Special Needs School
One of my first real stories posted on here!

I did my work experience in a special needs school local to me that my sister goes to, because she's disabled. I was there for 3 weeks, having been told I'd work with a mild disability class, before being changed on the first day to a severe class.

Anyhow, it's break on one of the first few days, and I'm sitting with a girl in the class, when a boy named Lewis came up behind me and started saying stuff to me. By saying stuff I of course mean making noises.

So I turn around, thinking he wants something.

He spat in my face and walked off.
(ratthingbazzterd, Thu 10 May 2007, 19:10, Reply)

D*xons and PHP
I did work experience at D*xons (13 years ago), and had nothing eventful to do, played with the camcorders, folded boxes out back and watched some smut up in the staff room :P

though recently in my last place we had a son of a sandwich shop owner round the corner do work experience at ours, tho us being the WAN/Data Centre monkeys we were too busy doing work/trying to figure out why the MD had missed a couple of emails via Blackberry, to notice we'd been lumbered with said work experience lad that everyone had palmed off HR about.

tho to be fair he spoke twice in 2 weeks, and seemed to have written a demon PHP app widget that might have been able to update some archaic Excel spreadsheet our receptionist used to keep internal numbers on (when we asked if he could do an automated solution, on day one, when he said he could code)

though it was deleted after he went, welcome to modern corporate IT (and proprietary IIS/ASP/Ms SQL/Sharepoint servers mate)
(1_not_so_careful_owner, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:58, Reply)

Ward Work
My work experiance was situated in Scarborough General Hospital all the way back in Year 10. 1st week was a pile of crap. Monday morning i wasn't aloud to do ANYTHING because some clever twunt had gone and overdosed in the toilets, the remainder of that week was spent doing the menial tasks that no-one else wanted to do and on top of that i had to listen to a bunch of 40+ women bitch about their sons and how they werent getting paid enough for the crap they had to put up with.

2nd week was ace, got shoved with the porters spent one morning trolling people around, with a porter nicknamed 'rigor' (This is because he never showed facial expressions and they said he looked like he had rigor morits). Other great nicknames for the porters were big dave, lightnin' and some others which I forget.

After they got bored of me I went back to the porters portakabin watched the Masters (Golf) on BBC and read FHM for the last few days :)

Also the food was crap.

Length? They were all women!
(boshalake attempted to be sober on, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:49, Reply)

Funny how times change
First job I had was in security that netted me £1 per hour evicting gypsies.

I didn't think it was that good at the time but as the years have gone on I'd be happy to pay to do the same thing to these thieving inbred scumsuckers.

Length? Admit it, you want to too
(ElGatodeBarco, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:47, Reply)

My First Job
My first job was as an "Admin Assistant" in a successful specialist employment agency.

I hated it. Apart from the two ladies I mention below, my boss, and my boss's chauffer who were nice people, everyone was a prick.

It was the middle of summer. The office had two floors (a basement and a ground floor shop). While the shop had a lovely front, and only three people on the first floor (Vickie, the receptionist who was lovely and two agents, who weren't lovely), there were a further 15 of us crammed into the badly ventillated basement which consisted of three rooms (one office, one kitchen and one toilet).

So, you can imagine, it got rather hot. Especially in Summer.

To make matters worse, we had to wear a suit and were not generally allowed to remove the tie, although we didn't have to wear the jacket in the office. We were not allowed shorts (or even short sleeved shirts).

One particularly hot day, I got in to find I had a lovely job. Over the past few months, we had built up a large stock of milk bottles (over 30). I was told to clean all of them and put them in a box, outside the building where the milkman would pick them up.

So, 30 bottles (some months old) with the remains of the milk. I still remember the smell, and the heat of the hot water I was using only made it smell worse.

I also remember a rather nice American lady who worked for the company (Deena something) who's job it was to phone ex-contractors and ask if thry are still interested in work. Unfortunately, she had picked up the wrong file and started happily phoning contractors who had died to ask if they wanted work.
(Ok, I'll get me coat, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:45, Reply)

Architecture...
I spent my work experience in an architects office that did a lot of work for farms - new sheds and buildings, and redoing the older falling apart ruiins and doing them up into something nice and livable.

We went out one day to survey one set of buildings on a farm, taking basic measurements and photos of all the main dimensions, so a rough drawing could be made up back at the office. Spent the day happily working away, until we got back at least... Someone mentioned some guy driving down the road to the farm, and cars parked next to the neighbouring farmhouse...
'But we own those buildings, nobody should be down there'
'The house looked lived in...'
'Which place did you survey exactly?'
We had seemingly managed to take a wrong turning, and we ended up spending most of the day surveying the buildings of some unknown farmer, almost a pity he didn't appear sometime to say hello...
We went out the next day and did the proper buildings (with nobody driving past and the neighbouring house all quiet and empty).

The other trip out of the office I had, we got to go out to do some surveying stuff, namely checking drainage...
Guess who ended up at the bottom of a seven foot trench pouring buckets of water on the ground and seeing how long they took to dissappear? (to be honest, I didn't really mind doing it at all, as it looked more fun than standing in a field writing down the numbers as I shouted up)

Quite a cool week actually, learnt about some of the stuff involved, and got to work away drawing up an extension to a house (sadly a completed project I was playing with, they never actually built my bit...), and an actually useful and informative placement, compared to some people who ended up working in various shops and the like which had nothng to do with any chosen career paths (Currently halfway through university studying civil engineering)

The amusing bit was the next year in school when we got intoduced to a shiney new computer drawing package we could use, which I had spent the week working with, so I had a better knowledge of it than the teacher (a great teacher who was excellent in every other area we looked at, and fairly capable in the programme too really)
(442, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:33, Reply)

Strangely enough...
...everyone at my school has just recieved details of their placements. Except me, as I'm too lazy to get a job.

Still, at least Ben Ringham's going to be spending his week cleaning shithouses.
(peterlynch, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:06, Reply)

working in morrison's for £3.28 an hour
not too bad actually - i used to get stoned beforehand, hide in the racking in the warehouse, and munch out.
( Malaka omdz, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:03, Reply)

Leaving school at nearly 16, 30-odd years ago,
I spotted a job advert for 'Cadet Nurses'.

This was when a TV series called 'Angels' was popular, and most young girls fancied themselves in a tight white uniform and dainty cap.

Cadet nurses were under-18s who hoped to go into nurse training when they were old enough. The idea was that you'd work in slightly sheltered conditions and pick up enough experience to help you in your chosen career.

So I and several others turned up, and were chucked straight in at the deep end.

The 'hospital' was a home for what were delicately called 'the mentally subnormal'.

About half were incontinent, many were bedbound, all were severely institutionalised and the place stank of cabbage and wee.

I was given, on my first morning, a row of 'patients' to 'get up', all of whom were likely to bite me, throw up on me or cover me in shit. No namby-pamby aprons or rubber gloves!

I had no clue how to do this.

After a few weeks I could manage the work OK, but I never quite got used to the constant harrassment from the male staff, who'd think it funny to walk up behind you as you bent over a bed and pull your uniform up to your armpits. Being asked to give a wank in the sluice was a common occurrence too, usually by respectable married men.

The place was like one of the circles of Hell. I stuck it for a couple of years, but had to face the fact that nursing had lost its career-appeal for me, and when I turned 18 I ran off to work in a factory. For 4 times the money and a much safer, if oilier environment.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:02, Reply)

I got a job in a gastropub,
working for a chef who wasn't so much a mincing culinary artiste as a fire-spewing, faintly anthropomorphic 18-wheeler. The very idea of getting in his 'bad books' was enough to reduce a grown man to wobbly, piss-leaking hysterics.

That's why i spent nearly 20 minutes rooting around in a nipple-shatteringly cold outhouse-slash-ice-storage room (with only my regulation crisp white shirtsleeves between my palpitating heart and a dementedly bitter January morning), engaged in the futile quest to fulfil his snarled demand for a 'leg of salmon'. I was practically hypothermic by the time i twigged.

Safe in the knowledge that he can't plough his melon-sized fist clean through my windpipe and pin my voicebox to the door from behind a computer monitor, I'd very much like to take this cowardly opportunity to call him a wank-gargling teratophiliac rimjaw.

Cheers, b3ta! \(^o^)/
( grey kid is breakdancing to save a community centre, Thu 10 May 2007, 18:01, Reply)

Locker Grunt
My first job was for a division of a large construction company in Birmingham, Alabama. Our section fixed time clocks and lockers. Since I was right out of high school I was put on the locker crew with a bunch of other guys I knew.

It turned out to be a completely insane job... beating sheet metal back into shape... rebuilding locks... etc. (found out master locks really aren't bullet proof)

The pay was pretty good... we got paid hourly and if you traveled around the southeast to high schools you got $200 in cash to take care of hotels and food.

When fixing locks and overhauling lockers you can find most anything... I found a brand new pair of Doc Martins in my size, a sega game system, some stereo speakers, a good deal of cash, all sorts of things!

A few quick stories...

I once worked in a upscale HS in Tennessee late into the evening and once the sun went down.. holy god... roaches literally poured out of the walls. It was like some Hitchcock movie! The lights in the school were motion activated and there was enough roaches that the lights would randomly blink on and off up and down the dark hallways... it freaked us out!

Then one time in a tiny poor ass school in north Alabama one of our crew guys was chased by a pissed off peacock that had apparently taken up residence in a boys bathroom.

This was also around the time of the Olympics in Atlanta, GA... we happened to be working in a very swanky HS that was all computerized and motion activated. Everything moved on its own... the doors opened and closed... the water fountains... the lights... toilets... sinks... etc. The school was huge and cavernous and we happened to be in it working while a class 1 hurricane screamed overhead. We thought we were going to die... the power was blinking on and off and all the motion activated stuff was going insane... doors slamming by themselves.. toilets flushing... water fountains squirting... all the while Tornado sirens blasting. So we go to the lowest point of the school to take cover to find... THE WOMENS OLYMPIC SWEDISH HANDBALL TEAM taking cover there as well! As three 18/19 year old guys we assumed we had died in the hurricane and went to heaven! They were there practicing with their giant blond man-apes of trainers and were all freaked out by the storm. Naturally we had to console the girls ;-)
(TribeDoktor, Thu 10 May 2007, 17:58, Reply)

More paper boy tales
One Sunday I and the other paperboys were marking up our rounds when we noticed that David Platt was in the shop. It back was when he played for Villa and being local lads we were all very excited and star struck.

We took ages to mark up the papers as we watched him, looking resplendent in his finery (nasty Hummel club supplied tracksuit, no socks, pricey white trainers with no laces, smooth) as he systematically read the sport section of each paper in turn, replaced them, then he left without buying one. With a weeks pay he could have bought the shop, several times over.

Mind you if you see him now, I think he saved all the money for pork pies.
( abefroman skating on the thin life of modern life on, Thu 10 May 2007, 17:51, Reply)

My first "real" job (with a wage packet at the end of the week)
was in a furniture store as a "junior salesman" or as I later found out really meant "dogsbody"
Anyway, I had the "long stand" "glass hammers", "Tartan paint" all the usual old chestnuts. But as a (fairly) streetwise 16 year old i had heard them all before and never fell for any of them.
until one day the head sales guy told me there was a letter for me in the office, and it was from France.
off I went into our office full of young ladies, and asked was there a letter for me there from France? A few blank looks and the secretary said no, there was not and it was about that point when it clicked.

a letter from France

a French letter.

Bugger.

There I stood 16 years old and had just asked a room full of young ladies had they a French letter for me.


3 months later the place got fire-bombed and that was the end if that job.
( TBL I posted this on, Thu 10 May 2007, 17:38, Reply)

Have your cake and eat it...
After sacking the morning paper round cause I couldn't get out of bed and got the numbering system wrong when I did, I got a job selling fruit & veg on a door to door night-time delivery round. For a 14yr old it was the business. The smallholder/owner was a bit of a loser. He was about 40, bald with bushy sideburns and still lived with his mum, I guessed he was still a virgin by the pervy way he used to ogle the housewives on the doorstep. I started off as his runner, fetching and carrying from the trailer. Then, after a while, he gave me a big bag of change and set me off on the knock, hoping to increase his sales. I soon got the hang of it, as most took sympathy on me, even if it was just a bag of carrots for 14p. It was an eye-opener too, as many a nightie clad lady would bend over for a rummage in my basket, for a closer look at my wares (it worked both ways). Some seemed to revel at my fortnightly appearances, or was it me being naive? It didn’t take long for me to realise that it is impossible to stock-take perishables and that the float I had was a bit random too. I was soon topping-up my meagre £5 a night on the sly, better still was him letting me drive the car as we progressed street by street in the night. This activity was soon curtailed after I nearly overturned the 4-wheel trailer on a bend at speed, “oh so that’s what the middle peddle is for?” as he yanked on the hand-break in desperation (phew that was close). With business booming he even took on a younger lad as my junior. So for 5 nights every 2 weeks I was raking in £50 easy and pushing up my own commission dependant on the sales! What struck me was how easy it was to just think of a number when tallying-up a customer’s purchases, as nothing was labelled you could invent your own prices accordingly. Fiddling around with cash on the doorstep can be a draughty affair, but for the convenience most never questioned the total. Most nights ended with a veritable feast to take home from the chippy. Back then I could afford fish and a steak pudding with curry sauce and still have my wages and cash to spare, happy days…

Circa 1980.
(minky, Thu 10 May 2007, 17:22, Reply)

I was interested in music...
Fareham isn't the best of places to br growing up with a passion for music as there's not much around... a couple of music shops but they got snapped up pretty sharpish. Therefore, in order to get something related my first work experience was in:

The music department of my own school.

A whole week of all the fucking twats in the years below taking the piss because I was working for our own music teacher.

Fucksocks.

A few years later the balance was restored when I got to do work experience in Olympic Studios in London where I met Noel Gallagher and told him he couldn't play the piano for shit because it involved using both hands at the same time. Nice bloke, he agreed with me.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 10 May 2007, 17:22, Reply)

i did my first work experience at a web design office in Devon
i spent a week dicking about with flash, and when the working day drew to a close, we watched porn.

my second work experience was at RAF St. Mawgan in Newquay with the Seaking engineers. I spent a week talking about how anal sex wasnt degrading for women, looking at the filthiest shit you could ever want to see (including animals) and having a brilliant laugh with the squad. i did some engineery bits now and again.

i enjoyed it so much, i now do the same for a living, but with a civil airliner, and everyday is the same as those enjoyed during my work experience.
( Johno says the chances of anything coming from mars are a million to one But still they come on, Thu 10 May 2007, 17:02, Reply)

I asked for...
...'something that involved computers' from the work experience noggin that came to my school year. Taking this request on board not one little fucking bit, they gave me two weeks of office admin at a Xerox repair plant. There was one AS/400 terminal in the office - I got to use it for inputting repair documents for - wait for it - just one hour in the entire fortnight. The rest of the time I photocopied stuff. Endlessly. There was still piles of it when my time there was up and I didn't slack off any.

So, obviously a free skivvy arrangement as far as Xerox were concerned. That and as boring as a really seriously boring thing for me. No wonder I've resented the necessity of working for a living ever since.

Later in my academic career though, I got another WE placement in the media studies faculty at Salford Uni - more specifically the departments that dealt with studio recording. I was a dedicated raver (when it was still cool to be one, or use the term 'raver' at all) at the time and had enjoyed playing with samplers and sequencers before. I had two weeks of big fun in there - even knocked together a tune or two in the PMR studio but with hindsight, they were a bit shit :)

I remember some time later when I worked as a storesman for awhile, the factory I served took on lots of Uni-break summer jobbers who were frequently sent to me for:

* A long stand
* A glass hammer
* A hard screw (or two)
* A nonstandard uniform (briefly admired the thought that had gone into that one)
* A star jump (or any number thereof)

There were more, but I can't remember them. It dismayed me how many of those uni students fell for these. When they came asking for star jumps I always told them that they could make those themselves. When they came asking for a hard screw I told them they weren't my type.
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Thu 10 May 2007, 17:01, Reply)

It passed the time...
First post, yay that I actually have a story this time.

When I was 15 I was sent on work experience to a big company that made flight simulators and whatnot. They were quite a large local employer, and used to give our school quite a large sum of money each year as some kind of sponsorship deal, so naturally the school wanted to keep them sweet and I was sent along with two other girls as shining examples of the school's best pupils, despite actually specifying that I would like a week in the police force or a zoo.

For the first day, I was sat at a desk in an office full of old men and asked to take apostrophes out of some coding. All day. And the next day. No one talked to me. It was my 16th birthday on the Tuesday, and as you can imagine, I was quite upset. 9-5 data entry was not quite what I had had in mind.

On Wednesday, they completely forgot to pick us up from the station...and so we returned home. I refused to go in the next day and spent the day shopping with my mum instead.

We told the school how rubbish the placement was and they asked the company to make it better on the Friday. To placate us, they asked some of the younger apprentices at the company who were about 19 to show us the flight simulators.

It just so happens that one of the apprentices took a shine to me and we ended up having a brief and largely physical realtionship... Needless to say that, after this, they no longer gave the school any sponsorship money.
(superfran, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:59, Reply)

Mine was ace...
I did my work experience with the editorial team of PC Review and spent almost the entire time playing games in their office. Not only that but I got to hang about in Bath and take the train in and out everyday which was fun. I ended up getting a review published in the latest issue at the time as well.

The second week I was at Bristol Airport with the flying school based there. I spent most of the time on reception chatting to people and the week culminated by being taken up during someones lesson. Which was also great.
(mehmeh 0% witty, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:53, Reply)

My work experience was last year
It might come across as a good job, but it's bloody not. I was testing games. This game was Earache Extreme Metal Racing (lucky for me cause I listen to all that 'pig-gutting shit').

But playing the same game over and over for 2 weeks, 10am to 5pm with a 20 minute lunch break in between is not only boring, but painful on the eyes.

A few short anecdotes now.

Power went out on the first day.

Was told to 'pull this lead out of the computer', pulled the wrong one.

Made some of the programmers jealous because I'd played the Zelda: Twilight Princess GameCube demo in Summer '05.

Was late for almost every day of work (was supposed to start at 9am, but the door was never open that early so I got in at 10), so I legged it out without taking a report on the last day.

While eating lunch in Stourbridge town center, I saw someone who looked a lot like Frank Kelly. I only just managed to stop myself from shouting 'FECK'.


My friend worked at Game Station and did fuck all.
(Grim Jimm makes loud noises at myspace.com/corpsewalking, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:32, Reply)

I did mine with the army.
About 30 blokes from my school and about 10 from several other schools in leafy Hertfordshire, went an hour or so down the road to some army barracks and dicked about with paintball guns for a week.

All whilst indulging in traditional army pursuits of; maliciously and cruelly bullying two of the weakest members of the group, casual racism, mostly from the squaddies and mocking the only girl in the group, who came with her mum and who had to go home after the first day because her mother forgot her pills and had a fit...

Oh how we loled
(Gimli son of Gloin., Thu 10 May 2007, 16:31, Reply)

Banks are cunts
In so many ways! I worked at Midland bank, now HSBC for 2 miserable weeks. What a farce; work experience my arse! Day 1, I get to 'shadow' one cashier bird who had absolutely no sense of humour; questions like "So, has anyone ever robbed this place then?" and "What would you do if that bloke there pulled out a shotgun?" went down like a rifled hippo. Ok, so in retrospect now, they probably weren't the best questions to be pulling out the bag in a bank, but still...I was trying to ease the pain of utter boredom.
Day 2, was better; got to 'shadow' some bloke who told me continuous stories of how 'munted' he got every day at uni. Day 3 I got to put the new mid-day exchange-rates on the magnetic board thingy! Fucking highlight of my weeks I can tell you.

So, things went more like that over the course of the 2 weeks. The only interesting thing that truly happened was when I, from sheer curiosity, logged into one of the OS/2 terminals using a password one of the guys had bleated out one day in conversation to someone else (can't remember for the life of my what that conversation was, but I overheard it randomly none-the-less) just to see what OS/2 was like. I meant nothing by it, just wanted to see what cool backgrounds OS/2 had or something like that.

They caught me, and subsequently dragged me into a windowless office out the back to interrogate me as to: what I thought I was doing, what information had I seen, why, where, how and with who? This was all with the someone from the school present, and all the time threatening legal action if I didn't cooperate fully. I explained, rather dismayed by all the polava my above mentioned motivations, how I had gotten a login (wasn't exactly hard), and that I wasn't in fact an undercover hacker from a rival bank. They let it go, albeit somewhat puzzled.

My punishment? A shit report back to my school at the end of my work-experience. Apparently I "wasn't interested and made it clear". No fucking shit! Christ, I've never felt so close to cutting my own wrists in all my life!

To this day, I can't quite remember why I thought it was perfectly acceptable to login to a random bank terminal to 'play around', but still...boredom does strange things to the mind. And it turns out OS/2 is bloody boring too...no games or anything!

The end of this story is that I exacted my revenge on the bank for the shit report....a good 9 years later in fact. While there, I opened my first proper account and used it as my primary one for years, through leaving school/college and into work. Then I went to uni and racked up a massive bill on their expense. I then fucked off to Spain and have no intention of ever coming back or paying off my now rather substantial debt, so shove that up your arse HSBC!
( slippery doctore, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:23, Reply)

Paperboy doing the rounds
I had Sunday paper round delivering to all the lazy rich snobs in the area. Of course they all wanted the broadsheets who's Sunday editions were enormous and weighed loads. Lugging that lot about was probably akin to being Barry White's pallbearer. They nearly broke my shoulder and my Raleigh mountain bike.

One week, one of the miserable old sods told me off for leaning his Sunday Times against his front door instead of putting it through his letter box which was about 15cm wide by 2cm high. The next week I fed each section through individually much to the delight of his dog who ripped them to shreds.

The next week he asked me to lean it against his front door again in future please thankyou nice young paperboyabefroman and he gave me a nice big tip at Christmas. Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
( abefroman skating on the thin life of modern life on, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:14, Reply)

12 years old
I started working at my grandfathers radiator shop during the summer. I eventually got the hang of things and became quite the little mechanic but, for two years, I would sweep the floors and take out the trash and just try and stay out of the way.

Then, I found the attic.

And my dads playboys he had hidden there when he was my age.

best job EVAAAAAR!

'insert bad length/girth joke here'
( Krog3r has acquired some deceant lurkage, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:13, Reply)

Camden market
Mine consisted of an early start from forest hill at 0500 hours, twas when you could jump the train , so 20 mins of tagging the fuck out of network south east i was at london bridge then strait on to the then free northen line for a bit more tagging (rar3 if any one remembers) i would then emerge up into the hippest place on earth to sell t shirts for 12 hours to foreign students and clowns. the rave scean was just kicking in so i quickly became a pill head and spent sundays tripping and smoking blow while letching every woman that walked past the stall (thats what we called it then) I only got paid £50 a day at 15/16 i tell you it was fucking terrible..
( war3n3xt < I'm with stupid, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:11, Reply)

Scabies
One of my first jobs was making false teeth. Sounds mad, but it was actually a great laugh. Just three or four guys in a lab, smoking doobies and listening to the radio all day. The job was piss easy, but the hours were long.
A few months after I joined, they hired me an 'assistant' (someone willing to do all the shit for less money than me).
The lab was long, thin and a kinda L shape. My mate was down the other end, so on newbies first day I sent him to my mate with a request for some stripey chalk (hoping he'd come back saying that matie only had spotted).
Anyway, after about five minutes he still hasn't come back so I go to check on him. My mate had him writing out a list of things to go and purchase. It was the usual sort of items for such a list (glass hammer etc).
He was gone for hours. Every shop he went to didn't clue him up on the gag, but directed him to another place that might be stoking the items.
When he came back he was distraught and close to tears (bless... fuckwit). His mum complained to our boss the next day.
We also got in trouble with his mum after we talked about muff diving as if it was scuba. He'd told us that he was going on holiday somewhere in the med, so we told him it was a good place to find muffs this time of year.
He'd rushed home that night to tell his mum all about it, he was THAT excited.
Poor little monkey boy didn't stay with us too long. He developed a red, scaly rash all over his body. Turns out he was allergic to nearly all the chemicals we used in the lab.
It was after we nicknamed him 'Scabies' that he finally cracked and never came back.
This was 20 years ago now and I bet he still lives at home with his mum.

Bless...

Fuckwit.
(EvilMeister, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:09, Reply)

Used to work in a kitchen
'Go and fetch some Legs of Salmon form the container'

'Go and tell the bar staff that we only have 200 sausages left'

'Can we get some fresh ice please?'

The fun never stopped
( WormuIus, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:08, Reply)

My work experience...
..Was literally shite, seeing as that's what I cleared up all week. I worked at a wild animal hospital, clearing out all the cages, and feeding maggotty goodness to all the birdies.

The only problem was with Bernard the turkey. Bernard was allowed to wander wherever he pleased, hated black bin bags, and attacked anyone carrying one. So I therefore spent my entire week hauling around bags of poo and maggots, being chased by a psycho turkey; then having to write it up. Really prepared me for the real world, that..
(Rubber Peacock Angelic Whore, Thu 10 May 2007, 16:02, Reply)

Network Installation Monkey
While in college, I worked for my brother in laws company that did networking. Great big networks too! (this was the early 90's) Pulling cables through ceilings, punching down CATV wires in the telephone closets, etc.

So my first day on the job, a couple of senior guys tell me to go head out to the van and bring back two buckets of 'dial tone'. I dont know what you guys call it over there, but dial tone is that noise you hear when the phone is working properly and you've just picked it up.

It doesnt come in buckets.

I learned that when I saw them doubled over in laughter.

I subsequently did it to every new guy hired after me. I still laugh now just remembering some of the looks on their faces when they would come back and say "There ARE no buckets of dialtone." and I asked "Did you open all the buckets and listen?!"
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 10 May 2007, 15:40, Reply)

post office
mine was actually quite good, apart from the early mornings, was finished by 12 most days so could go and watch the world cup afterwards
( epiphany coming live from sweden, Thu 10 May 2007, 15:27, Reply)