (my suggestions are normally things like ‘bastard’, ‘dirty weekend’ and ‘rectum’ – my colleagues tend to ignore me and use words like ‘insect’, ‘science’ and on one memorable occasion ‘genome’ (my sides nearly split…))
- I’m teaching my colleagues to speak English – thus far, I’ve got a least 1 or 2 people using the words ‘bollocks’, ‘fucksocks’, ‘twunt’, ‘arsebandit’, ‘bawbag’, ‘numpty’, and ‘dodgy’. Any further suggestions welcome…
- applied for every even half way relevant job I can find in the UK.
- written large quantities of pornographic fiction which I then send to my boyfriend back in London – by post, as this enables me to walk downstairs to the post room a few times a week.
- read the complete archives of b3ta qotw 4 times, just starting on my 5th.
- managed not to kill myself (greatest achievement of all – helped by the fact there are no trains here to jump in front of, and the tallest building is only 3 stories high, thus no guarantee of fatality from a fall. I’ve done my research).

I now have 141 days left until I return to the UK (whether I have a job to return to or not), and have started marking the days using a wee bit of chalk on the side of my desk – it will look like a prisoner’s cell when I leave.
( ascorbate, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 19:47, 4 replies)

My job is pretty busy at the moment
And so I don't have a lot of time to get bored, even if the task in hand is less than riveting.

Mini rant ahead.

Today, however, was a lesson in abject cuntfuckery from everyone I had dealings with and resulted in me doing, on balance, precisely fuck all despite having a full diary for the day.

Now, this afternoon, I was scheduled to conduct an inspection on a project that finished some time ago. This is part of a programme that my organisation had absolutely nothing to do with the running of, but because of changes in the way European funding is delivered, we now have an obligation to look after the 'legacy' work, as well as managing a completely new programme. The new programme is what I am employed to do.

I had been booked in to do this visit before Christmas but when I got there the only two people in the organisation that could help me were off because of a bereavement and man flu, respectively. So I duly rearranged it for today like the diligent little government monkey that I am. I was secretly relieved because it happened to be my birthday and the prospect of pouring over European files looking for financial anomolies did not really appeal at the time. Plus, I'm not an auditor, nor an accountant, so this sort of stuff leaves leaves me about as excited as a eunuch at an orgy.

Knowing that my diary for next week is booked solid, I thought I'd utilise my government-sponsored laptop for the first time. My logic being that instead of hand writing the report and then typing it up next week, it made sense to type it up there and then. Pretty bloody forward thinking, eh? And so, I lugged the laptop into work this morning and switched it on in order to check it was working OK.

First problem - having never actually used it in the 4 months I have had it, I was faced with a password request. OK; quick call to the helpdesk, and I'm in. Until I find myself faced with a username and password request for windows. I try my usual, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. Another call the the helpdesk, and they ask me to create a new password so they can change it - now we're cooking.

Except it still doesn't work. I'll try shutting down and starting again.

Nope. Nowt.

Another call to helpdesk. "Try it again, it should be sorted".

Still nothing.

Half an hour later I get a sheepish phone call from the helpdesk. Because I work remotely, I am not connected to the office system, therefore to use the laptop I have to go back to the home office and connect from there, after which I will be able to use the laptop with gay abandon. Fucking IT experts, eh? Oh well, revert to plan B, hand write the report for the inspection and type it up when I get back. And so off I troop into Newcastle. I arrive early, as is my wont, loiter with intent for a bit, have a fag, and then make my way to see the people who can fill me in.

However, on beginning the discussion it became apparent that they thought I was there to inspect a completely different project, despite my having stated exactly what I was looking to check and why. No matter, they should be able to get the relevant financial data from the archives.

Except they can't. "We can hunt it out and send it through to you on Monday via email", they offer, helpfully. I agree that this is probably the best course of action, inwardly cursing the realisation that my already overflowing diary for next week is going to get further compromised by the fact that the work I should have had completed today is actually going to take up probably another day next week. And therefore push the projects that I am supposed to be appraising back even further. And I'm out of the office for two days next week, plus have been summoned back to base because a bigwig from Defra is visiting on Friday.

I do love my job. I just wish that sometimes I actually had the fucking time to do it. I don't mind doing nothing if it's a constructive nothing, like cocking around here, looking for wedding coats or checking Have Your Say for the latest misinformed and borderline racist/homophobic rant by Ken from Brighton. At least I get some work done in between the random idling. But today, I spent over 7 hours trying to do specific tasks, and failing miserably in the process.

Remember folks - it's your (and mine, really) taxes that pay for this sort of shit.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 9 Jan 2009, 19:42, 3 replies)

Opticians
I used to work at a very reputable high street Opticians part time as a student.

This isn't a comical or outrageous story.

Put simply, we were (are still) told to sell thinner more expensive lenses to anyone and everyone despite whether they are needed or not as a way of bumping up the figures.

As a bit of advice to glasses wearing B3tians, if your prescription isn't higher than -2.00 (or +1.50 if you are long sighted) you don't need thinner lenses. Tell the thief sitting opposite you you're not a walking piggy bank.

Do however always have the Anti-reflection coating. It makes them look better.

Sorry for being boring, just thought I'd save someone a few quid.

Ta.
(Lex scripta, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 19:28, 3 replies)

bored indeed


Hello there,

Well I must say you young bucks and brassers have got it rather good when it comes to mitching off from your duties. This interweb is a fascinating timewaster and most probably a communist invention to slow us westerners, the rightful world owners, down to a snails pace.

As the senior partner of a very successful accountancy firm I now have actually very little to do myself apart from remind the young accountants what hardship is. The people in my office woudln't know what to do in a crisis and one can only imagine their response should fritz ever seek a rematch. Bloody ralph lauren cardigan wearing alpha romeo driving upstarts is all they are.

So that's what I do - subtley drive them out of their minds and to deep despair. So what you got your BA in Acc, if I tell you to spend your day on the phone talking to a chinese dry cleaner looking for a pair of pants that don't exist that's what you'll do. One of my favourites is the good old paper chase. Oh what fun to have an office full of knob ends looking for an urgent document that has only just gone into the post.

Mind you when I came back from holidays the office did smell a bit of piss so I'm probably not loved by all - but then again, senior accountants pissing in an old mans drawers ? I think I'm wearing them down ;)

fondest regards,

Edward






fuck me I'm bored, and at work, time for a crapwankcoffeefagarsephotocopying session, and some more b3taing...

length -

crap - a good nine inches if it was an inch

wank - neither rushed nor drawn out

coffee - 10 minutes

fag - 3.5 inches

arsephotocopying - up to an hour now, playing with the settings and trying to get the light just right, I'm a perfectionist...

b3taing - long... so long
(The Cats Twat, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 19:27, 1 reply)

I'm an apprentice electrician...
... and I'm currently on an enormous building site. Over 100 working bodies, probably closer to 200, including 20 from our company alone.

As it's such a large place it's easy to spend days at a time doing nothing much as long as you keep half an eye out for The Boss (who is, it has to be said, a complete and utter slave driving See You Next Tuesday).

Activities we take part in to pass the time are many and varied, but to name a few:

Filing down both ends of threaded steel rods about 4 inches long and wanging them into plasterboard, ply and foam insulation.

Making 'ninja death shurikens' from strips of plastic with screws in designed for automated screw guns. Simply twist into a circle, pop together and hey presto, a small ring of death that will stick into the aforementioned building materials. Or your workmate's leg.

Making tables and boxes out of scrap wood and metal conduit. These actually came in very handy for transporting materials and using as workbenches in the end.

Crafting 'marble runs' for tennis balls from various metal framework and conduit. I have 50 odd videos on my phone of us doing this.

Beaning said tennis balls at each other.

Lying in wait for a fellow sparky to wander round the corner, then twatting him on the bonce with your hard hat. As he is also wearing a hard hat, this doesn't really hurt, but does deafen him for the next ten minutes.

Scrawling countless graffiti pictures and slogans on every surface available.

Reading B3ta on my mobile on the shitter. Gotta love unlimited mobile data packages.

Generally giving all tradesmen a bad name.

Thanks for reading, this is my first post of what will hopefully be many. Bout time I came out of the woodwork and stopped lurking!
(AprilFool, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 19:15, Reply)

I used to work on films as part of the shooting crew
www.imdb.com/name/nm1793376/

and the electricians used a lot of crocodile clips for various reasons. on many sets it would become sport to try and attach as many as possible to unsuspecting colleagues (usually hair and makeup).
My personal record was 11 on a camera assistant, although an electrician got about 20 on an assistant director, who only found them when the metal detectors at manchester airport went mental, and she spend a long while explaining them to the bemused security dude.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 19:14, 1 reply)

Handicap University Challenge
I used to work in a call centre of a major insurance company, it was dull, mind numbing work, and I received that "Pointless Letters" Book for Christmas. So I jumped on the bandwagon, and started writing letters to various people. Mainly TV stations, asking when Gamesmaster is returning.

I wrote a long prose about an idea for "Handicap University Challenge", where stupid universities/polytechnics have more team members than Oxbridge. In a blockbusters stylee.

I got a response:-



So not only did I bore myself at my job, I probably bored somebody at the BBC.
(rhyswynne - on every social network mullarkey known to man, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 18:57, 5 replies)

Creative bunking
One day when I realised that no-one cared what I was doing, I got up, told the guy next to me I was going to a meeting, then went bowling.

No-one noticed.

In the afternoon, I was more bored, and more annoyed so I went to see Borat, without even making an excuse.

No-one noticed.

I did this once every couple of weeks until I was given more work to do.

IT, eh?
(breadlord, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 18:51, 2 replies)

It's been quite a while now, so I can post this
A few years ago I worked for a accountancy firm with big aspirations and endemic small mindedness.

Anyone who's ever worked in private practice will probably be nodding in silent agreement with what I'm about to describe.

The firm was headed by the fading presence of the Senior Partner; Edward, an outwardly amiable but infuriatingly bumbling man in his sixties who was absolutely entrenched in class principles from a bygone age. Imagine an aged Boris Johnson with a dose of Captain Peacock minus the sense of humour and you're there.

The real power brokers in the firm were the regional partners, David and Graham. The latter chap was surely a candidate for undiagnosed Aspergers as his ruthlessness was equalled only by his ineptitude at any form of interpersonal communication. Staff who handed in their notice were treated as if they'd pissed on Graham's garden wall, as was anyone he didn't expressly approve of.

The ageing and baffled Edward would interrupt the working day with numerous requests to "pop down" and undertake various menial tasks bidding irrespective of our workload and deadlines.

A junior accountant spent an afternoon on the phone to a dry cleaner trying to locate a missing pair of trousers. A departmental manager was tasked with finding clipart on the internet. Various people were tasked with finding bits of paper that would eventually be found somewhere on Edward's expensive desk.

It's hardly a surprise that tormenting Edward became the corporate sport. The objective was simple, convince Graham that Edward was losing his marbles and get him retired pronto.

One week during Graham's annual leave proved pivotal. After a week of being run ragged by Edward, a seething senior accountant snuck into Edward's office one afternoon and randomly shredded every tenth document he found.

The stakes were raised.

Edward's secretary spiked his coffee with Optrex which was funny for ten minutes until the postern serenade from his tortured barking spider was heard in reception, several rooms away from ground zero.

Another senior accountant rigged the clock in Edward's office to tick backwards and poured a glass of water onto Edward's laptop, after randomly deleting system files.

First prize for ruthless ingenuity went to yet another senior accountant and the practice manager who both used Edward's office furniture as an impromptu urinal. The office was left to marinade all weekend until Monday morning when a returning Graham was tactfully appraised that an increasingly senile Edward might be losing his bladder control.

Despite gibbering, spittle flecked assertions from Graham that the kindest thing to do for Edward would be to take him outside and shoot him, the wiley old bugger stubbornly avoided retirement and subsequent attempts to depose him. He's still there and no doubt still pestering young, female members of staff to find his lost trousers for him.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 9 Jan 2009, 18:22, 4 replies)

HOUSE!

I used to work in a bingo hall that shares a name with a type of apple and is represented by Sharon Osbourn. I fucking hated it, all of it, it was shit. The customers were mostly gambling addicts or alcoholic fuck-wits, the staff were mostly scummy chavs and the work was mindnumbing in the extreme.

To make matters worse being a part timer, I for some reason was singled out as a spare part and was only allowed to do two jobs in that shit hole. One was the front desk secretary type and the other was as a member of the floor staff.

For those who have never been to bingo, (keep it that way, to save time simply burn some money at home) there are two types of bingo games. The main games where a fellow in a suit gets up on stage and calls numbers and what they call 'party games,' which is like high speed coin-op bingo.

Now to play 'party bingo' you put a pound coin in a numbered slot, grab the corresponding plastic board which will be stashed next to the seat and waste your money. Of course most people don't come armed with pound coins to the floor staff (me) wonder round with trays full of coins swapping them for notes. It was truly astonishing how much money these dregs of society could put in the company coffers, it worked out at about 45% of the money put in went on prizes, while the rest was pure profit. Fucking great scam if you are on top of it.

Anyway, I digress.

While on the floor, you were in front of customers so there was very little time for tomfoolery. However one incident still makes me smile to this day.

It was new years day and as a place that is open 364 days a year, the bingo hall was open. I had volunteered to work as it was double time and even with a hangover, it was well worth it. Now as you might expect, what with just about everything else in the country being shut, people were not expecting the bingo to be opened and as such the place was dead, completely dead, less than 30/40 people in there dead. It was the only time I have ever seen the place probably lose money.

Luckily that day several of the few cool members of staff were working the floor with me, so we were having a few laughs while we raped a few old grannies for their heating money.

Signaling the mid point of the shift, the main game starts, Dan the caller walks up on stage, does his thing, the usual running about checking peoples claims goes on on the floor, all normal. As most of the customers are at deaths door we often get wrong claims from grannies who cant see/hear/remember their names/remember where they live. When this happens it builds tension, the grannies get excited as they know somebody is nearly there. This often leads to another wrong claim. This epic day we had three false claims in a row.

We all stood with bated breath waiting for the next call, would it be another dotty old bag getting it wrong?

"2 and 7, 27". Dan called.

"House!" the tiniest meekest, most frail old woman faintly called. I run over to check, I take her card and read Dan the serial number and he checks if the claim is good.

Now normally if the claim is good the caller will say 'good claim for a full house' or something similar, not today.

Dan smiled, leaned on his desk and with great composure simply nodded and said.

'Hardcore'

We all nearly pissed ourselves. The 30 or so coffin-dodgers didn't get it.

(How sad that that is my best memory of the place after 18 months)
(Bam Bam McPenis will change all this when he is fuhrer., Fri 9 Jan 2009, 18:19, 2 replies)

I've been thinking long and hard about this one
Alright, it just popped into my mind without any mental pummelling at all, but it frankly sounded better in my mind. So, apart from procrastinating on these *ahem* "hallowed" pages, I like to gross out my work colleagues with some frankly disgusting stories. One of which I have just told to a frankly astounded colleague of mine.

It was late one night, and I was still living with my fiancee of the time. Now an ex-fiancee- very much so. And I am very grateful for that fact, but I digress. Now, it was three months before we were due to go back to university, but her seriously deranged mother got it into her head that perhaps it might be a good idea to buy us both a kitten. She just rocked up with it one evening, to my eternal confusion. I mean, who buys a kitten out of the blue? But once again, I digress. This seems to be a frequent activity of mine.

Anyway. At the end of the same day, in that activity common to all humans, we went to bed, placing the kitten (now named Sweetcorn after she got her head stuck in a used cup of chicken and sweetcorn soup- we'd just had Chinese that night) on a little cushion on the bedside table so we wouldn't squash her in the night, but still giving her company at the same time. And off to sleep she went, and then off to sleep we went. And I thought that would be the end of the matter.

Alas, no. I woke up with a rather curious feeling on my chest. Specifically, my nipple. It was being sucked on, and padded. I checked on my fiancee, she was fast asleep. The kitten however, was not on her bed, she was in front of me, padding my chest attempting to draw milk from a nipple that was, is, and will remain forever dry, as I don't suffer from an extreme case of gynaecomastea. Naturally, I was a little freaked out by this occurrence. It is not every day you are woken up by a small fluffy animal attempting to draw sustenance from your chest. That is, unless you happen to be a lady of the breadfeeding variety, and last I checked, babies are rarely furry, unless suffering from hypertrichinosis (a genetic condition rendering the sufferer to resemble Chewbacca). So, back to the sadly deluded kitten.

I calmly detached her from my chest, ignoring her quietly meowed protests, and then a thought hit me- a rather evil thought. I can be a bit of a bastard sometimes, and then was no exception. Lifting the covers, and leaning over my fiancee, I attached the cat to her, and leaned back to watch the show. My fiancee woke up, smiling at first, and then opened her eyes, and looked at me. And then puzzled, she looked down. And then, dear reader, I did my best impression of Jesse Owens and legged it out of the room as the shouting began.

So, how do I spend my time at work? Shoe-horning frankly bizarre, yet utterly true stories into an otherwise unrelated question of the week.

Cheers
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 9 Jan 2009, 17:22, 6 replies)

Oops
I used to do a bit of security guard work in various locales. The money was good, the lads were a laugh and the constant changes of scenery were always welcome in the job.

The only problem with it was the fact that we had to stand around for hours. When you work in security you have the odd scallywag who wants to get past you who isn't meant to, however we had a game whereby we'd let the odd person through if they had a good enough excuse/lie.

Unfortunately we had to stop playing the game when some old bloke told me that those weren't the droids that I was looking for...

Bastard
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 16:44, 2 replies)

Its my final day in an open plan office, which may be likened to a termite mound…
I’ve been working in production of a big multinational publishing company for the last 10 months and it has destroyed my motivation and initiative. What has kept me sane-ish is slyly (my screen faces a major office throughfare) lurking on this marvellous website. Although walking round the office and eating lots of Kit-Kat chunkys has alleviated the boredom somewhat, I am now chronically obese and am saddled with a hatred of most people I encounter that can only be alleviated by abusing Sailor Jerry on a nightly basis. Happy days!

What I have done to alleviate boredom is to doctor journal homepages with white text (on a white background), so that highlighting the webpage will reveal that I love horses, as they are the best of all the animals.
(Tibbins, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 16:43, 3 replies)

Working on a portal
Just as the original dotcom bubble burst, I was taken on as webmaster for a new portal being set up. This was destined for failure because the ISP division of the company already had a portal. Yes, it was KC I worked for, I don't care. It was 9 years ago.

Anyway, in order so people had something to look at because the URL was posted on the side of buses and the like, I was given a bit of content and tasked with knocking up a 2 page introduction for the site.

At the time, I was quite familiar with Dreamweaver v2. They said I could use Frontpage.

Gee cheers.

In order to distract me from stringing up, I began to consider including an 'Easter Egg' in the page.

Being just static html pages, the best I could do was to insert a line from a Monty Python sketch.

<META NAME="description" CONTENT="Zerr ver zwei peanuts valking down the Strasse, und von vas assaulted. Peanut. Ho ho.">

The only person who noticed during the two weeks it was live was the subcontractor guy whose job it was to maintain the Goldmine database.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 16:41, 1 reply)

Over Xmas.....
...we had to put the Xmas decorations up arounds our desks. Joy. Once done, one of the guys was bored and had a length of small green glittery beads on some string left over. So to cheer ourselves up we snapped the string, gathered about 70/80 of these beads and ended up organizing a daily event.
There's a 6 foot 2 guy on our team who looks like a fat version of "Kane" from the WWE called Huw. Nice bloke, funny as hell and also the biggest queer this side of Mardi-Gras. He sat about 5m away from our desk, and was one of the highlights of the day. Behold, "Pelt the Gay" was born! Every time he'd glance anywhere in our general direction a green plastic bead would bounce off the centre of his forehead....."Hurrah!" cheered us, "Oh my word..." shrieked the gay, and all would be merry.
Randomly during the shift someone would be sent to collect the beads of bashing and the circle began again.
Some of the beads are still turning up under ours desks now, a good few weeks later.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 16:31, Reply)

I once
rewrote Jetpack in VB3 while on a very, very dull training course.

...and rewrote the 'beziers' screensaver just because I'd worked out how to do it in my head.

Still...it looked, for all intents and purposes, that I actually was coding, and thus doing my job.
(dchurch bah, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 16:29, 2 replies)

I have worked in many shitty factories...
but in 2006 i took the biscuit. Working constant backshift saw all the regular workies fuck off about 5pm, then by 7pm all the overtime beasts were gone too, as was all of my workload as i usually ramped my machine up to 150% to get finished early. This gave me 3 hours to myself before the nightshift arrived, and as there must have been 6 folk in the entire factory on backshift, none of them management, i was not harrassed remotely during this period. Which was a good thing, as if they ever clocked that i pre-rolled up to 25 spliffs in this period to be taken home and consumed by myself and friends after work, it would have went down like a gay pride march through Bagdad. This also happened daily, and i usually went through 2 ounces of green a month. We actually had competitions to see how many pre rolls we could bring at one point.

Naturally i have changed careers and work ethics since then, but 2006 will always be remembered by me as the most care-free hedonistic time of my life...
(Overdrive fucking loves you!, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 16:17, Reply)

Harrods
I work in the South East, there's one of those shops in town where you can buy ANYTHING, and at a very reasonable price. That reasonable price is very handy when you are buying big solid non moving things like hammers, but kind of worrying when you look at how much they sell complicated dangerous electrical things like circular saws for. Obviously, it's ended up being called Harrods by us.

I work in an office, not a factory floor, workshop, building site, or anywhere where physical stuff is generally expected. Sometimes we work late though, and Harrods has had a lot of stuff brought for amusement. Including:

Office cricket set: used the main aisle as a bowling run, fielders at their desks. Took out one guy's special recognition plaque.

Office baseball set: used more just to smack a ball around the office. More solid than the cricket set. Took out the guy's other special recognition plaque.

Gnomes: one was moved around the little pond outside quite often. Ended up on a rock, under a bench, one a fence and the like. The office next door kept putting him in the bin. Someone else had obviously taken a shine to Frank (as he was called), because then he ended up silicon glued to the top of the fence. Until one day he wasn't there. Lot of looking around, and then someone spots him lying in the actual pond. Which led to us buying:

Gnome fishing stuff: Plumb lines, sticks with hooks on - anything you could walk around a hardware store, look at and think "I could use that to retrieve a gnome from the bottom of a 3ft deep pond over a fence". None of which really worked. What finally rescued Frank was when a guy on a bike stopped beside two of our lot trying to fish him out and asked what they were doing. When they told him they were trying to fish the gnome out he replied something along the lines of - "I pushed him in, was drunk at the time." Then jumped fully clothed over the fence, dropped into the pond and rescued Frank before cycling off into the distance. We never did find out who that masked man was.

Leaving presents: normally as a small joke part of someone's leaving gift, but one time we made the mistake of letting Harrods's biggest fan go into town on his own to do the shopping. The leaving year in business student received (off the top of my head) - 'Celebration Fruit Drink', a laser gun, 'Tomy Girl' perfume, possibly a bow and arrow, other assorted crap to the value of around £30.

Various guns, arrows, etc: because a department thrives on the fear of getting hit in the back of the head with a plastic suckered arrow or cork.

Radio controlled Subaru car: you can make jumps from bits of desks which are just the right width, and race it around people's legs.

Flying screaming monkeys: pull them back, fire them at someone's head while they're on the phone, or just throw it into their lap.

Horny Franque: Frank's french cousin. Horny Franque is a little bald man who thrusts his hips backwards and forwards to the tune of Blaydon Races. The best bit about Horny Franque is he's motion sensitive, so if you can turn him on without triggering you can booby trap someone's desk.

Not from Harrods, but in the spirit of Harrods playthings:

Radio controlled plane: No steering, just adjustable flaps at the back. Worrying if someone's got their headphones in and doesn't realise it's heading for the back of their head.

Radio controlled helicopter: because landing it on someone's desk is just the way to impress one of the Directors.

Slingshot: one of those ones like fishermen use to fire bait. Firing a gobstopper in a plastic wrapper resulted in it making halfway across the office and dropping to the floor. Firing a gobstopper not in a plastic wrapper resulted in it missing someone's head by inches and exploding against the wall just below a window, leaving a noticeable dent. Slingshot was then banned from the office.




Bored in the office? Buy toys.
PS: Frank eventually was found smashed on the pavement. We blame the neighbours.
(MattWPBS, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 16:16, Reply)

Swivel chairs
I managed to master the trick of sitting near the corner of a table, and with a swift flick of the ankle, kick the table leg just hard enough to do a complete revolution and stop with my outstretched legs just touching the other side of the table leg. Another quick flick and I'd rotate a full 357 degrees the other way (or thereabouts allowing for the positioning of my legs against the table leg.)

This took about 20 mins practice to get it just right.

The next trick was to do 2 full revolutions, drawing my legs in to avoid the table leg on the frst pass. This is harder to judge because drawing your legs in increases the rate of revolution.

Three was harder.

Trying to do 4 revolutions resulted in my booting the table over and nearly falling off the chair. Nobody noticed because I used sit in the server room a lot of the time. This was because it was quieter and warmer because the building wasn't complete and had no heating to speak of. In November.

Luckily the monitor on the table wasn't damaged though the '8' key flew off the keyboard and completely disappeared under a server rack.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 16:15, 1 reply)

being self-employed
and working from home means me and Mrs SLVA can go upstairs for a quickie. Or if she's not in, a quick one off the wrist.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 15:58, Reply)

Long, long, long history of B3ta
I recently graduated last year and am currently working for a lovely company that will remain incognito. I work on a support team for the in house hardware development people, (robots with screws etc), and all started well until a few of the team left for various reasons, like not being alive anymore.

This has lead to a halt of my training which will resume soon hopefully but in the meantime over the past few months I have been read every page of the archived questions of the week from first to last and I have run out so I’ve decided to add to this one.

I’ve been coming to B3ta for a very long time, a lot longer than my account implies, so I know there were many more QOTW before they started being archived and wish they could retrieve the ‘Student Flatmates’ QOTW all 60 odd pages of it as nothing has ever come close to being that funny.

Yes I’m critiquing the QOTW that is how bored I am.
(Note: I gave up reading Pooflake I just couldn’t do it anymore and length jokes are the Burberry of th B3tan)
(Feeb is a smooth operator, operating correctly, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 15:33, 6 replies)

Magic wandering cursor
Being sys admin for a non tech company everything pretty much ticks along except for the ocasional dim whit that hides one window behind another window and then I get the call saying their computer is broken. So for the most part I have to amuse myself for a fair proportion of the day.

I have discovered the simple pleasure of remotely messing with one particular 'hotdesk' desktop while watching the users reactions on the CCTV... all from the comfort of a web browser.

I think its time to find a new job...
( z0mb13e has a bee in his botnet, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 15:04, 1 reply)

I got disciplined by the police because of b3ta.

Seriously.

Apparently, they weren't very happy that I used 4gb of Lancashire Police's bandwidth a month sat refreshing /talk, reading QOTW and browsing old newsletters.

Luckily, I was too awesome at my job so didn't get fired for that. I had to write a written report to go with the investigation about why I 'abused' the police networks and explain what b3ta was about.

Most of the activity was on /talk (due to refreshing so much), when they went to check it out for themselves, it just happened to be a thread about Madeline McCann being raped and stolen by gypsies. That's right.

I had to explain the concept of dark-humour & irony to Lancashire Police's HR dept because one of their forensic staff had been discussing, in a very low-brow sense, over a period of months, child rape, racism and what I'd eaten for lunch.

It's my own fault, I know this; still pretty funny that b3ta was in the top ten most visited sites for Lancashire Police for six months though.

Click this if you think the police are now constantly monitoring b3ta for potential sex pests.

( TonyUNDERSCORE from the Internet, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 14:16, 4 replies)

Hmm, I've worked from home lately
Sometimes I lie down on my bed and throw a small ball in the air, straight up above my head. Then I catch it, and again I will throw it up. I will often try to throw the ball as close to the ceiling as possible without it touching.
This will continue until which time I fail to catch it. If I indeed fail to catch it and it lands next to me, I will simply pick it up and continue to throw, however in the event that I miss it, and it falls down the side of the bed, I will usually roll over and attempt to reach for it before continuing the game. Otherwise I will roll over on to my front and lie there until I need to go to the toilet.
(augsav forgot about B3ta, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 14:05, 4 replies)

Has anyone ever recived a phone call from the NWA?
I can explain. Working in a call center dealing with cold dialing to conduct surveys is not fun. around 99% of all calls end in less than 3 seconds, so its easy to get v. bored. Unfortunately headphones were banned by the management under pain of gross misconduct. A group of girls there defied the ban to see how loud they dared to listen to Alanis Morrisette, with thier fingers on the pause button should someone pick up.

One of the lads there who sat next to them wanted to join in. But made two mistakes, one hiding his earpiece behind his headset mike. And two his choice of music.

If you ever got a phone call that whent some thing like.."FUCK,FUCK THE PO-LICE, ahh.... errm shit. sorry. *click*"

Its because the numpty forgot the important bit about the pause button. He escaped the sack but everyone got a memo about 'offensive ringtones in the workplace'
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 13:28, 1 reply)

Sexual Favours
I spend all my days giving my Boss handjobs. One after the other. day in day out.
I do get favours in return, I get to bang his wife as well, in any position she'll let me.

Its quite ace cos I always get a good increase. then again, I am self employed...
(Bluffboy South Africa! World Champions!!!, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 13:17, Reply)

Time lord Thursdays!
During a cold snap I dressed in a long tweed coat to go to work. This combined with my (at the time) curly bushy hair and colourful scarf led to my colleague to yell out "its dr who!"

And the concept of 'dressing like a time lord' was born.

Christ it was boring at that call center.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 13:17, 1 reply)

I perform acts of impromptu revenge…

Tenuous, but it was at work…

The other morning, I was sat on the khazi, as you do…and I’d finished my unusually efficient ‘innards evacuation’ activity…without any disastrous calamity (for a change)…so was happily finishing a game of solitaire on my phone before meandering back to work…

Suddenly, I heard the sound of the toilet block door being hoofed open, quickly followed by the urgent clatter of hurried steps…somebody obviously had a ‘mole at the counter’ in quite a dire (and potentially catastrophic) way.

The next thing I heard was the door of the trap next to me being slammed shut…then my poor ears bore witness to the frenzied sounds of dunghampers being wrenched down, followed by the gurning exasperation of a man whose spluttering ringpiece was blasting forth death-defying decibels of defecation…it was an almost virtuoso musical impersonation of the eruption of ‘Mount Vesuvius’ performed on the solo bum-trumpet.

I placed my hands firmly over my ears as I heard splats ricocheting around the battered bowl, and suffered the din of a pitiful poo-perpetrator squirming on the seat, groaning, farting and running his hands down the wall panel as he tried to hold on for dear life through the sheer violence of this excessive excrement exorcism.

At this point, (mid-whimper) I recognised the voice – It was none other than Derek, the potbellied, bullying mongoloid with a face like a freshly felched fudge funnel…

The very same Derek, in fact, who thinks he’s a fucking ‘kung fu master’ just because he’s watched the ‘Transporter’ movies, and who went out of his way (without any provocation) to try and make me look like a sirloin cuntsteak in front of the board of directors at the last meeting we attended. We don’t know each other that well, but his smarmy, nasal whine is burned into my mind.

I continued wretching quietly to myself as his sphincter-numbing slurry-fest perpetuated mercilessly next door…then to my surprise I heard some of the sweetest, most beautiful sounds you can imagine following such carnage.

I heard the sound of someone reaching for the loo-roll, closely followed by the sound of an empty tube being spun about its holder…then the sorrowful groan from a total wankspanner of a bloke being rapidly plunged into darkest despair.

I checked my watch…and realised Derek was already late for a very important meeting. Also, I could barely comprehend how uncomfortable he must have been sat atop that mound of munting mess from his mutilated mud-oven.

Disclaimer: Now please believe me, beautiful b3tards, I’m normally quite a nice, amiable guy…but I think you’ll all agree that I have had more than my fair share of crapper-related mishaps and misery…besides…this bloke is a right cunt.

So now...it was PAYBACK TIME.

I patiently waited, until with cringing inevitability, I heard Derek’s voice, trembling with shame as he was forced to humbly request the kindness of a ‘stranger’ through the brown, gassy wisps that were now slowly relieving him of his life-force by way of painful suffocation…

Derek *knocks*: ‘Scuse me mate, pass us some paper under?’

I contemplated for a moment…then spitefully confidently replied:

‘No!’

…

Derek: ’Pardon?’

Me: ‘What? – are you deaf as well as disgusting? It’s not my fault if you didn’t check for bogroll before you decided to splatter the place, and befoul the whole area with your repugnant effluence…so NO!’

Derek: ’Well, erm…what am I supposed to do?’

Me: ‘Quite frankly that’s none of my concern. Now…If you don’t mind I’ll be on my way. Enjoy.’

Derek: ‘Oh god, mate, I’m desperate! P-p-p-pleeeeease?’

Me (putting on fake ‘friendly’ tone): ‘Awww …well…’

After a dramatic pause my voice changed to a more vicious snarl as I continued:

Me: ‘Fiver’.

Derek: ‘What?’

Me: ‘You heard me. Five.English.Pounds. Consider it a fine for your lack of foresight and adequate preparation…like an ‘Idiot Tax’. Give me a fiver and I’ll see what I can do’.

Derek: ‘Fuck Off!’

Me: ‘Fair enough. Not my problem boyo. I’ll just inform the board that you won’t be attending the meeting then…(Here I start to whistle with an attempt at ‘menacing nonchalance’)

Derek: ‘Are you joking?.....Awww come on?’

Me: ‘Don’t ‘Awww come on’ with me, matey….and you’d better make your mind up quick…the price is going up…’

Derek: ‘Oh my GOD!’

After a brief pause I then heard the sound of tutting and mumbling, before a begrudged rummaging of clothes, and to my utter disbelief, a wrinkled up five pound note was coyly pushed under the side panel towards me.

He must have been really desperate.

Even though I was initially staggered at his submissive behaviour, It only served to spur me on.

Me: ‘There you go…now that wasn’t so difficult now was it?’

And with that, I tore off one single square of bogroll and slipped it back under the cubicle wall.

Derek: ‘Wha….? Is that it?’

Me: ‘Well, you didn’t stipulate exactly how much bogroll you would be requiring, did you?’

Derek: ‘*whimper* oh bloody hell…ok then …*sigh*. Could I have lots more please?’

Me (cheerily): ‘Noooo problem………that'll be another fiver’

Derek: ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!…But I haven’t got any more money’

Me: ‘Oh dear….*tuts* Oh dear oh dear…You haven’t learned a thing, have you?‘

And with that, I promptly begin to make my way out…making deliberate ‘step’ sounds towards the door…pretending to abandon Derek in his rancid honk-hovel.

Derek (with an audibly increased state of panic): ‘Oh god mate…don’t be like that…help us….please mate…..mate?......MAAAAATE!?!!”

I then heard his whimpers turned to sniffs, then mumbles of ‘oh-god-oh-god-oh-god' to himself…as he struggled to comprehend his options.

(I, meanwhile, became increasingly and joyously aware that he was just as afraid of toilet-related embarrassment as I was).

I then also realised that it actually wouldn’t be too long before someone else turned up to use the facilities...and whoever arrived would no doubt help him out, so I decided to bring my fun to an end.

As a final act, I walked back towards his cubicle and knocked on the door…

Me: ‘Alright then, cunt-face, I’ll let you off. Be more careful in future’.

With relief ebbing from his words he courteously gasped: ‘Oh, cheers pal’.

I then pushed his five pound note back under the door and said: ‘There you go…You can wipe your arse on that!’

At this point Derek let out a sigh so pathetic that it reverberated around the cold toilet tiles…and I just couldn’t stand anymore…I burst out laughing, then relented, handing him a big wadge of the precious poo-wipe-paper which he had coveted for so long.

And you know what?…deep down…I don’t think I’m really cut out for that kind of behaviour…If it hadn’t been for B3ta, I probably wouldn’t have done anything…

so I blame you lot – my conscience is clear…sort of…this time anyway.

But just in case…I’ll still hang on to that ticket to Hell…

( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 9 Jan 2009, 12:57, 20 replies)

i don't so much work....
i just turn up. I have been a barman for years and at this time of year it gets very quiet. To be honest that hasn't stopped me dicking about every shift. My managers have now given up hope of me actually doing anything productive with my shifts so just let me get on with it.

here are a few things i have made while at work.

Wasted time doodling

A pirate made from a single cork

My fighting armour

The start of the beer box zombie invasion

this last one took 3 days to complete. and i haven't got any pictures of the end result. booo.

I have also made a working cannon from a bottle of rum (works on the same principles as a potato gun). a catapult from straws pens and elastic bands. a horse to go along with my armour. and many many beer box head mask things that i make drunk students wear.

Work is the easy part, keeping my self amused is the challenge
(D-Fenz Who put bacon in the soap?, Fri 9 Jan 2009, 12:56, 7 replies)