My old ISP
were a pile of fail and managed to accidentally cut me off for a couple of months. Me and my flatmate worked long hours so didn't have time to piss about demanding they fix the line and when we did get in contact they did basically fuck all. We were living in France and the only ways of doing anything were to call a French phone number (bit difficult when neither of us had a French mobile phone and the problem was the landline was broken, ended up having to buy a French mobile phone specially), or go to their shop which was miles away and had limited opening hours outside our working hours.

After a lot of swearing at the cunt of a shop assistant who basically thought I was stupid little girl who knew nothing and was a patronising dick to me saying I couldn't possibly know more than the technician when I said the problem was the line not the box/router, he said he'd send another box and if that didn't work he'd look into arranging an engineer. I refused to return the existing box as it wasn't my fuckup and I was pretty sure it would solve nothing, if he insisted in donating me another box when I didn't want one that was his choice.

New box arrived, as expected, did fuck all. Eventually got the pricks to fix the line properly.

Then finally I was moving back to the UK. I send failISP a letter to their service cancellation address, got it sent registered mail with a reciept proving that I requested the contract to be cancelled, and did so with more than the 15 days notice they required. I mentioned that due to leaving the country I would be closing my bank account, I believe it was even in bold and underlined. I waited for the twats to deduct the €45 cancellation fee and the €60 security deposit for the box, possibly twice if they'd noticed I had two.

They didn't. I closed my bank account and fucked off back to England with two routers, not being charged a penny of cancellation fee or given any financial incentive to return either of the boxes. Win!

They're now occasionally sending me angry emails for not paying my internet bills. Haven't had any in a week or two, if they get too nasty I might send them a photocopy of the receipt proving I told them I was fucking off and giving them ample opportunity to charge me the cancellation fees while they still could. But after cutting me off for 3 months and being such dicks about fixing it (and not giving me any refund for those months) I don't think they're worth the effort. I'll just smile as they get increasingly livid, knowing if they did actually get anywhere with legal action I can prove it's their fuckup for ignoring my letter.

I have yet to actually make the boxes work in the UK, but I suspect it is possible. If not I'm more tempted to set fire to them and send the ISP a DVD of me burning them than let them have them back.
(GothicTechie, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 15:03, 3 replies)

Myself and the future Mrs TitanLX enjoy playing board games. A favourite at the moment is Lego Harry Potter (other board games are available). When I win a game I always have an imaginary moment when I shout "HA, IN YOUR FACE LOSER!".
(TitanLX, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 14:58, Reply)

I told my little victory story.....
in last weeks QOTW
( Bamboo Steamer, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 14:47, Reply)

Yup
A landlord I used to have, back in the days of renting shared houses, was a cock of the highest order. Not only did he have a gleeful disregard of any form of maintenance or safety, but he would insist on coming around unannounced, ogling the girls, and regaling us with tales of his colourful past.

According to him, he used to be a Yuppie in The City, trading millions every day and living the Gordon Gecko lifestyle. When we enquired why he was now a crummy landlord in the seedy end of Brighton, he would blame his ex-wife, who apparently got it all - apart from his legendary custom-painted Porche, which was his one-of-a-kind pride and joy.

Of course, we never got to see this car, so presumed it was all part of some creepy fantasy world - he probably thought he was impressing the girls, totally failing to spot the dreadlocks and anti-materialism lifestyle, not to mention the barely-suppressed dry heaves they tended to suffer from whenever he was around. Eventually I managed to find out the real story, and it was beautiful.

It turns out that a lot of it was true - he was a rich wide-boy yuppie parasite, he did have a custom Porche, and he was reamed by his ex wife, so that all he managed to keep was the car. Which he put into storage, in a lock-up garage, sometime in the late 1980s.

Just in time for the Great Storm of 1987, which caused the garage to collapse onto the car, totalling it.

Buahahahaha!
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 14:39, 5 replies)

It took a while.....
At the place I used to work at, my boss was an utter, utter twat. He would do almost literally no work – he’d doss about all day bollocking my colleagues and I to make sure that timesheets were updated correctly so that his teams time-charged figures weren’t lowered massively by his own dumping of time into “General Oversight”. He would arrange trips to Moscow, South America, Israel – pretty much anywhere that he could – theoretically to court potential clients, but realistically just to get a free holiday out of it. He was the type of guy that would bitch about others in your presence – real nasty stuff, then speak to them like best friends when they were around, and I’m pretty sure he did the same with me.

Anyhoo, it came to my attention after about 6 months of working with him that he was presenting my work to the board of Directors as his own. The Company I worked for was a mid-sized wealth management Company and one of my jobs was to keep a schedule of Assets Under Management – this was a pretty big job bearing in mind the number of clients with had with a huge amount of varied assets. This job kept me busy for about 2 hours a day solid, month ends took about a day and a half, quarter ends were close to three days and, well let’s just say that the year-end wasn’t very fun for me. What’s more, my boss maintained that this shouldn’t take as long as it did (even though I was working flat out) and continually moaned at me for not charging enough time to clients.

Every month however at the Company’s management/board meetings he would go ahead with this full schedule of assets and present it at his own. My pride and joy. My blood sweat and tears. Being a humble, lowly desk jockey I never attended those meetings, so it was quite a while before one of the other managers asked why I was working on “his” spreadsheet – the one that took him about 3 ½ hours a day and that nobody else was allowed to touch. Not happy.

I complained about it to no avail. The Directors of the Company didn’t give a crap about how it was run just so long as they got their bonuses – bonuses which were always paid before staff bonuses were calculated I might add. I went into a final meeting with them and told them frankly that unless he was dealt with properly, I would leave the Company. They called my bluff.

Two weeks later, having secured another job (along with promotion and 35% pay rise) I handed in my notice.

Long story short (yeah, right...) – six months after I left I met up with another old colleague of mine. My erstwhile boss had, very shortly after I left, been brought up repeatedly on the quality of his work, had actually stood in the middle of the office (about 40 people watching) and had a shouting argument with the head of the Accounts Department as to why his schedule was so completely FULL of errors and was very shortly after that fired, with prejudice.

Three years down the line now, and I am still massively happy in my current employ, loving the work and getting along great with my workmates. My boss is also a LEGEND.

Postscript - I also found out shortly after leaving, from his ex-wife that he also had a chronic bed-wetting condition.


Length? Far too long, I know, but just wanted it off my chest.
( Hunter Stockton was murdered by a bicycle wielding axolotl,.,.,.,., Thu 10 Feb 2011, 14:24, 8 replies)

BT
I could detail all the problems I had with BT over the years. maybe by reading such a long story you would get some sense of the tedium of dealing with BT. I could tell you about the 'bill that refused to die' where out of the blue they started charging me 500 pound a month for my internet, as if I had optical fibre straight to the internet backbone. That took several months to get them to admit they had made a mistake. Rather than being the end of it, they tried to charge me for the same account 3 times over the next few years, each time I had to go through the same process, hour on hold, etc. Or I could tell you about the time I moved offices and arranged to transfer my numbers. they fucked it up and our customers couldn't contact us for 2 months. suffice to say they are bunch of incompetent useless pricks and I hate them
*draws breath*
my one win over them was with a home internet connection. I say win, but in war does anyone truly win? Yes. Bad example.
I wanted a broadband connection but no phone. they told me this was possible and signed me up. fast forward two years later when I wanted to close my account. To give me this modified service, they'd assigned me a special account number. I was told after a merry go around of different departments that only one department dealt with these special account numbers, and the normal accounts department are unable to close it. They main problem turned out to be, that this special department didn't actually exist. they had a number, but it would ring and nobody would answer, no matter which time of day you called, it would ring out. Nobody would take responsibility for it, every phone call would eventually result in being transferred to a number that didn't answer. I raised formal complaints, which responded weeks later asking me to call the number the department that didn't exist. the thing about it, was that nobody in every department I called understood there own organisation. I can't really explaing how hard-won even finding out this information was, how many wasted hours on hold, how many promises of being called back that were broken. My saving grace was not anyone from accounts, sales, new accounts, broadband home etc, but one sympathetic guy from technical support for phones. I demanded to know the name of one person who worked for this phantom department to prove that it existed. He put me on hold for about an hour, but then told me they had been going through a lot of organisational changes and he'd found out the department that covers my account numbers no longer exists. I got his name and when he transferred me through to accounts and I went through the same pointless merry go around, i asked to be put back to him. He took it up himself to close my account but that wasn't the end of it. becuase I should never have been given my account number, he issued me a refund for the 2 years. it was around 150 pounds, and though I would have gladly paid someone triple that just to deal with them, it was nice to have a minor victory at long last.
The moral: never deal with BT. i don't know what the other providers are like, but they would have to be very dedicated to offer as fucked up a service as BT
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 14:21, 8 replies)

I told her...
...I didnt mean to put it in "that" hole, it just slipped

And she believed me.

Today, tear inducing anal mishaps...tomorrow THE WORLD!!!!
(Pectacular Almost spectacular...but somethings missing!, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 14:17, 5 replies)

Last Christmas.
I was on a long train journey from Chesterfield to Aberystwyth. That's about five hours of travelling, three and a half of them spent on Arriva Trains Wales.
If you've not travelled by ATW, here's what you need to know: timekeeping by Dodgy Ioan's Discount Rolex, upholstery and fittings by Davies Brothers Migraine-Inducing Textiles Emporium, cleaning by No-one Ever, clientele from Satan Himself.

It was half eleven at night and I, along with most of the other people in the carriage, was trying to get my head down. And pair of rather obnoxious young women were sat in the centre of the carriage, playing loud music, swearing and shouting at the top of their voices.

My fellow passengers seemed to have decided to deal with this the British Way (Writing a strongly worded letter to the editor, but otherwise doing nothing.)

But I had had enough.
I politely asked if they'd mind being a bit quieter.
They politely told me to fuck off.

So I sat down in the understandably empty table next to theirs, got out my phone, found the most annoying MIDI ringtone I could (That Nokia one.), and put it on repeat, holding it across the aisle about three inches from the ringleader's ear.

"I'll turn it off when you do." I said. "You're keeping me awake and I've got nothing else to do."

Scowling, they stopped.

Of course, I couldn't go to to sleep after that in case they gobbed in my hair or something, but I took a stand, damnit!
(universalpsykopath loves what you've done with your hair., Thu 10 Feb 2011, 13:59, 4 replies)

Protest
I was out in Birmingham last year to do some early Christmas shopping and I couldn't help but notice that everyone seemed to be in a heightened state of alert as some conference or other was going on.

All around the place seemed to be smartly dressed men and women wearing blue and of below average height.

What was REALLY weird was that the entire city smelled like menthol.

I suddenly realised what was going on...

It was the little vicks Tories.
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 13:47, 2 replies)

Misery loves company
My previous boss was, without a doubt, an arsehole of the highest order. I'm not just saying that because of the various disputes I had with him during our working relationship -- he's widely reviled in the small town where I live as a result of years spent routinely ripping people off. He's been directly responsible for the failure of a number of small businesses due to non-payment of bills.

Anyway the company he owned, and I worked for, went under (due to his mismanagement) leaving my and several other employees owed several months' back pay plus severance pay etc. Cut a long story short, to try to get something of what was owed we went to court and after nearly 18 months -- during which time he made every effort to stall the process -- we finally won and got...well, some of what we were due.

The small victory was hearing that (due to an unrelated matter) he'd been forced into bankruptcy. He'd had to sell his enormous country mansion (no exaggeration), take his six (count 'em) kids out of private school and send them to state school, etc. etc.

Gotta love a bit of schadenfreude.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 13:33, 1 reply)

I was going through a rough period a while ago.
I had it bad, really plunged the depths of depression and loss. I didn't really know who I was. It was like I'd woken up one day and just forgotten everything I took for granted. I don't know exactly which event in my life precipitated it all, but I do know how lost and lonely I was. There was a woman involved of course, and the games she played with me were a large part of it. I wandered through the confusing mess of life hopeless and nameless and lost. I dabbled in extreme forms of self harm in an effort to figure myself out.

You know what saves you when you're this tormented? Your friends. Your true friends. Right from the start, my oldest mate 'M' was there to help me work through it - I'd pulled him out of his own mess a while back and he must have felt obligated to return the favour when he saw me like this.

It was a real slog to get better after my life fell apart - all the bad things I'd done came back to haunt me, and the more I learned the more I wondered if I'd ever truly be free - but more and more of my friends chipped in to help me, even though I'd been a right bastard to them because of all my issues. Maybe I even helped a few of them learn a bit about themselves.
Finally, with my friends by my side, I felt strong enough to confront the evil witch who'd put me through all this. I freed my friends from their responsibilities to me. I was even able to face up to my own mortality, and finally take responsibility for the greatest sin of my past, and now that I was able to die I was rightly sent to Baator to confront my eternal punishment. I may have died, but I think overall I won.
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 13:31, 7 replies)

Bad loser
A few buddies and my good self were trying to hitchhike our way to a gathering to see some more close friends with rebel attitudes and like-minded thinking.

Anyhoo, we were stuck in a shitty town (which I won’t name for the sake of adding to its already dire reputation, but was much akin to Croydon on a Friday night), when we struck gold in a local bar with two chaps heading our way.

We arranged to meet up later at a large parking area out of town and all bundled into their big vehicle, plenty of room for kicking back and enjoying the journey.

It was quite a way to go, so to pass the time, a few of us got together to play some travel games. I was doing really well, when one of the guys we were hitching with got all shirty, he was being a proper bad sport.

I mean, it was only a small victory on my part, but the twat wouldn’t back down.

After some suspect glances around the small table we’d set up and a few choice words. My mate turns and says to me:

“I suggest a new tactic. Let the Wookie win.”
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 13:17, 4 replies)

New car
Case 1:

About 10 years ago, we bought our first brand new car from an internet dealer (now ceased trading). It was being built to spec in Italy, and so we were told to expect a three month build period - ordered in late April, the car was due to arrive in August. We were told that they'd call us when it arrived with the dealer from Italy.

August rolled around, and we heard nothing. After calling the dealer a gazillion times, and being promised callbacks that never arrived, we eventually found out that the car that was delivered was completely the wrong spec from that ordered. The dealer generously offered to sell it to us with no discount, alternatively they'd re-order the car and we'd need to wait another 3-4 months for delivery.

We agreed to re-order and wait, but I reminded them that we'd sold our car because we'd been expecting the new one to be delivered, and so were now without any means to getting about. The dealer was unsympathetic. That changed when I wrote a five-page letter citing why, in law, they were obliged to provide us with a free car whilst we waited for the new one to be built, citing appropriate caselaw.

The next week, we took delivery of a brand-new Clio, which we ran into the ground over the three months it took for the new car to be delivered.

Case 2:

I bought a new projector from a well-known internet retailer for watching films on a big screen, and it was a real bargain, about £300 cheaper than anywhere else, but still claimed to be brand new. It arrived, but had previously been returned, as the setup menu reported that the bulbs had already had 380 hours' use. I asked the retailer to swap it for a new one, but they teld me that they'd run out, so I could only get a refund. Now, I'd not have been able to buy a new one anywhere else for the same price if they refunded me, so I explained how damages in breach of contract work, and that they were obliged to either give me a new one, or give me enough money to get a new one from somewhere else. They declined, I sued them, and their solicitors realised I was right and settled the claim. I ended up keeping the projector and with £400 in my pocket. In fact, I ended up better off overall than if I'd never bought the thing in the first place.

Being a lawyer has its perks. Shame the hours are so shit.
( Doomladen ms paint lover, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:54, 1 reply)

Missed deadline for last qotw + this week's similar enough for it to work = win!
Like many of you (it seems) I grew up in one of those shitty nondescript towns where everyone's a bit depressed. Nobody smiles, even the kids; grey buildings gradually falling apart; whatever Michael Fish says somehow you know it's going to piss with rain all day. The best thing to do is to get out any way you can... and if you don't, somehow you have to stop yourself going crazy. My way of doing this (but of course) was practical jokery.

Now compared with some of the sick fuckers on here (being more of a lurker I won't mention names) I like to think I have a healthy, robust sense of humour. In some places, though, anyone who likes a laugh is considered a bit weird. I like to think my pranks were always well intended, and the person affected would be able to look at themselves and say -Well, maybe I sort of deserved that! Some of them, if I may say so, verged on artistry and may be recounted in a separate post. Briefly, though, I always tried to send people up for their own shortcomings, like Mr Moneybags (name changed etc.) who somehow never paid for anything, or the stoner who never ever left his flat. And another bloke - bit of a pervy, and frankly needed a talking to... my solution was perhaps a little cruel but the young lady concerned was in stitches! (I've half a dozen of these for another post... too much length etc.)

Of course, there's always someone who doesn't get it, and in my town there were two of them - I'll call them William, the old one, and Dave. In fairness, the old git wasn't that bad, probably as depressed as everyone else, but Dave was just a self-righteous, angry cunt. Thought he was God's gift... so why the fuck did he move to our town? His wife was hot though. Anyway, first they started following me around, which is scary enough in itself, but what took the biscuit was when they broke into my flat. Bang out of order if you ask me.

Now, I always say that the times when you're about to lose your sense of humour are the times you need it most. Obviously this was one of those times. So I pranked Dave proper: I sent him his wife's head in a box and he shot me. Win!
(bagpuss606, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:52, 2 replies)

I
bought a packet of wham chews which I didnt think were worthy of being endowed with the name Wham. Got 6 mega wham bars in return. Original email in replies
(little lord muthafuckin fauntleroy, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:50, 9 replies)

Also:
_{I win.}

Let's get that out of the way too.
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:38, 4 replies)

I took on the council/getting out of parking tickets
I came home late one night after visiting my mate with a brain tumour. I had to park on a single yellow line outside my house as all the permit bays were full.

When I came out of my house to move it at 8.10am, the council had already towed it away - and charged me £180 for the privilege of getting my car back. I appealed as I felt it was excessive and should have been a parking ticket only (no towing) as it was a quiet road.

I appealed. But I didn't get a reply for weeks and wondered what the legal limit was for appeal responses. No one could tell me so I decided to read the Road Traffic Act to find out. The law states that the council HAVE to reply within 56 days from receipt of appeal letter. If they don't respond by then, it is presumed that the council have accepted the appeal and all money should be refunded.

On day 57 I called up Haringey Council and told them I wanted my money back. After trying to tell me that I'd get a response soon, I told them that it was too late and if I didn't get my money back immediately, I would sue them.

They spluttered and then agreed I was right and sent me a full refund.

Hahhahaha up yours Haringey!!!!
( camp freddy well, would you look at that!, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:35, 4 replies)

Okay, WHAT?
This isn't even a slightly different concept than the previous QOTW. I don't mind occasional rehashes with months in between, but for the love of Christ...
What's up next week? Getting One Over Somebody? I Triumphed In The End? Epic Wins? Show Us Your Honda Accord? Any one of a million other scintillating and entirely distinct variations?

Needles touche, I will have the last laugh here. Because I'm insane and cackle manically all the time.
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:35, 8 replies)

Rich Tea Woe
This is the actual letter - word-for-word - that I sent to the Co-Op:

Dear the Co-op

I am writing to inform you of the unpleasant - yes UNpleasant experience I have suffered following the purchase of a 300g packet of Co-operative Rich Tea Biscuits. You know: The red packet with the comedy 'serving suggestion' picture of several so-called 'Rich Tea' biscuits sitting wanly on a plate in the middle distance.

Rich Tea? VERY POOR TEA, more like.

Within two days of purchasing your product, I should inform you that I have suffered the indignity of soggy Rich Tea biscuits snapping in half and falling into my otherwise excellent beverage with only the briefest of dunkings - thus completely wrecking my tea break - on no less than three occasions.

You have no idea how angry this makes me, but I'll tell you: A LOT. No man should be forced to live with the affront and humiliation of soggy biscuit defeat through the complete tectonic failure of what I wrongly thought were an acceptable Rich Tea purchase. On THREE occasions. I'm so cross I can't even go to the toilet properly.

Subsequent cuppas were made of tea, water, milk, HATE and FURY, and tasted much as you'd expect. For eg: TERRIBLE.

In order to get any pleasure from dunking my Rich Teas, each biscuit has to be individually wrapped in cling film first to ensure structural integrity before they are inserted into the tea. Hardly adding to the biscuit experience, I can tell you for nothing.

We have also experimented with dunking two biscuits at once, but we find the staples and glue get stuck in the poor, dead biscuit taster's throat and we're left with the all-too-common 'Dump another body round the back of the industrial estate' problem that has plagued serious biscuit testing down the years.

Clearly, there is a design fault which your highly-paid snack food boffins should address with all due urgency. May I suggest the EU Standard Baked Biscuits, Confectionery and Cake Stress Procedure (2003), which your product has quite clearly failed?

Sort it out, and make it (oh-ho!) snappy. And if you're planning on sending me free biscuits, make sure they're good ones, and not wafer-thin Rich Teas made out of structurally suspect biscuit stuff and the tormented souls of the dead.

Your pal


Albert O'Balsam

---- oooOOOooOOooo passage of time ooooOOOoooOooo ----

And their reply (somewhat paraphrased)


Dear Mr O'Balsam,

We're sorry to hear about your recent biscuit-related woe at the hands of a packet of shoddy Co-op Rich Teas.

Please accept our apologies, our pledge that all biscuits will be individually stress tested as per EU regulations, and some vouchers.

Your pals,

The Co-op.

Yeah, I got one over the Co-Op and I understand it's the equivalent of punching a baby. Sorry.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:32, 12 replies)

Have this!!!!

(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:31, 15 replies)

I sued the council.....
While at a meeting, my motorbike - which had a valid pay-and-display ticket displayed in a second tax disc holder on the bike - got two parking tickets within one hour, which in itself is illegal.

After 9 months appealing against both tickets and obviously winning, I decided I was feb up with Southwark wasting my time. So I sent them an invoice for my time spend on this. When they didn't pay, I took them to the small claims court - AND WON!

And I got a cheque for £300. Hahaha in your face Soutwark!
( camp freddy well, would you look at that!, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:27, 13 replies)

You can have an incredibly recent pea until I can engage brain-gear
The night before last [a few weeks ago]I got talking to a bunch of drunk Norwegians who were boasting about the fact that British people had immense difficulty pronouncing their names. I introduced myself as Llewellyn. It's the little victories.
(brutal stack Raided the beeves of Apollo on, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:20, Reply)

i got the last laugh...
that'll do for me.
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:15, 4 replies)

My winning
the battle to evict the evil dwarf from my wardrobe.
( Trollman, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:14, 4 replies)

Well I voted for it, despite calls that "Little Victories" was just a reincarnation of "Needless to say I had the last laugh"
So needless to say, I'm having the last laugh about this little victory.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:13, Reply)

This one?
EDIT

Aw, bollocks!
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:11, 2 replies)

1st
LIttle victory, right here.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:11, 5 replies)