b3ta.com user Fireyfox
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I am a red headed person of the female persuasion and cleverly took my username inspiration from a web browser. I reside in an area where the locals have a predilection for pies and I am considered posh because I use the words 'the' and 'to' in their unabbreviated forms.

As a closet snob I enjoy looking down my nose at people and getting annoyed by bad spelling, poor hygiene and bad teeth.

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» Gyms

How I was violated in the sauna
Once upon a time I was a wannabe fitness fanatic. Incidentally this was prior to my love affair of lounging in bed, eating KFC, reading QOTW whilst simultaneously undoing the button of my size 16 trousers. During this time I joined one of those hideously expensive chain gyms which we shall call Total Madness for the purpose of this story.

I immediately allowed the lunacy of the cavernous air conditioned spaceship to permeate my very being. I desperately wanted to be one of them. Those lycra clad expertly made up women swishing away on the cross trainer for 2 hours without breaking a sweat. I even bought new gym gear: powder blue ladies Reebok jogging bottoms and sporty vest.

Every morning I set my alarm clock for 5.30, struggled out of the bed. Donned my new expensive designer sweat sacks and staggered barely awake to my car. I drove the 2 miles to the shiny glass and steel fitness warehouse. I joined the surprisingly large number of BMW driving, Johnsons dry cleaning suit bag carrying, spikey haired overpaid sales executives and middle managers, and trudged, trying to look like I belonged (as much as a dumpy blonde secretary can) to the changing rooms.

I would then emerge from the bowels of the changing rooms, up the spiral staircase to the upper realms of the dance music booming posing paradise. I would follow my program, masterfully devised by my trainer of 10 minutes on the cross trainer, 10 minutes on the bike, 10 minutes on the treadmill. This was going to turn me into a supermodel. It would allow me to be one of them. One of those orange, perfectly preened, large bicepped femme fatales I aspired to be.

One particularly grey and drizzly morning I arrived in the car park and realised I could not face my daily torment of low level exercise. I decided, in my wisdom, to use the other leisure facilities. Namely the sauna. The soothing heat would melt away my winter blues leaving me invigorated and raring to go work.

Donning my swimming costume and taking my towel I sauntered through the pool bound door of the changing rooms and made my way down the corridor of neutral coloured wonderment to the sauna. I opened the door, the soothing heat causing my tense shoulders to relax. I picked a seat on the upper level, where it would be hottest to flush out the most toxins. After a few minutes I feel the beginings of sleep start to wash over me. A nice warm nap in the sauna begins to appeal so i lie down fully on top of my towel.

Through the warm sleep fuggy haze I am vaguely aware that someone else has entered the sauna. I realise my mouth is open so keeping my eyes closed I try to appear as if I wasn't asleep. Slowly consciousness returns and I open my eyes slightly and roll onto my side. Imagine my surprise to see a wiry old lady with long curly pubes crotch flossing with her towel in front of me.

I sit bolt upright: my mind flounders what to do.

"Oooh it's nice to get warm in here" she says whilst whizzing the towel at high speeds through her hairy spam purse. "Mmm" I reply non commitally trying to avert my eyes from the ever increasing in speed towel masturbation session unfolding in front of me. I become increasingly aware of her lack of effort in drying any other region of her body.

I decide that it's time to make a move. "Right," I say in what I hope sounds like a mature and assertive way "I better get to work". I step down from my second tier sauna perch and move towards the door. The pervy old lesbian makes no effort to move out of my way. "Excuse me," I say smiling pathetically "may I get past?".

The old lady now has a far away and glazed look in her eyes, like a dog in a leg humping session, and continues oblivious to my discomfort to saw away at her rancid mary hinge with the towel. I'm now starting to get worried so attempt to place my hand on her arm to move her to enable me to get out of the door. The crazy old bint turns as I put my hand forward so it lands on her droopy old pancake boob. I leapt, with now a sense of positive urgency, to the glass tinted door and wrench it open. Only to see two of the designer cozzie clad babes staring at me in open mouthed horror.

It dawns on me that to them all they have witnessed, due to the tinted glass, is me pawing a crazing mastubating old lesbo on the tit. I am sweaty and flustered due to the excessive amount of time in the sauna. It looks as if I'm a lesbian geriophile.

I start to stutter an explanation but I'm left like a fish out of water, I realise any explanation would sound even less believable. I instead opt of half running back to the changing rooms, donning my work gear and leaving the place at breakneck speeds.

I never did go back. Instead I choose eating KFC and reading QOTW.
(Fri 10th Jul 2009, 23:14, More)

» Sticking it to The Man

How I stuck it to the bitch in charge
Once upon a time I worked in a residential home. Although those who lived there became residents before they needed nursing care the home operated what was cheerily called a 'till death policy' which meant the home would cater, as much as it was able, for the changing needs of the residents stepping up to nursing care where required.

I was a young 17 year old girl, my career advisor had told me to that I would be suited to becoming a nurse. I quickly secured a job at this exclusive residential home in a very upmarket location on the Wirral. The home looked like a beautiful place to live: large open living rooms, a large dining room with linen table cloths, everywhere was carpeted with expensive looking swirly carpets, high ceilings, large doorways. The interview process was brief: I confirmed my name and interest in the position, was issued with a uniform and told to arrive at 8.00am the following morning. I was contracted to work 36 hours per week.

The work at first was hard and soul destroying. As I was the most recent recruit the tradition was that you are made responsible for residents who are incontinent. I was given no training on how to change residents to ensure their dignity and no manual handling training. At the time I was too eager to be well liked and progress that I didn't speak up. I was also shit scared of the manager who had a sharp tongue.

After I'd gotten over the initial shock of what the work entailed little details began to cause me real concern. The heating was on high 24 hours a day to keep the residents warm, it also kept the staff in thick cotton uniforms and tights a veritable candida breeding ground. However the itchyness of my muff was not my concern. The servery which housed cups, plates and glasses was also home to the condiments which accompanied the residents' meals. Huge wholesale containers of Happy Shopper mayonnaise and tartar sauce. Checking the labels of these hydrogenated fat filled vats of cholesterol, becoming translucent in the heat confirmed they did contain egg. That's right, egg based product held unrefrigerated in the equatorial temperatured servery being dipped into with buttery knives meant cross contamination was rife.

It was common knowledge amongst the staff that many of the residents were thought to be weak stomached, suffering from diarrhea and vomiting with reasonable regularity. Being keen of eye and shy of mouth I began to keep watch of which residents were ingesting the foul salmonella laced condiments and sure enough they were being ill. I voiced my concerns to the nursing home manager as tactfully as I could, she went ape shit and accused me of being a mole from the environmental health, called me a busybody and a jobs worth and made me feel like shit for speaking up about the health of the residents. She then proceeding to make my life increasingly difficult for the next week. She locked the incontinence pads cupboard and then went out shopping meaning I had to leave residents in filthy soaking pads for hours with no means to change them. She put me on the bath rota for 5 residents per evening meaning I had to rush the weekly baths and upset the residents.

In short - she was an evil bitch.

I started to notice more and more things. There was a cook in employment by the home who prepared the meals for the residents. The kitchen, in the basement, was a complete health hazard. None of the sides had been cleaned properly in a long time, there was raw meat in the fridge above cooked meat, supposedly vegetarian meals were made with beef dripping. One resident's special dietary requirements of low potassium were completely ignored.

Fast foward about four weeks I come down with a terrible chest infection. I really shouldn't go into work for risk of infecting the residents. The elderly with weakened immune systems could quite easily be finished off by a chest infection. I called up the manager and said that I had a chest infection, she lambasted me on the phone and told me I must come in as noone could cover my shift. I arrived at 8.00am just as my colleague who had covered the night shift was leaving, she met me at the staff entrance with the message "[the manager] says that if you're not well to go home because she doesn't want to listen to you moaning". I saw red, not only because I had a dragged myself in partially out of fear and partially from a mistaken sense of duty when I was very unwell but to met with that message made my blood literally boil. I stomped into the staff room slamming my feet on the parquet floor to show my annoyance. The manager looked up from her morning cigarette with disbelief at the level of noise I was causing. Before she could speak I barked


She looked away amused and said 'Yes' dismissing me with a flick of her hand.


And with that I unzipped my stripey green uniform, stepped out of it and marched out in my bra and tights, my head held high. Two days later I received a letter from management stating that I wouldn't be paid my owed wages due the manner of my resignation and not working the required notice period. I wrote them a very polite letter back stating that they were legally obliged to and also referencing in a veiled threat that I had never signed anything to say I opted out of the 48 hour working week arrangement (I had regularly been working over 60 hours per week). Within two days I received a cheque for my owed wages. I then shopped the fuckers to the Care Standards Authority and the Environmental Health.

The home was sold shortly afterwards to a private Healthcare agency who took it over and improved the standards so I heard from my former colleagues.

Bastards, served them right.
(Sat 19th Jun 2010, 21:12, More)

» Famous people I hate

Reassessing my opinion of Kerry Katona
For a number of years I've enjoyed loving to hate Kerry Katona. Not really paying much attention to the vapid nicotine addicted bint but keeping my eye firmly enough on the cover of the celebrity magazines (and buying the occasional one) to know the latest drugs / drink / cosmetic surgery / bankruptcy / relationship breakdown she was presently courting the press with.

My biggest source of incredulous exasperated hatred was the claimed bi-polar disorder from which she suffered. Drunkenly slurring her way through her This Morning interview to cocaine induced twitching limbs and swinging jaw on her MTV programme and blaming it on bi-polar medication.

A couple of evenings ago I was playing with our new BT Vision box and going through the TV On Demand stuff when I found a series of Kerry Katona : What's the problem and put it on in the background while I was surfing the interwebz. I didn't pay it much attention until one episode where she was reunited with her Mother who was a dead ringer for Jabba the Hut. When I saw how her Mother spoke to her, comparing her to Damien from the Omen, slapping her and generally acting like a disgusting obese alcoholic bitch who clearly had no regard for her daughter's feelings something completely unexpected happened. I felt really sorry for Kerry and realised what a fucking dire upbringing she had had.

Not sure how it'd escaped my attention up until that point that her erratic behaviour, crash diets, drink and drug problems stemmed from her childhood and I was overwhelmed by a sense of sadness. A sense of sadness that she was allowing herself to be exploited (and admittedly paid handsomely) to feed the baying mob of the public, that shamefully included me, who were ready to watch her have a cardiac arrest or emotional breakdown on television.

"SO WHAT?!" I hear you cry. "She's brought on herself and she's the one signing the contracts with MTV and she's getting paid shedloads of wonga for doing it!"

But isn't it sad? Isn't it sad that there is a large audience of people who want to watch a mentally ill person dangerously close the edge trying to exist in a pressure cooker celebrity environment for their own amusement?

I suddenly felt horribly guilty. I was one of those people. I wanted to watch her coke addled and chain smoking and laugh at her trying to pass it off as bi-polar. But it's horrible really, this mentality that it's acceptable to aggravate people and push them nearer and nearer to meltdown to sell papers and boost ratings. I almost want to say inhumane but realise that I've already strayed far enough to have lost most of you.

Apologies for the lack of teh funnehs.
(Wed 10th Feb 2010, 21:59, More)

» Random Acts of Kindness

When I was an irresponsible 16 year old...
...I'd been out with a guy I'd met recently for a few Sunday daytime drinkies. At this stage in my life I was jaded by underage drinking alone and was 'experimenting' with drugs; we'd decided to get a bag of cocaine (or Vim, brick dust or whatever the fuck we'd bought) to prolongue our drinking staying power (and further damage our livers). The day was enjoyable: we got a bit pished, had a few drinks in various bars until the time came to say adieu.

Being a smart arse 16 year old, who lived for the moment, with a sense of false invicibility awarded by the massive drugs, I'd spent every last penny of my money without saving anything for a taxi. I had my return train ticket which took me back to my local town centre with no means to get a bus or taxi and no phone credit. I made the really sensible decision that I should walk home at 10.30pm on a Sunday night through a deserted town centre, past a town square favoured by the local smackheads and alcoholics on my own. I set off on my journey and it wasn't until I heard footsteps behind me that I realised that I was completely and utterly fucking stupid. I turned my head and saw two incredibly dogdy looking guys (tracksuits, caps, pale gaunt faces, jerky consumption fuelled walks) and felt my chest constrict. I sped up my pace a little as my mind floundered desperately, and belatedly, to work out which route was the safest.

I didn't dare glance around a second time, I didn't want to draw anymore attention to myself, I hoped I wasn't the source of their attention to begin with. My hopes were soon dashed as I heard "'Scuse me babe, 'avya gorrany spare change," worryingly close. My heart was now racing, I could hear the 'thudthud thudthud thudthud' in my ears. I didn't respond and kept walking, even faster now, forcing myself not to break into a run. "Hey girl! Talking to ya!" the voice came again "Don't blank us now girl".

I was terrified by this point and pretty much in a blind panic. My fingers were numb and I could feel a definite twitch of my bum hole. I was so scared that my mind was frozen with fear at my rapidly approaching fate - my pursuers were going to attempt to extract money from me, money that I didn't have - they would think I was lying and probably threaten me with physical violence which they'd then carry out. I was fighting against the adrenaline fulled urge to fill my pants, scream, run and cry so much so that I wasn't thinking clearly at all. In a blind panic I could barely see, so much so that I literally tripped over a couple who'd just walked out of the side door of a pub. As I tumbled to the ground the husband called out "flipping heck love, watch yourself there," and helped me to my feet.

As I stood up the two guys following me drew level with me and the couple and carried on past, my legs nearly buckled with relief. "Where are you going at this time of night on your own?" the woman asked. "I was walking home," I replied "Those guys were shouting me, I think they were following me" I said pointing down the street. "You look scared shitless," the guy said and got out his mobile phone. "It's not right, a young girl walking home at this hour, are you stupid?" the woman asked. I smiled lamely in reply.

The guy called me a taxi as I tried to explain to his wife that I had no money. She held up her hand to silence me as she rummaged in her purse. They waited with me for the taxi and as it pulled up I started crying. I was so unspeakably grateful for the couple and their undeserved kindness that I couldn't even talk. The woman hugged me "It's ok hun, it's ok now" and I managed to squeak out a thank you through spit-strung lips as they helped me into the taxi.

I shudder to think about what could have happened that night, I can't adequately explain just how scared I was and it always feels miraculous that the couple appeared in that doorway just at that moment. I wish I could have told them how much their act of kindness meant, I was a stupid kid who thought she was cleverer than she was and that couple will always stay in my mind.
(Sun 12th Feb 2012, 22:21, More)

» IT Support

Against the elements
Once upon a time there was an IT Team, this IT Team was comprised of 'Technical' and 'Developers'. There was also a building, a horrible blue and concrete building.

One day the IT Team were working in their office. Anyone with any managerial responsibility was either in a meeting off site, on leave or unaccounted for as happens fairly frequently. Attention was drawn, as it invariably is, out of the window. Comments were passed, as invariably is the case for office workers, about the weather and its gloominess. The sky had turned a deathly grey. The same colour as Norman's face and he'd been smoking 80+ fags a day for years.

Long hard rain splashings began to pound the windows, the sky became darker. Someone put on a cardigan. I decided to turn the lights on despite the mutterings from the rest of the photosensitive team. A bright flash of light illuminated the gloomy skies. I counted the seconds, "1...2....BOOM RUMBLE RUMBLE", went the thunder. "Mutter mutter," went the team. The rain began to belt the fuck out of the windows and stray water rivulets began to trickle down the inside of the window frames. A few more coats and jackets were put on, it was beginning to get a bit parky. We stood up and shuffled to the window to have a look at the ferocity of the rain. Another bright flash, enough to cause those of us at the window to squint and those who weren't to pity our poor retinas. The thunder clap followed almost instantly and we took a step back from the windows. Another two bright flashes, the latter one causing sparks to 'jump' from our building and a loud bang.

"Fuck..." said I.

"That just hit our building..." said someone else.

My attention was drawn to the phone on a nearby desk: the display was blank. A quick scan of the office revealed half the computers had rebooted and were showing the Windows XP splashscreen. We exchanged glances. Someone mumbled something about the disaster recovery plan. "SERVER ROOM!" we all shouted simultaneously and in a stunning show of athleticism rarely seen by those who work in IT we walked, rather quickly, to the server room. The developers stayed sat in their chairs mumbling about hardware issues not being their area of responsibility.

The phone switch's LEDs were flashing red-green-red-green as it does after a reboot. We were all stood in the doorway not venturing in, in case one of the servers was somehow going to explode. Suddenly there was another flash of light and a bang.

"CLICK," went the fuse box.

"WOMMMMMMM" went the UPSs (It was a very peculiar noise, and very loud. I can only describe it as the noise that you hear when Sonic the Hedgehog gets a shield).

Our eyes were lifted to the fuse box in the corner, and the three switches that were tripped. Noone moved. Suddenly Dangerous Dave leapt forward asserting himself as the only who hadn't shat his pants. "Need something.... something... rubber" I said helpfully. A plastic cover was unclipped from one of the rack mounted servers. "Close enough," said Dave, and deftly pushed the plastic fuse box covering open. Standing on tip-toes he edged the plastic server cover towards the switches. The rest of us edged closer to the the exit.

Dave pushed the three tripped switches on, we closed our eyes. There was no loud bang and Dave was still alive. The charge lights began to move upwards on the UPSs. Suddenly the Director of IT, realising that all the danger was over, appeared in the doorway of the server room. "What's happened?" the IT Director asked accusingly. My colleagues all exchange a look of WTF and Dave sensibly replies "Lightening hit the building, tripped the electricity and knocked the phone switch off". I volunteer myself to check on the status of the phones.

I sidle out of the server room and wander from department to department unplugging and replugging the cables in the IP phones. I tell people not to panic, which was quite laughable as I clearly looked petrified. Satisfied that the phones are coming back on I make a quick escape back to our room to check on the rest of the infrastructure. As I sit down at my desk and quiveringly open the page to our network monitoring tool my phone starts to ring. 'It's still working then,' I think.

"Hello IT Fireyfox speaking?...."

It's my manager. "Hi Fireyfox, I was just watching the thunder and lightening with my son when I realised those last few lightening strikes were very close to the building. Now I hope that everything is okay..."

"Well.. the electricity trip..."

My manager cuts me off before I can finish "Look, the reason I'm phoning is that I was told I couldn't have the day off so if questions start being asked about my whereabouts say I've gone home sick, thanks" and puts the phone down. Hanging up the receiver with exasperation I look at the screen and thankfully all systems are fully operational. My phone starts ringing again, without looking at the display I pick up the receiver and quite tersely say "Yes?". It's Dangerous Dave.

"Er... I think you need to come to the server room" he says, his voice full of concern. I spring from my seat and this time run (yes run) to the server room. I realise that we're in trouble when I can hear water. Dave is stood in the doorway looking concerned. As I look into the server room I can see water, and not an insubstantial amount, pouring out of the air conditioning unit into a puddle on the middle of the floor. Fortunately it is not hitting anything electrical at that moment. Instinctively I grab a plastic bin and place it under the air con.

"Better go and get the IT Director..." says Dave. I nod. Dave bounds off in the direction of his office. I get out my mobile and dial my manager's phone number. He answers. "Bit of a problem, water pouring out of the air con in the server room" "Shit," comes the reply. I pause. My manager says "I'm on my way back in, if anyone asks where I am... you don't know... I'll think of something...." As he's still bleating excuses I hear the voice of the IT Director approaching, he enters the server room looking extremely angry. I thrust my mobile phone into his hand and say "It's.... It's.... [insert name of my manager here]".

IT Director takes mobile from me and booms into the phone "Where the fuck are you when the end of the world is coming, and which one of these fucking monkeys have you left in charge?" I couldn't make out what was being said at the other end, only that it sounded pathetic and wheedling. The IT Director dismissed me with a flick of his hand. Dave and I shuffled back to our desks white faced and sweating with fear. Someone phoned the air con repair people.

Time passed.

More time passed.

The bollocking we were waiting for never arrived. Neither did our manager.

He's been on "long term leave" ever since. Funny that.

Apologies for length and any real lack of funnehs. But it's all true that. FACT.
(Mon 28th Sep 2009, 18:33, More)
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