Mallow
I used to work in a confectionary factory – to earn a bit of cash out of Uni. This place made lots of things, doughnuts, cake toppings Fudge (yes, I know, fudge packer haw haw) and Marshmallow

For those of you not in the know, Marshmallow is made by heating was is essentially sugar and water, then aerating it. It goes from clear glucose syrup to white frothy gloop – this resembled PVA glue.. Which at the time of packing, is still very hot and tacky – so needs to be left to cool down.

I was taught how to use the machine that produced this frothy gloop in the best part of 3 mins, it was that easy. The golden rule was don’t stop the machine once its pumping out the Mallow. One batch will take about 90 mins to run, which – once you’ve done you can have a long break. It was a fairly easy job. 3-4 tons of Mallow was made in a Batch.

I had worked on this machine for a week, before some bright spark thought a rotation was in order – so I could get more experience on another line. In my place they put new lad. Again he was taught the rules, don’t stop the machine.. what ever you do… work through all your breaks and take a long one at the end.


3 hrs later I was sitting in the canteen when I heard a loud bang - 3 guys then walked past resembling the ending of ghostbusters.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 11 Sep 2012, 12:23, 15 replies)

The not-so-bright farmhand.
Christmas time was a coming and the geese were getting fat. There weren't many, perhaps fifty or so and they'd been rounded up into a barn and needed to be 'dealt with', so to speak, in order to be ready for the shop.
The farmer's rather busy and the task of dispatching the geese lay upon the local daft bugger.
"Gavin, get on up the barn and kill the geese. The whatdoyoucallit is leant up 'gainst the side wall"

The "whatdoyoucallit" meaning the broom handle. To kill a goose you lay the neck on the ground, put the broom handle across, stand on it and pull to break the neck.

Gavin returned after not a very long time, considering he had fifty geese to neck with a broom handle.

"Job done boss."

"That was quick Gav, how'd you get it done so fast?"

"Well, I haven't quite tidied up yet, thought I'd wait 'til it's calmed down a bit in there"

"Calmed down? What do y........." Farmer looked up from what he was doing and saw Gavin stood there. He immediately ran to the barn.


There the broom handle was, leant up against the wall.
Also leant up against the other wall was a scythe....... a very bloody looking one.

Gavin only went and picked up the scythe, chasing the birds round and loping their heads off! It was carnage, total carnage. Fucking blood everywhere with still twitching, violently fluttering headless corpses. All over the barn.

Wrong tool for the job using the wrong tool for the job.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 15:54, 6 replies)

6 years at the farty end - a tribute to my ex boss
I am a long, long, long time lurker, but I cannot help myself.........

The background: A man who has found himself in charge of a niche nanotechnology company, much to the frustration and continued amazement of his employees.

The episodes (I'm sure I'm missing some classics but these are the ones which immediately come to mind):

1) Going awol from work for two days because he had his trousers stolen. Complete with wallet, house and car keys, and driving licence featuring home address.

2) Farty walking, with no apologies or excuses, in front of his staff, overseas distributors and customers.

3) Multiple unexplained suit-tearing incidents, in a variety of countries. Said suits reappeared on many subsequent occasions, complete with unmended rips/ tears/ bust zips.

4) Nervous tics ranging from chomping to violent head-scratching to squeezing his man-sausage between his two index fingers. In the middle of meetings.

5) Trying to set-up a conference call and calling 999 by accident.

6) Regularly choking on food as he doesn't understand that you should chew what's in your mouth before stuffing more in.

7) Wearing a bumbag while travelling for security reasons, and still forgetting where he's put his tickets and passport.

Received today via email from my ex-colleague: Today he nearly broke his back carrying a display stand down a flight of stairs rather than using the 'rather well suited for the job' elevator. After his rather embarrassing fight with the staircase he then dragged it out to his car and proceeded to spend ten minutes trying to fit it in his boot, despite the fact the the opening of his car's rear storage compartment was much smaller than the box he was trying to put in it. After a total of 30 mins wasted on this particular activity he asked a much more competent member of staff to ring fedex to get it delivered to it's destination. I imagine he did this to avoid dialling 999 again.

I really can't understand how he's still alive, never mind in charge of a company.
(whskyngngr, Wed 12 Sep 2012, 0:01, 4 replies)

Should have been the worst...
My Dad was trying to wallpaper the hallway ceiling, and failing. Eventually my Mum embarrassed him into getting a professional decorator to do it. The decorator had one arm. And he did a much better job than my Dad...
(Smale is stuffed, Tue 11 Sep 2012, 13:12, 7 replies)

Splash!
I have started taking my kids swimming as a cheaper way to get them to learn to swim (and it also has the added bonus of me being able to try and work off some of the flab I have gained). A few weekends ago I was at the local swimming pool and managed to see something mentioned in a previous QOTW by other users, the family that turn up and leave their clothing in a cubicle .

While I was in the midst of doing the whole blow up armbands for the two youngest kids of mine when said family left the (Still full of clothes) cubicle. The mother turned to the eldest of her brood and shouted at him in local chav drawl ‘’Oy Bradley you forgot the sign’’ (obviously her instructions came with swearwords). Young Bradley nipped in to the changing room and whipped out a cardboard made out of order sign that he blu-tacked to the front of the changing room cubicle door and then shot off to join his mum and elder spawn. Naturally as a polite non confrontational English bloke I did the whole tut and wonder how someone could think to remember to bring a sign and blu-tack to a swimming pool but not a £1 that would be returned to you after the locker was opened again but another witness to this event took a rather different approach.

The guy who had been towelling himself off (ooh err) went into a full rant, dressing and storming out of the room muttering about going to get a member of staff. I will admit that I did take a little extra time in getting the kids ready just to see what happened next and in some sort of twisted way I am kind of glad I did.

Angrybloke returns with bloke in polo shirt bearing name of the swimming pool. Angrybloke shows the clothes in the cubicle, explains the situation (With the backing from a couple of people who had seen what had happened), the trouble is the guy he was speaking to didnt seem to be able to understand the situation and Angrybloke started to lose the plot a little.

Angryguy: just take the sodding sign off and throw the sodding clothes in the skip

Poolguy: Sorry mate, I can’t the sign says its out of order

Angryguy: THAT SIGN ISNT YOURS! WE HAVE TOLD YOU THIS ALREADY..... ITS WRITTEN ON A BIT OF CARDBOARD FROM A FOSTERS MULTIPACK FOR GODS SAKE!

Poolguy: Look sorry mate but I don’t know what to do with signs, that’s not something I deal with sorry mate

Angryguy: Don’t call me “mate” sunshine, just because I don’t teach you anymore you should still address me as sir

Poolguy: I left your school a long time ago and I don’t know what to do with the sign.

Angryguy: You are the most senior person here?

Poolguy: Yup, we have a few staff members on holiday but I’m in charge for now

Angryguy: This place really has gone to the dogs! Sort this out and kick them out for taking up space illegally

Poolguy: I really really can’t do that. Have to speak to the caretaker first, he deals with the maintenance and might know what to do with the sign.

Angryguy: ITS NOT YOUR SODDING SIGN.......Sod this, I will do something about it myself!

(Rips off sign and tears it up and then gets coin from pocket , grabs all clothes from cubicle and stuffs them into a locker)

Angryguy: Ha! Lets see them get it now

(Locks locker and strolls out of complex with key while poolguy looks on stupidly)

I went swimming with my kids but managed to see chavella and her sprogs arguing with the same poolguy as we left the place later on as poolguy had no idea where the spare locker keys where and was going to ring someone to find out.

I think that this is a two for one story really as both Poolguy and Angrybloke were both in the wrong job. Poolguy was pretty useless and should not have been left in charge of a place he knew little about and as for angrybloke, I don’t think he should be allowed to teach kids with a temper like that (The sad thing is that this happened during the summer holidays so it’s not like he had a stressful week at work or anything).

Apologies for length, I blame the temperature of the pool water.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Wed 12 Sep 2012, 12:18, 6 replies)

I used to work as a carer. Working in group homes with people with mental and physical disabilities.
One of the places I worked housed 4 young blokes. All aged between 17-20. a range of disabilities from mild CP to Fetal Alcohol Syndrome to Autism and Prader–Willi, mostly nice fellas but they could be a hand-full at times.

In that house I worked for nearly 2 years. As a male carer I was relatively rare and I worked with mostly middle-aged women. Had "first beers" with 3 of the guys in that house, had to show 1 of the guys how to search 'safely' for pr0n as his computer kept getting virused.

Most of the staff I worked with (usually 2 on shift) were reliable, stand-up people. Who took a little time to get to know the guys and how to deal with them.

Then there was Anne (names have NOT been changed to protect the guilty - Anne if you are somehow reading this you are a menace to your fellow workmates).
Anne was a loud, brash woman who seemed to think that she could deal with any situation by shouting and getting excited. Suffice to say that usually didn't work out very well.

A couple of instances - Bert (the autistic 1) got over-excited and stormed out the front door (he had done a runner in the past). Anne proceeded to chase him up the street screaming at him that "if he didn't come home right now he wouldn't be welcome and we would get the police to come looking for him." Bear in mind that this was his home and the house was situated in a residential street.
I found Bert (not his real name obviously) down at the local park. I talked to him quietly and calmly and we headed home. I got him settled and ready for bed (despite Anne again threatening him with all sorts of consequences). My incident report for that night makes for some interesting reading - sadly I had to leave her at the house with the 3 other blokes when I went looking for Bert - who knows what went on as they were all fairly stressed by Bert's behavior.

Another time Rick (the young man with Prader-Willi) decided to go off 'cause his parents chose not to take him out the coming weekend because of his bad behavior the previous weekend.
Anne chose to tell him this mid-week. When he reacted badly she refused him his dinner (never an acceptable punishment. Ever).
He duly chucked a huge tanty (Rick was 6" and about 100kgs.) People with Prader-Willi also suffer from Pica frequently and food is a major issue.
Rick then proceeded to run rampant around the house, throwing things and hitting anyone in reach.
I managed to get all of the other guys into their rooms as safely & calmly as possible while Anne stood out of the way and shouted at Rick.

Eventually Rick ripped the linen cupboard door off it's hinges and threw it at me.
Anne then proceeded to lock herself in the staff/sleep-over room.
Whilst Rick chucked heavy objects at me.

I eventually calmed him down, reminded him of his "social contract" (an agreement whereby if he behaved well he got rewards) and got him to settle in his room. The coordinator turned up about 1/2 an hour later as Anne had rung her and still hadn't come out of the locked staff room.

I answered the door with a cheesy "What are you doing here?", as all was quiet and the guys were all in bed.

I never worked with Anne again.

EDIT: I should point out that over 8 years working as a carer I found the "Softly, softly & take all the time in the world" approach worked really well with most dramas that didn't involve immediate danger to myself, other staff or my clients.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Wed 12 Sep 2012, 8:35, 33 replies)

The comedy engineer
Once upon a time i was working for a small IT company in the depths of sleepy Surrey. We were understaffed and had a lot of work coming up, so when one of the secretaries said her other half was really good with computers we thought it was worth a shot. Had we ever overheard her talking on the phone to him we may have taken a different path. He believed himself to be a unique talent in this world able to turn his hand to anything.

we first learned that he overestimated his skills after hearing the father of the secretary threaten to punch his lights out if he ever tried to fix her car again as it cost him £300 to get the bonnet and bodywork repaired after some of his expert maintenance.

Our concerns as to his geek skills were first raised when after being perplexed by how to open a dell pc he took to breaking the case by wrenching at it with full force instead of pressing the button and opening it, in front of its owner.

He showed no remorse for any action and would dive in without thought. A client in a business house bought their own mail server so they didn't have to use that of the business house, he configured the mail accounts all by himself, but when he couldn't figure out why they were not receiving mail he was perplexed, after we told him the accounts on the business house server were still active and picking the mail up and he would need to get them to deactivate the accounts. filled with his own confidence he decided to try it without help. 250 deleted accounts and 9 companies email configurations wiped later he was removed from that server and told never to enter that building again.

Many times he would phone up for help with an issue, step by step instructions would be given, which were ignored, then asked for again and followed, and when he got back to the office would proceed to tell the person who baby stepped him through metaphorically wiping his own arse exactly how he solved the conundrum of wiping his own arse.

not to be outdone by the email server shenanigans, the next week he went to another client, the job was to change the name of the accounts user after her marriage. he wiped out their accounts data from the accountants pc and the server, deleting over 150 custom written invoicing templates that had been created over 4 years.

we decided actually being allowed on a computer was too much for him, so we trained him up to install network cabling runs. Which of course he then believed himself to be the best cabling engineer in the world.

His first job was to install 35 points in an office, 17 worked. in his words "Thats bloody good considering im colourblind" (getting the correct colours in the correct pins in faceplates is kind of important, a bit like oxygen being kind of necessary to live)

i left the company for another job, the last i heard of him he was moving to devon to become a caravan salesman, but to me he will always be the greatest engineer i have ever met
(podgerama, Fri 7 Sep 2012, 22:57, 1 reply)

Don't trust spell check
Back in school, we had prefects 'responsible' for various bits of the IT infrastructure.

A friend was applying for such a position, and had duly writing a covering letter. Not being the world's best speller, the resulting letter was a swathe of red squiggles, which he proceeded to fix by accepting the spell checker's default suggestion every time.

This proved somewhat unwise! He ended up submitting an application letter that opened:


Dear Mr Smith,

I am appalling for the job of...
(FiftyThreeEleven, Wed 12 Sep 2012, 23:22, 5 replies)

Your Answer is in the Question
*This is a pearoast from an ongoing series of posters that I put up, but unless you live in my neighbourhood you won't have seen them so...*

KNOW THE ENEMY

Welcome to your new health secretary.

In 2009, Hunt was found by the Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards to be in breach of rules after allowing his political agent to live in his taxpayer funded home in Farnham as a lodger from November 2005 to June 2007. Hunt’s offer to repay half the money (£9,558.50) was accepted. Hunt also had to repay £1,996 for claiming the expenses of his Farnham home whilst claiming the mortgage of his Hammersmith home.

As Secretary of State for Culture, Olympics, Media and Sport, Hunt clearly showed his disdain for fair process, in withholding the Ofcom report on the Murdoch takeover of BskyB until mounting pressure forced him to revel that it recommended the matter be referred to the Competition Commission. He later claimed that his department released the report (by a publicly funded public body acting in public interest) despite not being required to do so.

He then chose not to refer the matter to the Competition Commission (despite this being its sole raison d'être), announcing on 3 March 2011 that he intended to accept a series of undertakings given by News Corporation, paving the way for the deal to be approved. Then of course it all came out in the wash.

Hunt was alleged to have had improper contact with News Corp. Emails released to the Leveson Inquiry detailed contacts between Hunt's special advisor Adam Smith and Frédéric MichelNews Corp’s director of public affairs and therefore a lobbyist for James Murdoch. Hunt appeared before the Leveson inquiry on 31 May 2012, when it emerged that Hunt had himself been in text and private email contact with James Murdoch, even congratulating him on the progress of the takeover bid, but nonetheless then took over responsibility for adjudicating on the bid.

In April 2012, immediately following David Cameron's statement that he would not associate himself with anyone who carried out “aggressive tax avoidance”, the Daily Telegraph disclosed that Hunt had reduced his tax bill by over £100,000 by receiving dividends from Hotcourses in the form of property which was promptly leased back to the company. The dividend was paid just before a 10% rise in dividend tax and Hunt was not required to pay stamp duty on the property.

Now kiss the NHS goodbye

References:

Standards and Privileges Committee - Fourth Report Mr Jeremy Hunt". parliament.uk. 10 December 2009. Retrieved 4
"Hunt gives green light to News Corp-Sky deal". The Spy Report (Media Spy). 3 March 2011. Retrieved 3 March 2011.
"News Corp withdraws bid for BSkyB". BBC News. 13 July 2011
Oliver Wright, et al "James Murdoch's revenge: Evidence that shook Government to its core", The Independent, 25 April 2012
Leveson Inquiry: Hunt defends 'congrats' Murdoch text". BBC News. 31 May 2012. Retrieved 31 May 2012.
Holly Watt and Claire Newell (27 April 2012). "Jeremy Hunt avoided £100,000 tax bill in deal just days before rate rise". Daily Telegraph. Retrieved 27 April 2012.
(strongp, Wed 12 Sep 2012, 16:19, 5 replies)

My gearing purred. I hadn't been this wound up in a long time, but something about him drove me wild. My circuits frothed.
The crash had woken me up. I'm normally plugged into the mains at this time like all the other droids, powered down and cycling the day's data, but for some reason I'd left my sensors on. I detected the impact with my internal gyros, and new it was something big.

But now, stood in the back yard with the night air steaming around my excited motors, I never anticipated how big. He was huge, in more ways than one. His lithe frame towered over me, limbs trembling with raw power despite their slenderness. And he was black, pure black, just the way I like them. I'd never seen another robot like him, and I knew he was not from this sector.

He stood in the doorway of the shed, framed in a pulsing orange glow. The same glow that burned through the smoke rising from the hole in the shed roof, that he'd obviously fallen through. He stood stock still.

And then it hit me. A hailing frequency that didn't just request but demanded I respond. Its force hit my receptors brutally, and the discharge spread through my internal wiring with a delicious overpowering shiver. My motors spasmed, stepper motors whining, and my coms port popped open immediately. I was powerless to resist his calling, and I stepped forward on shaky limbs.

He receded into the smoke as I walked towards the doorway of the shed, until his silhouette was shrouded in the writhing mist. I stood still, waiting.

His com-port cable surged forward. Thick, black, metres long, it thrust through the smoke straight for my now open comport, and connected with such force that my legs went weak. And he discharged, oh how he discharged into me. I put out my arms and gripped the doorframe of the shed to keep me steady, feeling the rough splinters under my sensor pads as his powerful flow overwhelmed me. I burbled. I gasped. My body shook under the dominant force of his possession.

I woke in my recharge cell. Surely, this was all a dream. A glitch of my data reprocessing, a spike in the power distribution. I performed a body scan for errors, checking all sensors.

"Error detected; left articulator", chimed the scan. I looked down at my hand. There, wedged between the knuckles of my index finger, was a rough wooden splinter.

I heard you guys like alien robot shed porn
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Sat 8 Sep 2012, 19:41, 5 replies)

I nominate myself.
In February next year, I will have worked for 25 years in the same industry.

I know FUCK ALL about what I'm doing.

I spend days at a time surfing the net, wondering if I should go and do something.

I go on many business trips, and achieve nothing. Sometimes I achieve something, then forget to do anything about it when I get back.

I am supposed to manage whole offices of people, but they know far more about what they're doing than I do, so I leave them alone, other than to go to the pub with them.

My desk is usually clean and tidy. That's becuase I have a large cupboard behind me where I put papers after they have been on my desk for more than a few days. Every 6 months I empty it out and shred everything.

The best bit - I don't work in a bank, so I have no excuse for this profound crapness.

Only 20 years to go and I can retire!
(username failed moderation, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 14:18, 8 replies)

My dad
Quite a tenuous link…

Before he retired my dad was a carpenter. He worked on building and construction sites.

Being a shortish, portly fellow who likes his cheese, beer and other flatulence-inducing goods, he used to produce farts on demand, the type that stick to the back of your throat and make your eyes water.

He’d often clear an area of the workshop, especially if he was ‘upwind’ of his unsuspecting comrades.

However, after a hernia operation on his stomach, his sphincter control lessened somewhat and he had to be much more careful with his impromptu bowel orchestra.

So it was that on two occasions he managed to shit himself at work and had to go home after throwing caution to the ‘wind’.

The second time my mum was called in to pick him up and arrived with a Tesco’s bag carefully laid on the front car seat. Much to the amusement of his fellow workmates.

So, I think my dad would be the wrong man for the job to teach toilet training.

Length? More like shooting mud through a leather gun than a solid Snickers-esque turd no doubt.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 14:08, 2 replies)

My dad and I were employed delivering an air bubble filled chocolate bar manufactured by Cadbury
It was a wispa son - father job.
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Wed 12 Sep 2012, 0:16, 4 replies)

Getting glassed
I used to work for a company that made industrial process control equipment. That is, all the instruments and controllers that make oil refineries, chemical processes and other industries work, controlling the temperatures, pressures, sequencing and so on. One particular customer made glass for spectacles. They replaced all the controllers for the glass ovens in a large factory with our kit.

Now, the documentation for the programmable controllers went into some detail about how to set them up to "fail safe". So, for example, if there was a power cut or other major problem, valves would close, fires would go out and so on. But the chief engineer decided that He Knew Better, and tried to set them up to ensure that the production line kept going whatever the circumstances.

And so it came to pass that, late one night, there was a shutdown. Thanks to the "original" way that the engineer had set things up, all the valves in the plant immediately opened. With the result that when the workforce arrived the next day, they found the entire plant ten centimetres deep in solidified glass. Apparently it all had to be chipped out by hand...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 11 Sep 2012, 9:30, 2 replies)

iPhone? Meh.
I used to make mobile phone games for a (rather poor) living. When the iPhone was announced, I confidently predicted that it would flop as a platform for gaming. People want buttons, I said. You can't touch the screen AND see what you're doing.

I don't make mobile phone games anymore.
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Mon 10 Sep 2012, 11:03, 1 reply)

Grade A tool
His name was Rix. I won't give his first name as I don't want to go to court. He'd only been in the company for six months when I was put in a new team under him. Well, more of a double-act really, just me and him. Due to my ten years' experience in various parts of the company and the exams I'd taken, I'd finally managed to get a job in a relatively interesting area: Strategy. He, supposedly, had had similar roles in different companies and came highly recommended.

BULLSHIT.

How can I put it? He was so fucking clueless that if he was chained down to a chair in front of a Bumper Book of Crossword Puzzles, with Inspector Morse on his left and Sherlock Holmes on his right to help him, he still wouldn't have been able to discover a single, solitary, fucking clue. I can honestly say that he added absolutely no value AT ALL in the year or so I worked with him. Mostly, I did the work then he picked over it. He fussed like an old woman, and he knew nothing and nobody that would help in our role. He was 100 percent, guaranteed free of gorm.

Funny thing was, I quite liked him at first. He was fairly easy to get on with and although ten years younger than me, that wasn't a problem for me: virtually all the managers I work for are younger than me, because they've had a decade's head start.

But then his habits started to annoy me. Constant stories about his car, some BMW or other, e.g. it had a scratch and he spent the best part of three weekends sanding and spraying it until he'd ruined a whole panel and had to get it done professionally. OK, but why tell us the whole story every single day? Also, he'd constantly, but surreptitiously sniff his fingers - yuk, and when he said 'marketing' it came out as 'margeding' or ‘strategy’ as ‘stradegy’ and WITHOUT FAIL, at every single meeting we ever went to (and there were lots), he'd use the word 'predicated'.

He would moan about how the work we were getting wasn't interesting enough. He thought he should be advising the executive board on ‘stradegy’. The sum total of his knowledge was a passing familiarity with the BCG Growth-Share Matrix (see Wikipedia), which is probably taught in term one of A-Level marketing [that's Marketing 101 for our American cousins]. Imagine going to see the top guys at NASA and suggesting that to get more thrust for their rockets, they should have a look at skateboard propulsion technology principles.

This numpty I then discovered, was actually TWO whole grades higher than I had originally supposed and, as a consequence was earning over £50,000 a year, while I scraped by on roughly half that, doing his job as well as mine. Towards the end, as everyone else cottoned on to how useless he was, we weren't given any new work to do. Stuff we should have been doing was given to other people and what did Rix do about it? Did he have a frank discussion with his boss, ask why, suggest stuff we could usefully do? Did he fuck. He'd call a 'team meeting', which meant we'd get up from our desks with our pads and pens and wander off to find somewhere to sit. Then he'd bitch about everyone and everything and I'd advise him to pull his frigging finger out of his arse, stop sniffing it, and get something done. Then we'd go back to our desks no further on; this went on for a year. Gradually, he started taking more sick days and 'worked from home' a lot, it was only a matter of time.

In the next reorganisation he opted for redundancy and was refused! Ha ha! So he had to resign, while I finally got a decent job. Hurray! That was back in 2007...

About two years ago we were recruiting for a new strategy manager, our department boss (a very nice guy) came over with a c.v.

'Che, you were in the team when this guy Rix worked here weren't you? What do you think of him?'

So I said (pretty much verbatim) 'He was a complete and utter waste of space and if you give him a job, then I'll have to leave.'

'Well, that's fairly clear. I think we can forget him then.' and he dropped the c.v. into a re-cycling bin on the way back to his desk.

Out of curiosity, I fished it out of the bin and read an account of his role at our company that was about as accurate as a creationist’s explanation for dinosaurs. Not just a grade-A tool, but self-delusional, bullshitting tool. The kind of guy that puts the ‘wanker’ into: ‘that guy is a complete and utter wanker’.

Good riddance.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 16:16, 4 replies)

Not so much "out of his depth" as "merely dipping his toe into the shallow end"
Another NHS one.

At an NHS trust I worked at a while back, a very senior radiologist (radiographer? I can never remember which one takes the pictures and which one does the analysis) killed someone with a slip of a pen. He meant to write 3/52 and instead wrote 3/12. Meaning that the patient in question had an appointment booked in three months' time instead of three weeks', by which time no amount of radiotherapy could bring them back to life.

So he lost his licence to do his job for a number of years. Five, I think it was.

Given that he was on around £120K, you would have thought the trust would say "we aren't paying you £10K a month if you can't do your job".

But no, they found things for him to do.

He was instrumental in getting the flower beds around the place in a lovely condition. He helped plan office moves. Whenever a new IT system came in, he'd help support the users at go-live (which is how I came into contact with him). He helped to pick colour schemes when places got repainted.

He just did little things around the place to keep himself busy.

For ten grand a month.
(ScousersPet, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 15:46, 13 replies)

No 605 bus
We had several school buses from school when i was younger. The one I took was the 605. The bus was almost always damp, and smelt musty. It had a decor 20 year too late, and never quite displayed the correct number on the front. It usually looked like '60/' with the number 5 not in the right place - but we still knew it as 605.

It was an old bus, but boy could it move. I think this was more likely down to the bus driver we had, who was - to put it lightly, not the ideal candidate for a bus full of teenagers.

He resembled Bronson by build, and looks. The man was a lunatic, and drove like one too- often slamming on the breaks, waiting until everyone had recovered and shout obsenities to apease the volume of chatter from us scallywags.

It was as if the job was a liftime punishment for something he had done earlier. It was his hell.

I remember standing next to the front door once and watched him drive. He sweated, grunted and huffed all the way home. No one dared talk to him.

He rarely would obey the speed limits, and found it easier to get the journey over with as quickly as possible by aiming for an average speed of above 40mph all the way home. Quite often the most exciting part to be on the bus was the upstairs left front seat, as you seemed to sway more and occasionally hit tree branches. Which - when doing ~40mph is quite exciting. It was more like a rollercoaster ride. The more upset he looked as you got on the bus, the more you felt you were in for an interesting ride.

Certain days I remember seeing him close to breakdown - face red, sweaty, veins on the side of the head bulging. This was actually prior to the kids getting on the bus. So you can understand why when 150 screaming unable to sit down teenagers would allow him to tip over the edge with rage.

and thats my story. No specifics I just thought he wasnt ideal for the job.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Wed 12 Sep 2012, 16:52, Reply)

Anyone remember the "Love Bug"?
This was a viral 'worm' (circa May 2000) spread by email containing an attachment named LOVE-LETTER-FOR-YOU.txt.vbs.
Its attachment, posing as a text document, was actually a chunk of VB script (the double file extension was a bit of a 'give away') which, if opened, would be executed by MS Outlook. It would then proceed to rape your address book, sending copies of itself to the first 50 or so entries; then your computer, overwriting various files with copies of itself, making itself auto-run on startup and installing the Barok trojan.

I received my copy (which, for the record, I wasn't stupid enough to open - apart from with a 'dumb' text editor, so I could pull its wings and legs off) from our Computer Operations Manager - the guy in charge of our network, hardware, computer security, etc.

Oh how we laughed!
(minimalist ..., Tue 11 Sep 2012, 14:52, 15 replies)

A priest named Chobb went to visit a church run by a breakaway sect of the Catholic Church.
The religion practised by this sect was very similar to orthodox Catholicism, with one crucial difference - instead of depicting Jesus, all of its religious imagery appeared to depict the lead singer from the B-52s, Kate Pierson.

Barely able to contain his ever growing anger at the sight of such blatantly imitative heresy, Chobb asked the leader of the sect, "Who on earth is this flame-haired harlot you insist on worshipping?"

"Howay man," replied the leader (who was a Geordie), "she's wor St. Pierson, Father Chobb!"
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Sun 9 Sep 2012, 15:55, 17 replies)

The CIA are trying to kill Mr Manuel using cyanide-coated playing cards
Whist poison for the Rob.
(ubergeekian, Sun 9 Sep 2012, 14:00, Reply)

Sepp Blatter
At first glance, Sepp Blatter might seem like a perfect candidate for this QOTW; arrogant, inept and embarrasingly prone to faux pas. However, an organisation as full of cunts as FIFA couldn't really have found a more apt representative than him - as a figurehead of the sorriest bunch of wankers known to football, he's pretty much unrivalled.
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 19:58, 8 replies)

Kevin the car crash victim.
Many moons ago the company I worked for decided to go all PC and employ a disabled person. As it was in an old silk mill with limited access it was unsuitable for wheelchairs or people with limited mobility. This was no problem for Kevin as his disability was that he was an ex Programmer who had had a severe car accident that had stoved the back of his head in. After years of therapy his carers felt he was ready to get back to work.

Outwardly he seemed like a normal and nice enough chap but his particular problem was a next to zero short term memory, however once he'd got a concept in his mind long enough for it to migrate to his medium to long term memory it was fine.

So what job did the bright sparks in Management give him? Helpdesk 1st line support.

Typical conversations went like this:

*phone rings*
"Hello."
"Hi, It's Kevin, I've got a customer on the phone for you."
"Who Is it?"
"I forgot."
"Aren't you supposed to write down their name before you forget it?"
"I forgot that"
"Can you find out who It is first?"
"Ok."
*phone rings*
"Hello."
"Hi, It's Kevin, I've got a customer on the phone for you."
"Who Is it?"
"I forgot."
"Look. Just put them through."
*click*
"Hi, Is that Sarah?"
"No, This is Airman Gabber, Did you want Sarah?"
"I asked for Sarah."
"I'll put you through to Sarah."

This went on for weeks until the not-as-yet Mrs Airman gabber siezed an opportunity to be his handler, which basically meant he was her bitch for the rest of his employment there.

The best bit was he left us for a better job as he decided we were all a bunch of amateurs.

He was probably right.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 16:36, 1 reply)

Rick the not-IT Manager
My first ever manager in IT, it soon became clear that - like a male version of Jen from The IT Crowd - he had absolutely no idea about computers, computing or even where the computer room was. In all the time I worked with him, his idea of "management" was to call us up to his office at regular intervals, and test us on the operating system commands from out of the manual.

By the time he was let go (after a period of two years where he was taken off any work that might cause him to break anything, resulting in a botched attempt to get us to buy dozens of the world's most expensive telephone "because they look right pukka") the user system had changed so much we were constantly failing his "little tests" because his manuals were so out of date.

Saw his Facebook page recently. He's got no photo, has updated it twice, and has managed to "like" Manchester United.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 14:07, Reply)

Scared of sheep
A couple of friends and I went out for a day in Dorset. We visited Athelhampton House, West Bay and finally Maiden Castle. On Maiden Castle there are quite a lot of sheep - hundreds, in fact, and they run about freely with no fear of humans.

Bad news for my friend, oh what shall we call him, Jason. On seeing the sheep running towards him he began running in the opposite direction, emitting shrieks of terror, and legged it all the way back to the car and wouldn't come out.

Of course we took the piss out of him and still do to this day.

His job?

Animator on Shaun the Sheep.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 13:31, 1 reply)

I'm sure they'll be a lot of "My boss...." type ones,
...but, my old boss:

I used to sit next to him but with some weird perspect divider that barely muffled any sound coming from his desk - he needed it as he would regularly discuss 'confidential' matters - apparently.

I was sitting there one afternoon after a few down the pub next door, when he had one of these 'confidential' meetings.
The chap he was speaking to was also notoriously useless and both had in fact been shuffled sideways to our out-of-town office where they couldn't cause too much damage - they'd both been there decades and the general consensus was that they would cost too much to make redundant.
The conversation went along the lines of:

"So, shall we use Windows NT or Oracle?"
"I think we should use Oracle. It costs more. It's surely better."

There were many like this.

Now, aside from the fact that they were asking a question in keeping with "Shall I use a fork, or a slice of wholemeal toast", they also had a managerial attitude of "it costs more, therefore it must be good".
The managerial people skills were also very badly lacking. On one occassionm, I'd had around 10 days off sick - I'm rarely sick and there was a lot going on in my family which had run me down and meant I was getting pretty much every bloody virus in the air every few weeks.
A year after this happened he pulled me up on it. He'd looked at previous years and had seen that in the last 4 years, I'd had one day off sick, yet still concluded that I was a serial sicky-taker.
That evening, the automated mail responder had stopped working. We finished work at 4. He phoned and asked me to come in and fix it. I wasn't paid overtime, and had no call-out fee. I'm sure you can guess my answer.

So, in short, an IT manager with the IT skills of a dead hedghog, and the people skills of David Brent.

Apologies for lack of funnies. This bloke was such a nob it's making me feel depressed just realising that he's probably still out there somewhere - probably running some global IT dept. for BA.
(dchurch bah, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 13:29, 4 replies)