Last Day At Morrison's
If it was your last day, it was pretty much a house rule that you were going to be tortured in some way before you were able to leave the company.

And so it was, at 6.59pm of my final day, when I was set upon by 12 colleagues, who shrinkwrapped me tightly from neck to ankles, dumped me in a plastic bath (the kind they wheel around the shop to collect cardboard), hosed me down with waters both very hot and incredibly cold, before pelting me with 20 trays of eggs they'd been "maturing" in a dank corner of the warehouse since they'd learnt some months earlier of the approx date I'd be leaving.

Deputy manager finds me locked in the chiller cabinet half an hour after I should've left. After I refused to name names, he charged me for all of the eggs, several rolls of cling film, and the cost of dry cleaning my uniform at the in-house Sketchleys. Gold standard dry cleaning, mind, which was an extra 2 quid.

Oh, and as I was too traumatised to function for several hours afterwards, I later learned that I'd been docked 2 hours wages as I'd failed to clock off for the night.

Apols for length. It's kind of like therapy.
(dandelionburdock, Fri 13 May 2005, 3:20, Reply)