In Singapore
There are people who hunt down freebies, usually frail old ladies with a lot of time on their hands. They go to all the career fairs & stock up on pens & pads, anything they can get their mits on, mouse pads are a must even if they don't own a computer.

A TV show set up a tent on the street & had 'extras' form a queue outside, which didn't move. The queue grew & grew with these old ladies patiently waiting. When asked what were they queuing for, they simply replied:

"Must be for something free lah"
(Baron Greenback Still in Sunny Singapore, Mon 12 Nov 2007, 3:40, 1 reply)

The Good Accountant
At an accountancy gala dinner (interesting eh?), the bar was free for one hour before the meal.

A mate of mine ordered 24 bottles of Holsten, and then sat at a table on his own for two and half hours methodically caning them. He blew out the dinner, and upon everyone else's return was shitfaced as you would imagine.

Good effort for an accountant I reckon, although his colleagues were not impressed.
(Mandrill, Mon 12 Nov 2007, 2:39, Reply)

Penny tray
The texaco station down the road has a little penny tray on the counter. The other day after filling up, I found I was 2pence short (£30.02 - hair trigger on the pump) so it came in handy.

Later that night, it got me thinking. I really want a new ipod but am feeling a little skint. I needed to take the penny tray to the next logical step.

So a few weeks later I filled up as usual and went to pay. I paid back the original 2p i had taken from the spare change in my pocket. Then, without warning, I jumped the counter and forced the clerk down to the ground quite violently with the end of my gun. After some fairly nasty whacks to the back of his head, he was ready to co-operate. The gun firmly jammed into the back of his neck he opened the till drawer and I took the lot. One last *thwack* and he seemed to pass out. I grabbed the video out of the cctv recorder, filled my pockets wtih marlboro gold and calmly exited via the staff door. I only then noticed the little old lady in the corner cowering with fright. I remembered the gun and shot her in the chest.

I drove home elated! I couldnt wait to count it. Imagine my result when i had over 2 grand! Enough for about 8 160GB ipods.

The moral of this is, if youre going to abuse freebies, fucking abuse them, dont fuck about with extra sausage rolls, armed robbery is where its at. It feels fuckin great as well!
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 23:59, 5 replies)

Pretending to be a student.
Well I am still a student, but I once wrote an email to a company that made self cooking tins of food pretending to be a gcse cooking student. Bloody worked aswell. I wouldn't have paid for them though.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 23:40, Reply)

birthday freebies
well, it's my birthday today and i've basically spent the whole weekend being spoiled rotten, am being taken out every night next week and have a party next weekend. that is totally abusing the whole birthday thing. except that being 30 is so bloody hideous that only the pink champagne i've been drinking all night is between me and tears............ gah!!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 23:32, 13 replies)

I always
Give envelopes with oxfam's logo on them a quick squeeze to see if they contain a free pen before chucking them out.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 23:17, Reply)

Internet based free samples...
In this technologically advanced day and age, it is a bad idea to reveal to anyone a working email address and a postal address at the same time.

It is even worse to disclose them to a particularly malevolent friend with a propensity towards one-upmanship and a link to "get free samples...for free" websites.

Some 5 years ago, knowing my address, my mate got a free sample of "Tena Lady" sent to my house. I didn't really need them at the time, but it was nice to have the peace of mind.

To get him back, I got the good people at Pampers to send him a large pack of nappies, for free, to his (babyless) address.

I'm sure he appreciated the gesture, as two weeks later, I got a large box of pet food, addressed to "Dr A Chickenfucker Ray" sent to my (petless) address. My parents, who I lived with at the time, were none too impressed.

They have, however, gotten over it since, as they regularly get post addressed to the very same doctor, name wrtten in bold capitals at the top of every free vouchers letter/ box of puppy food/ dog leash.
(Clawhand Luke Old bear! He likes the honey!, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 22:53, Reply)

In that vein...
My poor children can't abuse all the freebie crap that drifts through the house. I have all kinds of pens, T shirts, magnets, tote bags, calculators, insulated zippered bags, sunglasses, platters, etc. floating around they are too embarrassed to use. Why? Because all these useful objects sport ads for birth control, vag fungus meds, antidepressants, erection drugs and so forth.

My little boy was particularly enamored with a Viagra specimen container that looked like a lunch bag to him. "The blue diamonds are cool, Mom!" He wanted to take it to school until my husband explained what Viagra was for. Then he wouldn't touch it.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 20:07, 4 replies)

How I left my mark on Sheffield. Sort of.
Apologies in advance for the detail, but I feel it makes up for the shame I'm about to put on myself. Those who know me on here... well, I'm just sorry...



I've always been a bit of a music critic. Ask me my opinions on music and I'll happily eulogise for hours on the merits of any band you bring up.

So much so, that whilst I was at uni I decided to do something about it, and join the student union magazine.

As you can imagine, it was full of self-righteous wannabee journos - Che Guevara t-shirts, ironic badges, Sartre novels, that sort of thing. Except I was a hulking great Engineering student with an interest in voicing my opinions on Joy Division and the like.

Anyway, I was taken in by the literary sorts and we ploughed our journalistic furrow quite well - our readership started to grow and so we decided to celebrate this by having a social night at the union.

Even better - I was asked to DJ for a bit, warming up for the main club DJs who were following up later on... Finally, my dreams were realised - not only would an unwitting public have had to read my opinions on music, they'd have to listen to my favourite bands too.

So, come the night, I did my set, had a few drinks bought for me and danced my merry way. Then, I heard the immortal words:

"Scentless, you know it's a free bar for the DJs, don't you???"

OH. MY. GOD. Only Jenny McCarthy walking in with nothing but a smile and making hay with me in the middle of the dancefloor could have beaten this situation.

So, as you have read in many of these stories, I caned it. Big time. Vodka was and is still my spirit of choice, so I glugged on it with abandon, only stopping my libations to breath, scratch my nose or chat up the talent. I even managed to fit in a fair few bottles of Stella too.

And then. About 4 hours into my Leaving Las Vegas tribute, it hit me. I couldn't walk. The bouncer had spotted this, and was threatening me with expulsion, so I decided to take a seat, get some composure, and give myself a break.

Except when the young lady who had been eyeing me up all night came over, I was anything but composed. I vomited all over her, then was dragged to the nearest window by my good editor mate, and henceforth spewed out of the window, and down the wall of the Student Union.

Now as many of you who have ever visited Sheffield will know, the Student Union is bang across from the front entrance of Sheffield Railway Station.

And lo, as it was, on that Saturday evening, that I coated the Union walls in a thin film of vomit, in front of many late night commuters to and from the Steel City. It took me a good 10 minutes to finish up, at which I was forcibly ejected out of the Union and carried to a mate's house by him and 3 others (apart from a short stop at Kebabish on London Road, me propped up against a lampost, unconscious).

I repaid my mate's help by wetting myself on his settee, and legging it at about 7am before he'd woken up and seen my mess (I later claimed I'd spilt water on his settee whilst trying to sober myself up). Staggering through Sheffield City Centre on a Sunday morning, covered in vom, stinking of piss and still smashed is not the most pleasant experience in the world, but at least I now know how a wino feels.

The worst thing about it all? I was still living at home at the time. When I stumbled in to the Scentless family seat, the look I got from my mum was one of those "I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed" ones. I just mumbled some explanation, staggered upstairs and passed out for 10 hours. The interrogation I got afterwards was awful, I think Dustin Hoffman had it easier in Marathon Man.

The best thing about it all? The Union never cleaned the sick off the walls. So for a good few weeks, there was a stream of vom on the walls facing Sheffield Station, for all those entering the Steel City to see. Brilliant.

Amazingly, no-one in the club that night was offended, I was a nailed-on legend for the rest of my tenure, and as a result of abusing a freebie, my vomit was a Sheffield landmark for a short period of time. Now how often can you say that?

Oh, and yes, I now teach children. The nation's future, in my hands.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 19:19, 5 replies)

Regrets? I’ve had a few…but then again, I did get shit-faced.
I’ve just remembered this one…

Many, many years back, I was regularly and delicately tickling the proverbial fancy of a luscious and frisky young maiden. Happy days.

I would, on occasion, entertain her in the time-honoured tradition of taking her down the local pub and getting her squiffy, before dropping trollies and attempting said rudies as rapidly as possible on arrival home before my wood subsided -as tended to happen after copious amounts of cider.

(I know…Casanova would’ve been proud)

Anyhoo, on one occasion I was lining up at the bar asking for my usual, when I noticed a couple of clear(ish) plastic tubs up on a shelf containing what can only be described as lightly-coloured icy gloop. (There wasn’t even those crappy fluorescent, star-shaped, half-arsed promotional thingies you get in pubs to say what the offer was). I had to ask…

“What the fuck’s that?” I gently enquire, in a semi hypnotic state whilst watching the stirring rotor blades operating within each container.

“Alcoholic Slush Puppies” Said the cumly bar wench. Pointing to one container she continued: “There’s vodka and orange in that one, and tequila and raspberry (??? if I remember correctly - it was light blue) in the other. Works out at about 4 shots per glass apparently.”

“Shit the bed!” I profess enthusiastically, conveniently forgetting that I am now in conversation on what must be one of the gayest drinks in the world. “How much?” I ask.

“Cunted if I know” The serving maid replies (Am I correctly conveying the message that I’m not in exactly the most sophisticated and distinguished of establishments here?). “Nobody’s asked for one yet” (I stand back in amazement). She continues: “I’ll check on the till”.

She approaches the till, which just happens to be one of those touch screen jobs that has a direct link to the brewery database…Can you see where this is going?

I then hear the four words that take this story to it’s wonderful turn...

“This can’t be right” The perplexed strumpet exclaims, “It’s only counting as a fruit drink, and they’re 50p each”

I keep my composure and expertly disguise my jubilance, being careful not to let on that a massive neon sign has just lit up in my head, surrounded with sirens, explosions and fireworks all spelling out the words ‘FREE ALCOHOL!’….

I took a deep breath…….

“WOOOOOOOOOO-FUCKING-HOOOOOO!!!!!!. I’LL TAKE 10 OF EACH!” I scream, waving my arms around widly and jumping in the air, clicking my heels like Morecambe and Wise used to do.

£10 and several brain-freezing minutes later, my ladyfriend and I have slipped quite merrily off our respective mental-boxes. Abso-fucking-lutely twatted.

My companion then has a stroke of wisdom. “Let’s just keep this to ourselves” She requests. “Nobody else will order this stuff, nobody’ll find out for ages – we’ll be proper sorted”

This girlfriend was a lady of intelligence, beauty and compassion. Now it might have been due to the alcohol, but unfortunately for her, she forgot for a brief instance that I was a loud, gobby cock-rot who is incapable of keeping a secret.

She may as well have put an advert out to be broadcast in the middle of ‘Coronation Street’

Within one week I had packed the place out with friends, relatives, colleagues and basically anybody who’d listen to me; all insisting that they were served by the one barmaid who was obviously too thick to have the initiative to question the till. What a sight we must have all looked – From young whippersnappers to OAPs…boys and girls, men and women…all drinking these wussy little slush cocktail things…and all getting utterly arse-holed

Unsurprisingly, we got busted pretty soon after and the price went up to £5 a drink. Cue the pub being deserted from that minute on, and everybody blaming me because each individual thought that I should have told just them, and nobody else.

Length? About three inches…and it smashed your fucking face in.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Sun 11 Nov 2007, 18:07, 2 replies)

If Bob Todd
can post someone elses story, then so shall I
www.goodthink.com/writing/view_stories.cfm?id=11&page_id=2
An enormously long read, but well worth the time.
Basic premise is... fake cheque for nearly $1m cashed as a joke, turns out fake cheque was real, lots of hassle, lots of fun.
(lordy lordy, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 17:03, 8 replies)

Scottish Invasion
About a year ago, I was working in the sales team at T-mobile. Shit job, but the commission was good.

Anyway, they had recently launched a 'Web and Walk' contract add-on that allowed you to get the internet through your phone. As it was a new product, they were offering us six quid commission on EVERY one we sold. "Result" thinks I, and I go on to offer it in almost every call. I sold to old people, young people, guys and girls, and at the end of the month I had sold something like 40 of them, earning me about 240 quid on top of my usual commission and wage. I put the money towards a new computer, and thought no more of it.

Turns out there was an additional bonus we hadn't been told about. You see, T-Mobile were one of the sponsors of last years World Cup, and, as an additional sales incentive, the top 40 sales people for that month would be flown out to watch a game in Germany. And I had ended up in the top 40. Me and one other guy from our centre, whose name was Alan - the only two Scotsmen, going to watch the England Vs Trinidad and Tobago game. Joy.

The day before the match we flew from Glasgow to London, paid for by the company. Got down there about 10ish and caught a cab to our hotel, where everyone was meeting up. We had to be up at 6 the next morning to catch the flight to Nuremberg, so we were planning to get to bed pretty early. We put our bags into our rooms, then figured we'd head down to the hotel bar and see if anyone else was down there. We found a table with other T-Mobile employees and introduced ourselves. After chatting for a bit, one of them asked, "Are you not gonna get yourselves a drink?" We were pretty skint, and told him so. "Oh, that's alright" he said, then came out with the sweetest words in the English language - "It's a free bar"

Free bar? Hell fucking yes. We felt like Jonathan King in a nursery. A pint and a triple whisky to start, then a few vodkas, bottles of Magners, and whatever else took our fancy. Everyone else started heading off to bed, muttering that they had to get up early (lightweights). It ended up being just me, Alan and a Geordie boy left, locked in a drinking battle till the early hours of the morning. At one point, we decided to try a shot of everything from the top row of the bar. Advocaat is fucking disgusting, incidentally. Eventually gave up around 2 and stumbled about the hotel, trying to remember where our rooms were. The place was fucking massive. After half an hour, we remembered our room numbers were printed on our keys, and eventually got to bed about 3am. I had to physically drag myself out of it again at 6. After showering, changing and eating half a packet of Pro Plus caffeine tablets, I felt somewhere near normal again. We managed to choke down some breakfast without throwing up before being ferried to a private terminal to wait for our flight. The Geordie we'd been drinking with earlier hadn't turned up, and the flight was delayed while they phoned the hotel to wake him up.

While we were waiting, we were offered refreshments from, wait for it, yet another free bar. Two Bloody Marys and a vodka and fresh orange later, we were ushered onto a private plane, swaying slightly and no doubt stinking of booze. On the plane, we were just getting to sleep when an air hostess came round offering drinks.

"Champaigne sir?"

"Yes please. Leave the bottle love"

On touching down, I was like a monkey with no arms - completely out my tree. The guard at passport control took one look at me, swaying in the non-existant breeze with a huge grin plastered across my face, and asked, "Are you alright sir?"

"Aye, mate, I'm fucking brilliant."

"Ah, so you're Scottish," he said, as if that explained everything, and handed me my passport back. We got bored of waiting for everyone else to get through passport control, so me and Alan decided to explore the airport for a bit. Being quite drunk already, this perhaps wasn't the best idea, and unsurprisingly we ended up getting lost. We eventually found our way outside where everyone else was sitting on a bus, waiting for us. After a minor bollocking from one of the bosses, we were off to the Hilton hotel for some hospitality. For 'hospitality,' read 'more free drink.' This trip was getting better and better...

There was a buffet set up in the middle of a massive ballroom which we immediately gravitated to. Normal buffet procedure, as I'm sure you're all aware, is to pick up a plate and politely pile a few items onto it for eating later, NOT to stand in the middle of the table stuffing your face with as much food as you can, blocking everyone else from getting in. Guess which option we chose?

After our display of drunken gluttony, we noticed waiters moving serenely around the room, taking drinks orders. There were 4 exotic sounding German lagers to choose from. Not having tasted any of them before, we took the only sensible option. "I'll have one of each Hanz, and keep them coming" At this point, we were drawing a lot of dirty looks, and there seemed to be some barely hidden tutting at our behaviour. Did we care? Did we fuck. Free drink is free drink.

God knows how we made it to the stadium - we were all over the place. We had started singing 'Flower of Scotland,' and 'Scotland the brave' with our arms around each others shoulders on the walk over, and everyone else seemed to be trying to avoid walking beside us. I can't imagine why.

We passed a stall selling memerobilia for the match, and, in our drunken state, decided it would be a great idea to buy Trinidad and Tobago scarves. After all, it's not like we were supporting England (and if any England fans think this is out of order, let me put it this way. If, by some magic stroke of luck, Scotland manage to qualify for Euro 2008, and England don't, would you even consider supporting Scotland? Didn't think so). After making our purchases, we staggered on to the stadium, and tried to find our seats.

Turns out they were slap bang in the middle of a sea of England supporters. Rowdy, noisy, aggressive England supporters. But we didn't care - we were running solely on alcohol and adrenaline by this stage. During the match, whenever Trinidad and Tobago had possession we were up out our seats cheering them on, and when England eventually scored our shouts of 'Offside!' were thankfully drowned out by the rest of the crowd. At one point, one of the England players was fouled, and our shouts of 'Come on ref! That was a blatant dive' started to attract the attention of a number of big, scary looking England fans. Someone in the crowd told us to shut up, which only added fuel to the fire. We again sang 'Flower of Scotland,' but changed the lyrics to 'Flower of Trinidad.' I don't know if you've ever experienced hundreds of people turning to stare at you with violence in their eyes, but it's not something I'd wish on my worst enemy.

Somehow, we survived with only a few insults hurled our way. The rest of the T-Mobile contest winners were seated around us, and I could see them flinching as we booed the England team whenever they had the ball. England eventually won two nil - I really hate to think what would've happened if they'd lost. I suspect our bodies would never have been found.

The rest of the day is hazy - I can barely remember the flight home. Not long after getting back, I had a disciplinary meeting to discuss 'my conduct at work-related events.'

Strangely enough, I never won another sales incentive, no matter how good my sales figures were.

And that's the story of how I wrecked a freebie for everyone else involved. My mother would be proud.
(Pavlov's Frog figures no-one really reads sigs anyway, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 14:53, 16 replies)

Wet Snacks
Long time listener, first time caller.

I was DJing at a wedding a number of years back in a very small town in Scotland, about 2 miles from the very small town in Scotland I used to live in.

It was a stupidly cheap affair, in a pub's back room with tesco value snacks as the meal (and cake), a dress from top shop and, well, me as the entertainment.

I played the usual shite, then after the bride and groom had buggered off, I got to raid the buffet for a bit of an after gig snack. There was a load left as most of the guests were far more interested in getting pissed and hitting each other than a fatty sausage roll or chicken wing. They bought me a lot of beer too though, bless em

I filled a plastic bag with snacks and decided to walk the couple of miles home and collect my gear in the morning rather than spend my hard earned on a taxi. Was rather chuffed as I wouldn't be forking out for a kebab now either.

Bag in hand, I stumbled home alongside a local golf course. The free lager needed out now, so I slipped off the road and let 'im loose. Weird thing was, I could feel it leaving my body, but didn't hear it hitting the ground. Yes, I was pissing in my bag of free food.

If that isn't abusing freebies I don't know what is.

Don't understand what this length thing is all about.
( Cheeses of Nazareth Where's Captain Kirk? www.whereiskirk.com, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 3:37, 6 replies)

Not me, but my boss...
In the 3 years I have been at my current job (Which I am due to leave next week) I have had plenty of opportunity to witness my boss in full freebie mode. Being the manager of the IT department, he has several opportunities per year to go to trade shows around London, and always comes away with plenty of swag. So far (to my knowledge) he has accumulated the following:

- 4 mugs
- enough free pens to fill all the aforementioned mugs
- His desk has 5 mousemats (including one so small you'd need to be Jeremy Beadle to make use of it and one with a calculator on)...
-...and a similar number of coasters, despite the fact he only has 1 cup, and no-one but him is ever at his desk with a drink
- a thermos
- several lanyards
- Assorted other 'gizzets' as he calls them, including USB pens, little lights and pointers and all sorts of other junk

2 other things of note; Some of his pens have resided in said mugs so long they no longer work, but he insists on keeping them, and he often says he's saving some of the pens, lanyards etc for his kids...Christmas must be fun at his house...

As I said, i'm leaving next week but i have to admit, this is one sight i'll miss; a 40-something man who really ought to be past this stage, going out with the biggest bag possible to collect freebies, and still having to come back with additional free bags with stuff in due to the sheer volume of freebies
(alpha2omega, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 23:45, 10 replies)

Floppy disks
Back in the early-mid 1990s I was an impoverished young computer geek with a hefty software-downloading habit. Since in those days I would have needed a second mortgage to afford an upgrade to my pathetically insufficient hard drive, I went through insane amounts of the then-popular 3.5" floppy disks.

They were sort of expensive and I was poor, but I noticed the free floppies that turned up in my mail now and then, which contained software and free trials for the online services of the period - America Online, Prodigy, and CompuServe.

As many nerds of a certain age remember, those freebies still had the write-protect switches on them, were easily re-formattable, and were surprisingly high-quality disks, I imagine in order to survive trips through the post glued to boring magazines. The disks were also made freely available in display boxes, sitting on the counters of all the computer shops.

A few phone calls later, those three service providers somehow got the idea that my address was in fact a modestly successful computer shop. They happily sent me free cases of their floppies in DOS, Windows, and Macintosh flavors every month or so - enough to hold my stashes of data and still have enough to give away to other geeks.

This little scheme served me very well up until the days of damnably unwriteable CD-ROMs.

Apologies for texture.
( Rob T Firefly talked, like, William Shatner, on, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 23:16, Reply)

Beer Money!
Years and years ago when I still had charm, wit, and enough brain cells left to work out basic arithmetic, I worked at a rather big club in Birmingham. There was a rather fruitful scam that was passed on from barman to barman (in a kind of old man passing down tales sort of way) of improving the slightly shite wages that was paid for delivering Birmingham's worst alcoholic beverages to the unsuspecting (pissed / drugged up) public.

The rules are thus, and read like the ten commandments;

1. Do not try this on anyone who appears sober.
2. Don't take the piss.
3. When drunk / drugged up idiot comes to bar requesting a large round of drinks, automatically add £2 to the round. (They, due to large amount of drinks, never check change and pocket money automatically.)
4. Serve drinks, and return change to the punter.
5. Ensure the £2 stays in the till!
6. Upon next punter, serve drinks, give change, and subtract the previous £2, muttering "Cheers pal, nice one".
7. Deposit £2 into your tip glass, and move onto next punter.
8. Repeat this numerous times during the night (taking note of rule 2).
9. Use the ill gotten gains to fund after club finshing time drinks (read : piss up) to create a sensation of drunkeness.
10. Use remaining funds to buy kebab / big morning breakfast sandwich from Irish cafe across the way and enjoy!!

Winnar!!
( Tesco Quality 60.825659, -0.788337, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 22:36, 3 replies)

I've Been Mollycoddled
Back in 1995* I was a "computer journalist", except I wasn't, really. I worked for a computer magazine company, writing technical reviews, but have no journalistic training and didn't do interviews etc. Except for the time all the real journalists were busy, and I was asked to interview the regional manager of IBM, at 2-day sales conference which I would also attend. Oh, the conference was in Cannes, and they paid all expenses.

IBM had difficulty finding me a hotel room, so I ended up in the Majestic, which is where the top movie stars stay during the Film Festival. Just one night, and the room was small, but luxurious, high up on the corner with an excellent view over the Croisette. I had to wonder who'd been shagging in that bed... Madonna... Eddie Murphy... Julia Roberts... Rodney Dangerfield?

I did genuinely make an effort to interview the manager, but I couldn't find the location: it was my first time in Cannes - actually, my first time in France. My return flight was on the evening of the second day, but by that lunchtime the sun was out, and I had had enough of the stuffy training room. I hit the beach, chilled out for the rest of the day, and got the flight back from Nice. I wasn't even asked to write a word about that trip: result.

* yes, I'm dating myself: it's not as if anyone else will. Length? About 800 miles, but ending up back where I started.
( bnt what, me worry?, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 22:14, Reply)

Blagging in Amsterdam
I've just recently got back into Satellite Communications, so I got sent over to the IBC (International Broadcasting Conference) in Amsterdam in September. Now, I work for a Dutch company, so I got put up in a nice hotel near the office whilst I was over there, all on the company tab. On the first day at the IBC, I paired up with one of our sales guys. He's a smooth talker and managed to blag some laser pointers from a company that did some thing *not* related in any way to what we do. The laser pointer makes a great cat toy BTW. We got a nice pin badge with the new Sirius satellite on it from the SES-Newskies stand as well. On the second day I hoovered up the usual freebies, pens, sweets etc. However, this is where the biggest blagging starts. I meet up with the bosses on the Intelsat stand, whereupon I immediately get plied with free beer. I then find out that we've been invited to the Intelsat reception, in one of the poshest hotels in the middle of Amsterdam that evening. Result! Cue us piling over there that evening, to a reception room with as much food and booze as you could shovel down your gullet. I 'strategically' parked myself near the bar so that the beers could keep flowing. Not sure how much I drank, but seeing as I wasn't paying, I wasn't keeping count! After we left, our CEO takes us to a topless bar in the red light district with some guys from another satcomms company. When we got there, his company card when behind the bar and the drinking continued! When we left, the other guys were still there and buying the girls 50 Euro bottles of champagne. We didn't see them arrive at the IBC the next day until quite late in the morning!

I also used to work in horseracing, working in conjunction with C4 racing & the BBC, so as a result had Access All Areas passes for most of the racecourses in the country, but I don't know if that'd be considered a freebie or now.

Length? Well, our biggest antenna is 11m across, picks up Sky a treat!
(Raystorm, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 21:07, Reply)

Doritos
Back many years ago when Doritos came to the UK from across the pond they decided to try and grab the student market given that crisps seem to be one of the major food groups for skinted students. Anyway some genius thought the best way to promote them at UMST (R.I.P) was to leave big promotional tubs full of free tortilla goodness around the campus.

So being enterprising and peckish and seeing the free vend what could we do except find some bin bags and follow the chap putting them out and snaffle the lot as fast as he could put them out hoping he wouldn't notice. We had a haul of six black sacks *full* of them and no-one else got a look in. I only feel guilty as we got sick of eating them after the first sack but wouldn't give them away on principle....
(pev, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 20:38, Reply)

When i opened
my student bank a/c, i got given a "care package", consisting of a packet of pasta in cheese sauce, a packet of crisps, a diary and a can of pop. Being stoned out my box, i thought it was the bank girl's shopping, in a carrier on her desk. Barclays really pulled out the stops.
They all wear jeans and tshirts in the first week of term too, at branches near colleges, (at least they used to), and look knobs.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Sat 10 Nov 2007, 20:09, 1 reply)

It was free......
Sort of, but i plugged my ex as much as i could
(Menlui laughing maniacally, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 19:57, Reply)

No fridge magnet
Today Southwark Council pushed a bag through my door along with a little leaflet telling me how I can use the bag to help save the environment by sorting through my rubbish….!
The leaflet also said they’d enclosed a free fridge magnet too. There was no fridge magnet.

Well as far as I’m concerned, no fridge magnet - no recycling.
Am I wrong? I think not.
If they think poking around in a rubbish bag for bits of cardboard and jam jars is such a good idea they can fuck off do it themselves.
(rambleon, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 19:04, 2 replies)

This isn't my story, but I think this chap deserves props.
www.snopes.com/business/deals/pudding.asp

For the link-shy, it's the (true!) story of a man who took advantage of a special offer that gave you free air-miles with every purchase of some brand of pudding. Man bought a metric fuckton of pudding and accumulated over a million airmiles. Best of all, he donated the puddings themselves to the Sally Army so could declare them as a tax write-off!
( Bob Todd whee, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 18:12, 3 replies)

Law Fair
I'm in my second year of studying Law at University. I've just come back from our Law Fair, wherein big corporate law firms try and entice you to consider them by offering you various freebies.

So while I type this I'm sipping tea from one of my four free mugs, ignoring of course the two free thermal mugs I get, while not bothering to solve my free Rubix cube, checking the time on my free clock, saving stuff onto my free USB stick, writing with my 30 free pens, most of which are stuffed into my free pencil case, throwing around my free baseball against my free leatherbound file, playing with one of my three free decks of cards, and sheltering under my free umbrella.

I did feel guilty about getting all this stuff, so I did humour them by staying and listening to them whore out their company. However, I want to have a competition next year as to who can get the most free stuff, although I'm unsure as to whether to judge it on a points system (1 point for a normal pen, 5 for a mug etc) or a weight based system.

Scuse me, I'm off to eat my free chocolates.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 18:05, 3 replies)

Liptons Ice Tea
One very hot year in the 1990's I was a member of a Kite display team, named Lost in Space. You know the sort of thing fly in formation, interweave do some jiggery pokery and unwind to be free from each other....anyway... We were displaying over a long weekend at the Essex County Show, and after the display we found Liptons Ice Tea being given away in little cans, absolutely ice cold, by a bevy of beautiful ladies. We snaffled one each, and then found Anglian Water giving away iced water to compare their own with a famous french brand, and 'Could we taste the difference?' Too right we could, Anglian Water is way better than the french stuff by a mile! especially cold.
We wore very distinctive Tshirts and sidled back to the Liptons Ice Tea stand to meekly ask for another can, 'YES' they said 'weve had loads of people ask "Can we have some of that stuff the Kite team are drinking?" you're helping us out, come whenever you like' And we did, lots of times, but I think its because our lead kite fancied one or two of those ladies.
Oh Happy times
(lordy lordy, Sat 10 Nov 2007, 17:42, 1 reply)