» Bad Ideas

WHAT?!
When I was a teen, there was a small newsagents that all us kids used to frequent, for sweets, football stickers and daring each other to shoplift. The staff turnover was pretty high for some reason (probably tiny wages). One day a new bloke (who looked like a very thin M. Night Shyamalan before anyone knew what M. Night Shyamalan looked like as this was the 80s) started in there. I thought it would be a whizz if, during the brief time this guy was staff, I pretended to be deaf. I would talk to him in my best "this is how deaf people talk" voice and stare fixedly at his lips when he spoke to me. My chums thought this was hilarious, as they were easily pleased.

Except of course this guy wasn't a temporary worker - he had just bought the newsagents and managed to turn it around. So, between the ages of 13 and 15 when in his shop I kept up the pretence that I was as deaf as a dead dog. It was fun for about three weeks. The other one hundred odd were an embarrassment. I was still applauded by idiotic friends for keeping up the pretence, but inwardly I hated going in there, scared that someone I knew would be in there who wasn't in on this pathetic joke and would blow my cover by calling to me. Some of the other school knobs would yell abusive names at me when I was in there, goading me to react. I just had to tough it out ... for some logic that now escapes me.

The summer when I was 15 involved me spending a lot of time away from home. I basically had six weeks of holidays with various relatives.

First day back at school I walked into the shop, chatting and yelling happily with my buddies. We'd all forgotten that in the shop, I was deaf. I even said "thank you" in a bright, clear voice when M. Night passed me my change. My insides went cold as I remembered that I should have been acting "hearing free" when in M. Night's presence. However, the smirk on M. Night's face told me two things: (1) he had never believed I was deaf in the first place and (2) I was an utter, utter, twat.

The irony of it all is I am now in my late 40s and have, according to my doctor's tests, the hearing of a 70 year old.
(Fri 25th Jul 2014, 19:36, More)

» Control Freaks

Witty title
(tiresome made up story about how a certain Australian celeb-paedo smells really bad)

... so you could say that cunt Rolf reeks!
(Fri 24th Oct 2014, 16:36, More)

» Misheard and Misunderstood

True Story
One of our co-workers was disciplined at work when porn was found in his internet cache. This was a real surprise, as he was 63 and didn't seem that type. His explanation was he'd been searching for a wedding gift for his wife, and genuinely had no idea that "pearl necklace" had different connotations on the internet.

This became an office meme for two years until he retired. When he walked past anyone's desk, us witty lot would turn to each other and loudly say things like "I was surfing on the internet a while ago and innocently typed in 'rampant horny dwarf scat pics' ... imagine my surprise ...' etc.
(Sat 30th Aug 2014, 21:46, More)

» Public Nudity

Bad timing
I was working in Glasgow, and "living" in the Marriott hotel. It was a Friday, so I'd arisen early so I could get to work by 7am, work my allotted hours, then catch a plane home to the Midlands so I see my kids before they went to bed.

I was all nicely washed and packed to leave so I opened my door at 630am to depart ... just at the exact same time that a small, elderly chap opened the door to his room - which was directly opposite mine and about three feet away - so he could get the morning newspaper that had been left for him. It being early he had decided that no other living soul would be around, so he hadn't bothered putting any clothes on.

We sort of looked at each other in a "nothing in my life so far has prepared me for this moment" way, before he ducked down to pick up his paper, retreated a step back into the room and closed the door.

He was very hairy.
(Sat 19th Jul 2014, 21:21, More)

» Job Interview Disasters

It didn't start well ...
My first interview at 17. I was hoping to become a draughtsman (this was in the day when we still used pencils instead of CAD software tools ... er ... 1984). I took along my portfolio, which was a think wad of drawings rolled up in a plastic tube.

I entered the building, ignoring the amused stares of the receptionist coz in them days I was a really fat fuck. The guy who interviewed me was sitting next to reception, so he got up, proffering a sweaty mitt in greeting.

There was a step down to reception. Just one fucking step. It was hard to miss. Yet I missed it.

My momentum launched myself forwards in a fucked-up stumbling motion. The thick wad of drawings launched themselves forwards from my tube with all the ballistic-ness of a rocket launcher. They whistled past my interviewer, grazing his ear.

He smiled politely, pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood now seeping from his lug-hole. We carried on with the pointless interview.

Miraculously I got the job ... in another dimension, possibly as I never got it in this fucking one. I never became a draughtsman. I ended up in data entry and slowly worked my way up over the next 30 years to become one of the country's leading experts in a bespoke set of programming tools with a handsome salary. Which I then blew when I was sacked last year when the large multi-national conglomerate I worked for summoned me to Birmingham for a high-level meeting. They explained to me following managerial complaints about my work-rate they'd been monitoring me, and found out I'd really done bugger all for six months. Meh. I'd lost interest. Se lavvy.
(Fri 22nd Nov 2013, 20:28, More)