» My Wanking Disasters

Not caught, but the catchee
Arrived home early from a "be-a-top-boss" type conference to what I thought was an empty house [you know what's coming . . . but you're wrong}. My son (12 at the time) obviously though the same (house unoccupied by parents) as when I crept past his bedroom I caught the sight (in his wardrobe mirror) of him and his mate (whom we had known since he was three years old) having a friendly . . . er . . . tussle. I couldn't see anything but the motions (and sounds) conveyed enough to confirm that my son was wanking his mate off. The universe stopped for a few minutes as this (and many other thoughts) crashed into my brain, and I stood transfixed. Then, when my son moved his head towards his mate's groin I sort of decided the pair deserved a little privacy (thankfully I was liberal enough not to go crashing into the room, separate the pair and cause untold lifetime neurosis to all involved) and stealthily crept out of the house and nipped to the pub.

Needless to say, when my son told me he was gay a couple of years later I wasn't overly surprised.
(Wed 2nd Jun 2004, 11:43, More)

» Clients Are Stupid

A well known . . .
. . . telecommunications (i.e. phone) company did not have their own printing department, so the company I then worked for used to receive their data, format it for them, and print and mail their billing statements.

The statements used to contain a Bank Giro Credit Slip for people (who were so inclined) to pay their bills in such a way. It was a legal requirement for the phone number of the company who printed the Giro Slip to be printed on the slip itself, so if a complaint was made to Girobank about a slip, they were able to contact the company who printed them.

As I was the developer who wrote the program that generated the statement and slip, my work phone number was the one printed on the slip. It was nothing to worry about as it was in a 6pt font, and printed vertically and completely unobtrusively at the very bottom of the slip.

Obviously the customers of the phone company - should they find anomalies with their bills or accounts - would never ring this unobtrusive little number, instead using the number printed in bold, 12pt, at the top of the bill, along with helpful hints such as "For any enquiry about this statement, please ring . . ." ?

Right?

Er, no.

A typical complaint would run as follows:

Me : Hello, [Bloggs] Print & Mail?
Bozo : Hello, I have a problem with my bill.
Me : Ah, are you a customer of [phone company] ?
Bozo : Yes, I rang the number on the bill.
Me : The one at the bottom?
Bozo : Yes.
Me : Yes - well, you need to ring the helpdesk number printed at the top of the bill.
Bozo : I'm not ringing someone else. Why can't you help?
Me : We're the company who just print the bills, and are not part of [phone company]
Bozo : Yes - it's you I need to speak to then, it's the bill I have a problem with.
Me : What seems to be the problem?
Bozo : You've charged me for some calls to a number I don't recognise. I want a refund.
Me : You need to phone the helpdesk. We're not part of [phone company], we just print the bills.
Bozo : [sigh] can you put me through to the helpdesk?
Me : No, we're a completely separate company. I can't connect you.
Bozo : Why can't you just get me a refund?
Me : I don't work for [phone company]. I work for [Bloggs}. We just print their bills.
Bozo : IT'S THE BILL I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH!
{and so on in an infinite loop]

It soon became clear that [1] people could not understand that the phone bills were not printed by [phone company] but by a completely separate company and [2] people thought their bills are individually prepared by employees who look carefully at their accounts and then lovingly type out their bills personally, instead of being generated by computer systems and printed in a quarter of a second.

Eventually, after a couple of months I gave up explaining, and simply dealt with every complaint (whilst making suitable typing noises on my keyboard). 0% success but 100% satisfaction - no one ever called me back.

Also once a woman phoned me at work and asked to cancel her doctor's appointment for Tuesday, which I duly did. Or rather didn't.
(Wed 31st Dec 2003, 10:50, More)

» Losing Your Virginity

Not nice
Not virginity as such, but the first time I gave someone a blow job he came so hard and in such volume it came out through my nose. I was twelve (and so was he) and had been "messing about with each other" since we were eight, and had found out some rumours about "sucking" so we decided to give it a go. I was quite horrified at the time.
(Thu 10th Mar 2005, 15:54, More)

» Embarrassing Injuries

Bike-ride blood bath
I'll be brief. Took friend's son [13] cycling. About mile from home I fell off my bike onto road. Prised myself off tarmac to spy suspiciously large pool of blood. Felt blood pouring from what seemed a caved-in head. Phoned wife and friend and informed them of my dire need of aid. Sat by road and awaited death.

Friend's son sniffs the air, then examines the huge pool of blood. Then goes to ruck-sack I'd been carrying and pulls out the remaining shards of a bottle of red wine I'd bought about ten minutes ago as pressie for wife.

Wife and friend turn up. They laugh quite a bit.
(Tue 7th Sep 2004, 17:12, More)

» Foot in Mouth Syndrome

Feeling a right t*t
Ages ago, my mate's wife had just given birth to a healthy bouncing baby boy whom they'd named Daniel. About a week later I popped around to say my hello's. As I walked through the door my mate said that he'd taped a footie game for me (as I had requested) and asked if I wanted to watch it. My loud reply was "No thanks, I'd rather watch Daniel!"

Cue me walking into the front room to find Daniel sucking greedily on my mate's wife's exposed, milk-bloated breast. So I'm a perv who gets off watching little babies suck on titties, eh?

Once my girlfriend (now my wife of 8.5 years) picked me up from a pub. As we were about five minutes from home I deemed it unnecessary to fasten my seat-belt. Girlfriend (being stroppy type) tells me to put it on. Me says no. G/f says put it on. Me say no.

Girlfriend stops car, and says she won't move until I put belt on. Me - not wishing to diminishing chances of bj fun later that evening (okay, being scared of her) puts on belt.

G/f, with smug, satisfied smile, drives off . . . straight through a red light. A small victory for the common man.

Oh, and this one happened last week. My son Ben is six, and we were on our way back from Skegness on the train. Six year olds pay fares on trains, five year olds do not. My son makes friends with the small boy sitting opposite him. Eventually, mother of the small boy asks Ben how old he is.

"I'm six!" says Ben, "but Daddy says when I'm on a train I'm five!"

Oh, and when I was about seven and sitting on a crowded bus I proudly and loudly told my mum that she had a moustache.

I'm just a cnut, I think.
(Wed 21st Apr 2004, 13:03, More)