Driving Lessons for Christmas
As veterans of the Bastard Collegues qotw may remember, I used to work the reception desk in a driving school.

Around one chilly Christmas time, as I reclined in my seat, doing bugger all, a customer swaggered in.

I say "swaggered" because he didn't walk in; he put himself into the building in that manner adopted by the alpha males of chav hunting groups, which seems to involve swinging one's whole body left and right, which I think is supposed to establish their dominance, but looks more like they're doing a little dance, or possibly just doing it to make sure gravity doesn't get the better of the tracksuit bottoms hanging halfway down their arses.

" 'right, bruv"

This is a driving school. I'm a complete stranger who was unfortunate enough to be on the desk. The one thing I am not is your bloody brother. "Mate," I could have tolerated, but "bruv"? Grow up and pull your fucking trousers up.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"
"Yeah, bruv," for the love of all that is not shitthy in this world, please stop calling me 'bruv' "you got, like, a gift pack, or sumfing?"
"Um...what are you looking for, exactly?"
"Like, if you wanna buy lessons for someone, you got a gift pack or sumfing?"

A gift pack. Sure, why the fuck not? Your friend wants some driving lessons, so let's give her the lessons and maybe throw in some treats and goodies. Maybe we could throw in a little plastic toy car, or one of those toy steering wheels so she can practice steering at home. Or perhaps, because it's almost Christmas, you presume we can wrap up the driving instructor and his car in pretty paper with reindeer on and top it with tinsel and a nice bow?

I restrained myself from such sarcasm.
"Well, normally if you want to give driving lessons as a gift, then we sell vouchers."
"Ah, izzat all?"
"Well, you're just looking to buy driving lessons, aren't you?"
He doesn't reply to me; instead he gets his phone out and calls a friend.
To said friend: "Yeah, mate, they only do, like, vouchers...yeah, bit crap innit?"
And the conversation continues in this vein while he swaggers/dances up and down the front of the office. Great, so you're going to just come in here and openly insult my attempt to help you with your request. You utter cockdonkey.

He finally gets off the phone and undulates back over to my desk.
"I dunno mate, you know it looks a bit shit, dunnit, if you just like, give 'em some vouchers?"
The customer is always right...
"Yes, well, I'm afraid that's the best we can offer."
"'cos it's for my girlfriend, innit?" Is it really? How stupid of me not to guess... "I fought I'd get 'er some driving lessons. But she's, like, eight months pregnant."

Your girlfriend is a month away from going into labour and you thought it would be a great idea for her to start learning to drive. You're a twat.

This post is long enough already without me detailing the lengthy and quite boring process by which I managed to get rid of him - but only after selling him about ten of these vouchers. The girlfriend's name eventually appeared on one of the instructors' timetables and fortunately there were no tales of someone's waters breaking in the car. I shall simply treasure that day as the closest I ever came to physically assaulting a customer with any sharp, pointy stationery I could lay my hands on.

Thank you for your patience. There will probably be a couple more from the Driving School in due course.
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 9:41, 2 replies)

Sounds like..


You're a secret weapon bruv.
(AndyC4m Eject Eject [><], Fri 5 Sep 2008, 10:20, closed)

My Nordy mate walks like that but he's sound
he's also about 3 feet wide - might have something to do with it.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 11:47, closed)