» IT Support

Not really IT support, but does involve a laptop....
Several years ago, I used to work for a large insurance/investment company on the South Coast (who until recently sponsored a week of sailing and pissing it up on the IOW).

Back in the day when the simplest laptops were made of brick, and were very expensive, if we wanted to play games work from home, then we had to sign them in and out with our IT Dept. and were under strict instructions not to fuck about with them. So, one Friday afternoon, fully intent on finishing some shitty no-one's-ever-going-to-fucking-read-this-report™at home, I duly signed out a shiny, fuck-off laptop from IT. And then I was persuaded by some colleagues to go out for a couple of jars. Now I'm not a total twat, so I left the laptop with the security guard and went out for a couple of quiet beers. And then it all went tits up and I got fucking leathered. I may, or may not, have danced on tables with my tie around my forehead Rambo-stylee (I did say I'm not a total twat, but I am still a twat).

I vaguely remember staggering back into the building and retrieving the laptop from security. Then I woke up. In a bush. In the centre of the town. At about 4am, sans laptop, suit jacket, tie and wallet. Oh fuckety fuck. I stumbled around various bushes looking for my stuff - mainly the laptop, obviously. Fuck all. I did wake up a tramp who'd made a lovely den in a rhododendron tree, however. He wasn't best pleased to see me either.

I phoned the brother-in-law from a pay phone, reverse charge call, as this was before mobile phones became popular, who kindly collected me and drove me home while I wondered how the fuck I was going to explain this one to the wife and the IT manager.

In the morning, 8am, sweating like a rapist and hung over to buggery, I was back in town with the wife, scrabbling in the bushes (fnarr) for my stuff. I found my suit jacket, tie and wallet still in my pocket, folded neatly into a little pillow where I'd fucking left it a few hours previously, but no laptop. Shit, fuck, fuckety-fuck. Only one thing to do.....yep, report it stolen to plod and hope for the best. I went to the cop-shop and reported that I'd "momentarily left it in a telephone box after I'd phoned for a taxi, and some chav/student type had obviously pilfered it." and "Can I have an incident number for the insurance please?", then spent the rest of the weekend wondering if I'd still have a job on Monday.

It took me a couple of hours to put the call in to our IT manager who just knew I was bullshitting, and then told me to leave it with him and he'll come back to me after he'd spoken with the IT Director. 'Paaaarp' went my arse.

Half an hour later, got a call from security, "Someone's just handed in your laptop". Ran down stairs, and there it was. In the security and comfort of my office, I checked it worked, and then relaxed my sphincter for the first time in 3 days. Didn't shit myself, but I did congratulate myself on being a most fortunate chap/lucky twat. Called IT Manager and told him it was all a misunderstanding and I'd just temporarily mislaid it.

When I got home - oh, yes, I still risked taking it home a second time, as I still hadn't done the shitty no-one's-ever-going-to-fucking-read-this-report™ report - I looked a bit closer. There was a note on the desktop from the person who had returned the laptop saying something along the lines of "I have returned your laptop. You stumbled out of a phone box on Friday night and gave it to me. You said, 'Have it. I don't fucking want it'. I'm a poor student, and I reckon I've just saved your job. How's about £50.00?". Well that explains that then. I was genuinely grateful for it being returned, and would have been happy to have paid up - really - except that the 'poor student' forgot to include his contact details. So I deleted it. Oh well. Told the boss on my last day. He laughed and called me a twat. Told you I was.

Length? Too long?
(Thu 1st Oct 2009, 10:46, More)

» Professions I Hate

Doctor's receptionists
Been referred-to already as thin-lipped, lemon-sucking, gossiping witches (I may have embellished), but I am strongly inclined to agree.

What is it about doctor's receptionists that they think I want to discuss and divulge my medical history with them, rather than a doctor or nurse? As far as I'm concerned, they're there to book appointments, and fuck-all else.

Recent examples;

- I phoned the surgery to get the results of my 2 year-old daughter's blood test, to see if she has cancer. I had to take the news from the fucking receptionist, even though I asked to speak to my GP. Thankfully the results were negative, but she couldn't - obviously - explain what the results did mean, and I eventually received a call back from my GP to discuss. Bitch.

- When my wife was pregnant, she needed an appointment for a foo-foo related matter. The bitch on reception wanted my wife to discuss in great detail, precisely what the matter was. I explained that I'd rather discuss it with a triage nurse and would she kindly crack on with making the tea.

- I had to phone the surgery for my recent post-snip wankathon results, to be told my results by the fucking tea-lady.

When did answering the phones, filing and making the tea qualify overweight gossip-mongerers to make medical diagnoses?
(Fri 28th May 2010, 9:55, More)

» Complaining

The "Beaver Dam" complaint letter
Edit: I've shoved the bastard into a reply as it's mahoosive.
(Fri 3rd Sep 2010, 15:25, More)

» Flirting

Flirting vs. Harassment
A mate of mine told me about his mate who worked in HR for a bank on the South Coast who had to 'manage' an employee complaint brought about by prolonged flirting.

Young lad worked in a bank customer service centre, and sat opposite a fit bird. Every morning he'd say hello, and she'd smile sweetly back. Every day he'd play tents in his trousers and walk with a stoop to the coffee machine.

One day, he broke down. His gusset could handle the flirting/teasing no more. As she walked in to work in the morning he dived across the table and grabbed her top-bollocks with both hands screaming "YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT!!!".

Turns out, she didn't.
(Fri 19th Feb 2010, 11:49, More)

» Ouch!

Is it supposed to look like that?
Being a rugbyist, I've had my fair share of injuries, including buggering my neck in collapsed scrums leading to my premature (a view not necessarily shared by my wife and/or team-mates) retirement. No reason to cry into my cocoa though.

I did cry (like a girly football player) when I dislocated my knee though. Strewth. Given my choice of playing position, it'll come as no surprise that I've never been described as 'malnourished'. I am something of a chubby funster in fact. One training session, I was tackled by an eeny-weeny scrum-half. As his shoulder made contact with my leg, I stepped off my right foot which got planted in the mud. All my not inconsiderable weight on my leg, and it was inevitable something had to give. My knee cap. Smarted a bit I can tell you.

The really painful bit, wasn't putting it back in again, although that did make my eyes water, but later...I was in a neoprene splint for about 3-4 weeks, during which time my knee joint froze solid. One evening, during a solo drinking session chez moi, I'd hobbled to the loo on my crutches. As I reversed out, like a clumsy twat, I tripped and fell, forcing my leg to bend as I hit the deck. That was the most painful bit. I sobbed as I lay in a heap on the floor at the foot of the stairs as the wife looked on in shock. Fuck me. I'll be quite happy if I never have to go through that again, cheers.

A few days later when I went for a consultant check-up. Despite being told that the bastard was frozen solid, the twat tried to bend my knee. There was the loudest 'crack' as he further fucked my knee, my wife screamed and the new, shiny-looking juniors with the doc, nearly passed out. I called him a wanker.

Long story, short; dislocated knee playing rugby. Fell over a while later. Really hurt. Knee made worse by ham-fisted quack. No excuses, it's late and I'm bored. No doubt so are you after that...
(Thu 5th Aug 2010, 0:44, More)