Dicks in Dixons
When I was a poor student I always tried to fill every holiday with a job of some kind in order to keep the wolves from the door during term time. The choice back home in Cheltenham was a bit limited as temp agencies always saved the cushy office jobs for the ladies and us blokes were left with the crap jobs.

I managed to get a job one Christmas working at Dixons thinking this would be a pretty decent job for the holiday. The pay was pretty awful, but it was working in the warehouse and stocking shelves which didn't seem like it was going to be too taxing. Totally wrong. The manager, and his young deputy were little hitlers. The exact type of executive wannabes that I just can't stand.

They gave the guy I was working with so much shit that he stormed out on my second day, leaving me as the only person in the warehouse trying to frantically keep up with the Christmas rush - shoving orders in the elevator, stocking shelves, wrapping up display model TVs (we're talking enormous CRT ones here that recommend a two man lift on the boxes) in their original packaging, trying to find all the missing bits from boxes that the sales staff had flung to the four winds... hated it. At one point I had deputy weasel in chief calling me on the radio literally every ten seconds asking if I had found a box for a display item yet as he massaged his own ego in front of a customer by balling out the lad in stores.

One particularly stessful day I was on the shop floor trying to restock the joysticks and trying not to be trampled to death by the Christmas stampede. Whilst I was sticking the price labels and security tags on boxes a wall of fur coat descended on me and started a tirade about something she had bought that wasn't working. I started to give her my speech about how I was not shop floor staff but I would find someone who could help her but I only got half way through explaining it until she went red, started shouting and gnashing her teeth (she had posh person teeth - the type that could eat an apple through a letterbox) and bits of spittle were dropping in a fine mist onto my face.

The manager saw an angry customer and took this as a great opportunity to exert his authority and rushed over, gave me a dressing down and started to try and calm poshtits down.

She had her back to me at that point, but she kept lifting her heel up and down, banging it on the floor as she stated her demands. In a rare moment of inspiration, I peeled off one of the security tags and slid it under her foot when she next lifted her heel. She stamped it down, it stuck. Victory.

As she had been returning an item, and didn't want a replacement she left the store without any Dixons bags, only her handbag. Off went the dulcit tones of the alarm accompanied by cheery red Christmas disco lighting.

The security guard was a really nice bloke. Also a temp, he'd taken enough shit off the cock weasels that worked in that place to spot an opportunity to restore the karmic balance. I really enjoyed watching poshtits being taken aside so they could search her bags and coat like a common tea leaf, trembling with rage and embarassment as my comrade took his sweet as time explaining he had reason to believe she had been shop lifting in front of a very full store.

They found the tag eventually. The manager just thought it had fallen off something and she'd trod on it. A small achievement though it was, it was a little ray of joy in an otherwise miserable Christmas surrounded by some of the most poisonous, self aggrandising people I have ever met.
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:59, 17 replies)

Beautiful bit of timing there.
Have a click.
(theneet began to cut her hair and long for balls, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:01, closed)

bravo
Clickity click
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:03, closed)

Nicely done!
Also; 'poshtits'; pffft..
( IHaveABadFeelingAboutThis most likely working from home on, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:17, closed)

well written
and excellent revenge

what a cow
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:20, closed)

I worked in Dixons
High Wycombe one summer when I was back from uni.

Only I was working in the telly department. We used to play these new DVD things on loop and practice our Michael Jackson moves.

We also used to randomly leave the fake barcode alarm stickers on the floor so people would step on them and get stopped on the way out.

One of the guys I worked with was a nob, so I rolled one up and hid it in his cigarette packet and he got caught going for a sneaky fag out the back by the deputy manager.
( Dervel OTBC, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:37, closed)

Michael Jackson moves? The type he used to make on children?

Yeah, those security tags have a lots of potential for disgruntled employees :D
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:55, closed)

We would of
But we didn't stock Jesus juice.
( Dervel OTBC, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:58, closed)

We would have
WE WOULD HAVE.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 0:32, closed)

Sir, I salute you
*clicks*
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 15:13, closed)

I like this rather a lot.
But - really - are there people in Cheltenham poor enough to need holiday jobs? Did you have to be bussed in?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 15:21, closed)

Kind of. I got the bus in from the bit on the Cheltenham/Gloucester border which is a bit more down to earth and where people call you 'shag'. We even had pre-fab houses, gyppos and a working man's club in our corner of 'nam and everything (where I worked at night serving pissy welsh bitter for £1 a pint to the night shift before they went to make undercarriages on aircraft).
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 15:33, closed)

Ugh, are you Reddings scum!?

(pissflaps. FSPW, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 16:47, closed)

Spot on :)

Though I live in Manchester nowadays.
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 16:57, closed)

I was from the other side of town.
Now I live in the 3rd world which is actually nicer.
(pissflaps. FSPW, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 16:59, closed)

You one of them posh nobs from Charlton Kings?
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 17:06, closed)

Charlton kings aint posh no more...
You want Battledown - the shiniest enclave of elitist trolls this side of the Malverns!
(chipfatbob, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 11:30, closed)

Nicely done. I will be stealing this: "could eat an apple through a letterbox"

Yoink/click.
(anvil, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 17:18, closed)