Where's the boss? Ah right, thorough deep-dive audit. On the boardroom table. Gotcha It's Carry On Call time this week as a Register reader finds himself dealing with a potentially career-limiting callout. "I worked for a small regional bank back at the beginning of my career in IT," said our reader, Regomised as Derek. "I shared an on-call rota to handle out-of-hours issues with the cranky IT systems, these …
My office looked over the car park, and I would often see my manager drive up and park, and out would get his secretary with him. They would often leave together. Of course the obvious conclusion was they were having an affaire, every one could see it. Rumour had it, that the temporary secretary wanted a permanent position.
I spoke to the head secretary about the comments being made about them, and suggested they be a bit more discreet, for example drop her off at the corner while he goes and parks. I also said please do not mention my name.
Next day my manager burst into my room shouting "WE ARE NOT HAVING AN AFFAIRE - I JUST PICK HER UP FROM THE RAILWAY STATION ON THE WAY PAST". This just confirmed it for every one within range, as it was a 10 mile detour to the station.
She got moved on fairly soon after this, and the tale lived on in folklore.
A fairly new member of staff was being observant. At close of play he pointed out a girl from the office and a bloke from IIRC, the factory walking across the car park.
"Have you noticed they always leave together every night?"
"Yes. Well they are married."
The shared surname should have been a clue.
Where I worked in an engineering factory office, there was a rather attractive young shorthand typist named Dawn, who struck up a friendship with one of the shop floor workers named Sid. They soon got engaged and then married. It wasn't long before she left to have a baby, and it became known throughout the factory that Sid could be counted on to be first to clock in every morning, because he was always up at the crack of dawn.
On a very similar note, soon after we were married, we bought a cottage in a little village and settled down. This included getting a dog, so we had this very young Golden Retriever pup named Ginny. We wanted to get her used to noise and bustle, and as many people as we could, so that she wouldn't get spooked if she encountered crowds, etc., as she grew up. Bob, a former employer of mine, used to drive a Formula 1 Stock Car, so we decided to go and visit him at Coventry Stadium, where there would be hundreds of people, lots of noise from the cars, and strange smells of exhaust fumes, burning rubber, and humanity. My wife, Roz, decided it would be best to carry the pup to save her from getting filthy walking across the muddy paddock, and we eventually arrived at Bob's transporter, a converted Bedford Duple coach. As we entered the coach, Bob took one look at Roz carrying the puppy, and put his arm around my shoulders, saying "No, no Chev, you're doing it all wrong".
Thanks AC, nice to know that at least someone understood the joke. Isn't it a shame when you have to explain what you thought was blindingly obvious?
PS. I should explain, my nickname was "Chev" at that employment, because I had a '59 Chevrolet Parkwood, like this:- https://www.pinterest.es/pin/558376053796061902/
PPS How do you do those Interrobangs? Never managed to do that on the Reg.
Iain.
When I was in the upper sixth form, I was sent out into Hainault Forest as a marshal for the Inter-Schools Cross Country. As I approached my designated station, I was met with a large saloon car, an Austin Westminster or similar, that was high sided on a tree stump. The occupants, a bank manager-looking type and a young female employee, were looking askance and wondering how they were going to rescue the car and get back to work. By the way she was standing with her legs tightly crossed, I was immediately sure that they had not stopped for a picnic. As I arrived at the car, the BM type asked me if I could help at all. I replied that I couldn't imagine just the two of us heaving that car off the stump, but if he could wait a few minutes, help would arrive. Sure enough, only about three minutes later, the first of the cross country runners came steaming through the forest, so I stopped them in their tracks and co-opted half a dozen of them to lift the Westminster back onto the path, before sending them on their way again. BM type ushers lady friend into car, before stuffing a £5 note into my hand, and driving off out of the forest. Never saw either of them again.
Off topic and I apologize, but "please do not mention my name" instantly brought back a memory of me saying those exact words. A certain city councilman in our city did not live inside the city limits. This is strictly forbidden. It was up to the mayor and other councilmen to suspend the offending one until such time as he did move inside the city limits or resign. I researched all this with our state officials who said it was my duty to report it to the city clerk, who in turn was duty-bound to inform all the council except the offending one, they would discuss the matter then officially inform him during the next council meeting.
My "please do not mention my name" went completely ignored as she informed nobody BUT the offending councilman who immediately walked straight up to my brother, a councilman, and said "I DO live in the city limits! I don't know where you're getting this crap!" and stormed off.
Politics being what they are, my brother later resigned himself and during the next election cycle, the "illegal" councilman ran for, and won, the mayor's seat.
P.S. He did NOT live in the city limits. Still doesn't. He uses his mother's address, who does, but he, his wife, and kids live in a house no less than 10 miles from the city limits.
This is basically why, when I worked security while at university, if I entered an area where nobody was meant to be I called out "Security!" before I walked in. Much safer than catching someone doing something embarrassing. More boring but it I was allergic to boring why would I be guarding empty offices?
Cleaning a supermarket. Well known brand, five letters, begins with 'T'.
Part of my early morning routine was to vacuum the offices. So I did just that. And walked in on two of them getting up to nookie on the table.
I leave, close the door, carry on elsewhere. Half an hour later I'm called to the middle manager (who finally got himself dressed) where I get fired for "insubordination".
I tell him that I want six months pay. He's like "not a hope in hell". So I say okay, I'm quite prepared to take this to tribunal for unfair dismissal. Actually, I had no idea how to go about such a thing but he didn't know that. He was probably more worried that the two of them would be asked to explain. The two of them, I should add, married to other people.
So I leave with six months pay (which really wasn't a lot) and told not to use them as a reference. Suits me, I hated that place, never ever put it on my CV.
Does make me wonder, though, how many other people have had their jobs screwed up due to higher ups fucking in inappropriate places?
"Does make me wonder, though, how many other people have had their jobs screwed up due to higher ups fucking in inappropriate places?"
Probably quite a lot back in, say, early 90s and before. We have already some similar stories in here.
Probably we'll get more !
It was fairly foolhardy of him with his job and maybe marriage on the line to say nothing of recriminations from the other party and whatever reaction her husband might have had. You might have just said you'd take it to a tribunal without naming your price and giving yourself a chance to see how high he was prepared to bid or, worse still for him, just taking it the tribunal anyway.
"worse still for him, just taking it the tribunal anyway."
The downside of that is that all you end up with is full pay for time between being fired and being reinstated, possibly with some small level of compensation. Would you want to go back under those conditions?
Had cause to phone a Senior Manager when stuck with a particularly lary issue.
A female manager answered the phone and thinking I had misdialled I apologised for waking her from her beauty sleep.
The reply was "Its ok , this is his phone, I'll wake him up for you now."
Two very beetroot faces the following monday morning and had a few free friday evenings out.
Anon because it's still too fresh in the history books.
Larry Laugher, for that was not quite his name, was a department manager at a facility running 24/7/366 production (leap days included), with a large windowed office overlooking his domain of manufacturing equipment and spreadsheet cell worker bees.
He was the most recent lord of the land, having been cycled in a few months before at the bi-annual inauguration of new management.
One night, our pal decided he fancied a mid evening curry, and was found by the off-shift production workers in rather vivid carnal congress with the new HR representative in his office.
Sadly, her being of Indian descent meant the joke wrote itself.
No word on if the lovely Mrs. Laugher became a Ms. again, or if Larry and the HR rep found gainful employment in other sectors after the termination of duties.
This humble buzzard flew the coop a while before those events, but heard about them from enough former cow-orkers that they are reasonably thought to be true.
I worked in a bank in the late 80s to the mid-90s and there were constant rumours of bank bonks between staff. Although I never witnessed any first hand, I have had second hand accounts on at least three occasions from people who had no reason to lie, along with the general rumours that circulated about persons X and Y being caught. And it was at all levels, from the lowly grunts like myself up to and including the branch director who, like the story, was, uhm, *using* the boardroom table.
I've used a meeting room table... when suffering from sinus inflammation, at work. The method is to lie face up - just you - with your head over the edge of the table and tilted back, for several minutes, so that your face plumbing that God constructed the wrong way up can drain properly. Then thank the chairman and treasurer, and leave.
When we were at school, middle to late sixties, my sister had a lot of trouble with nosebleeds. It was arranged that, if a nosebleed came on, she could go directly to the Housemistress's office and lie down on the carpet in front of the desk, until the bleeding had stopped. One day, the Housemistress, one Mrs. Norman (AKA Auntie Norman), came in and said "You know, you shouldn't have that much blood sloshing around inside your head".
Worked at a place a long time ago. One evening the security guy was doing rounds, ran into the owner of the company. They decided to go to the cafeteria for some coffee. There they found a manager and the head of the typing pool (Yes it was that long ago) in a delicate position on a table. All we in the office knew was that he and her suddenly left the company. Funny thing is, a brass plaque ended up on table they'd used. Plaque said said "X and Y Memorial Table".with X and Y being their names. No one ever sat at that table again for lunch nor did anyone take credit or blame for the plaque.
"Should I not have done that? I tell you, I gotta plead ignorance on this thing, because if anyone had said anything to me at all when I first started here that that sort of thing is frowned upon... you know, cause I've worked in a lot of offices, and I tell you, people do that all the time."
But lunch time for me on the night shift was a wander to the local refreshment center (that closed at 11pm) to partake in a light snack (liquid)
The pub had 2 bars and you could see from one into the other.
Ordered lunch, glanced into the other bar... then pointed out to the barman that the man in the blue shirt would be paying for lunch.
The man in question was the owner of the business I attended. needless to say, he came storming round to where I am with "WTF you doing in the pub while you should be at work" and "I'm not paying for your lunch"
"ok" I responded "I'll just walk back to work without my lunch, and when I'm back there, I'll call your wife with the news you were in the pub with a lady and your tongue was so far down her throat I'm sure you were tickling her vocal cords...."
I find blackmail such a dirty word, I prefer "Performance enhanced gift giving"
I was in the reverse position (ooer, guv) and 'caught out'.
Not many of my (IT Manager) coworkers knew much about my private/social life but had seen me being dropped of by a beautiful brunette on a regular basis, including kisses and hugs, etc. Well, actually, not so much of the 'etc' but you get the gist.
Nice flashy Ford LTD, back in the day, too, so I assume folks decided I was married.
Imagine my surprise reading various anonymous notes on my desk about infidelity and the like after folks had noticed me being picked up recently by a different beautiful but tall brunette wearing sunglasses and very well dressed.
And driving a small sports car, to boot even if it was a hire.
Also on the receiving end of hugs and kisses and obviously a movie star!!!
Yep, you guessed it.
Daughter is a lovely young lady and had come to stay with us for a surprise few days (we lived in different States and hadn't seen each other for a few years).
I'm sure they freaked out on her last day when wife AND daughter dropped me off before wife took daughter to airport.
Lots of hugs and kisses (and a few tears) that day, too.
Damn, I miss the simpler times some days.
Cheers, everyone.
First permanent job I had was with a firm that had a department full of young ladies typing in legal documents to digitise them - OCR not being allowed for these kinds of documents for some reason.
In the sales department was an incredibly brash guy who took a fancy to one of the typing ladies. This climaxed, so to speak, when there was a company Summer party at the office and the two of them were caught doing the beast with two backs in the gents toilets.
They were given a stern talking too, but not let go. But this was followed by the company Christmas party, a legendary booze up at the banqueting suite of Ascot racecourse. Minibuses were laid on to transport the revellers home, and as one of them reached capacity the driver turned the ignition and lights on. To illuminate the same typist and salesman humping on the bonnet of the chairman's Jag.
The salesman was let go that time, but strangely the typist wasn't...
I joined a large company and although the major HQ was my base office, I lived some considerable distance away and rarely got to the office, so I setup a physical mail forward with the Post Room so that any rare physical post would be sent to my home address. This worked OK, but about 6 months into my employment a re-directed letter arrived at home, it was perfume scented addressed to me !!! My wife pounced on the letter and ripped it open to confront me with a letter that clearly indicated the sender was engaged in a passionate illicit affair with me !!!!!!! Not sure who was more more shocked me or my wife :-), my wife did give me the chance to explain, I said there was another person in the company (And based in the HQ office) with same name as me and this must be his letter that the Post Room had incorrectly sent to me. She insisted on calling him right now, luckily he picked up the phone answered with my name and my wife cross examined him, he reluctantly confirmed the letter was meant for him.
I emerged unscathed and my innocence confirmed, but I did asked my name doppelganger to inform his "bit on the side" that physical post had a a chance of being re-directed to me and they needed to arrange another illicit physical communication post solution.
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