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It doesn't have to be your own experience, just one you know of.
The best one I know of:
In the early 70's after he retired from the railway paint shops my grandad (Wilf) got bored doing nothing and took a job as a boilerman at a mill. He worked there till he was 75 hand shovelling coal into a huge metal boiler. He was a small bloke but he had arms like Popeye.
When he started at the mill one of the shift chargehands had it in for Wilf for some reason and did everything he could to get rid of him. Wilf got blamed for the disappearance of tools, five gallon drums of Jeyes Fluid you name it. He wasn't quite so innocent as he did help himself to stuff now and again but re: the missing items he was accused of he was not involved.
Luckily for Wilf the directors all liked him. He'd been in the army for 26 years and knew how to play the game with the senior management of the mill who had all been officers in the war. He had also trained as a decorator on leaving the army years before and the directors had him painting and wallpapering their houses using materials bought through the mill order books. They would go to the golf club of a lunchtime for a drinking session, leaving Wilf and his best mate the works carpenter in charge of the place. This irked the chargehand even more.
One monday morning Wilf and the works carpenter were summoned to the directors office. The mill had huge Victorian attics and there was an infestation of mice and rats. The attic floorboards were also in a sorry state and the director, Wilf and the carpenter went up in the big old lift to the largest attic to see what needed doing. They pulled back the metal lift gate and were faced with dozens of stacked up old cotton bales, black with age, and the unmistakable scent of rats and mice. They walked past a pile of bales and there was the chargehand, with his trousers and pants round his ankles, vigorously rogering one of the young Asian men who worked at the mill, who was bent over a bale.
The director went apoplectic and the chargehand was dismissed and off-site that day with his cards in his hand.
I have fond memories of seeing my grandad recounting that story and laughing so hard that he spat his false teeth out whilst choking on his Park Drive. He died at 96.
The best one I know of:
In the early 70's after he retired from the railway paint shops my grandad (Wilf) got bored doing nothing and took a job as a boilerman at a mill. He worked there till he was 75 hand shovelling coal into a huge metal boiler. He was a small bloke but he had arms like Popeye.
When he started at the mill one of the shift chargehands had it in for Wilf for some reason and did everything he could to get rid of him. Wilf got blamed for the disappearance of tools, five gallon drums of Jeyes Fluid you name it. He wasn't quite so innocent as he did help himself to stuff now and again but re: the missing items he was accused of he was not involved.
Luckily for Wilf the directors all liked him. He'd been in the army for 26 years and knew how to play the game with the senior management of the mill who had all been officers in the war. He had also trained as a decorator on leaving the army years before and the directors had him painting and wallpapering their houses using materials bought through the mill order books. They would go to the golf club of a lunchtime for a drinking session, leaving Wilf and his best mate the works carpenter in charge of the place. This irked the chargehand even more.
One monday morning Wilf and the works carpenter were summoned to the directors office. The mill had huge Victorian attics and there was an infestation of mice and rats. The attic floorboards were also in a sorry state and the director, Wilf and the carpenter went up in the big old lift to the largest attic to see what needed doing. They pulled back the metal lift gate and were faced with dozens of stacked up old cotton bales, black with age, and the unmistakable scent of rats and mice. They walked past a pile of bales and there was the chargehand, with his trousers and pants round his ankles, vigorously rogering one of the young Asian men who worked at the mill, who was bent over a bale.
The director went apoplectic and the chargehand was dismissed and off-site that day with his cards in his hand.
I have fond memories of seeing my grandad recounting that story and laughing so hard that he spat his false teeth out whilst choking on his Park Drive. He died at 96.
