Whilst working in the sweet factory
a lot of time was spent watching and waiting for the mixture to come up to temperature. Despite the managements insistence that I spend this time productively, preparing ingredients or washing tools, I preferred to amuse myself in these moments.

Being covered in fudge, and having lots of large plastic buckets at hand, I naturally began testing my ability to lob small fudge balls across vast distances into the buckets. Until, that was, management claimed I was a "bad example" to the packing drones and I should stand up straght and look busy at all times. £3.75 an hour does not spur a nineteen year old to selfless heights of production.

This was the beginning of the end. To alleviate the crippling boredom, I began making small fudge cock'n'balls' and leaving them everywhere.

Apparently, they were still finding them years later.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 15:02, 2 replies)

but...
at least you weren't the packer...
( b3tz, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 15:27, closed)

if ever a joke
deserved a rimshot


it was that one.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 16:14, closed)