Haha!

I have a similar story. I was brought in for a weeks work at some trucking company. To this day I am not sure what they did there. Hauling stuff, most likely. I could hear CB radio talk going on all day long. But it was a nice, easy week. It was strange, as I had nothing to do. No work. They set me up at a desk and barely talked to me again. So, I got to thinking, could I possibly extend this great job? So, even though my week had ended, I showed up the following Monday and returned to my desk. At the end of the week I brought my card in to be signed and it was. A few days later I received a cheque in the mail. I showed up again the following Monday. And so on, and so on. Occasionally I would be asked to run some errand, but otherwise, I was left alone. I remained at the job for three or four months, maybe longer.

I began to arrive at work early so as not be noticed and I would prepare a small breakfast in their kitchen. Usually aboutt the time I was settled in my desk, with my food and radio beside me and I would hear my co-workers begin to file in. Then I would put two imposing stacks of folders on my desk. As the day progressed I would move these folders one by one behind me creating a new stack. This new stack would presumably be called, The Finished Pile, if I had ever been challenged, but I never was. I did this everyday.

Then Christmas came. The place was decorated up with bunting and there was a nice tree, etc. Everybody was jolly. One morning I got to my desk and there was a sealed letter waiting for me. OK, I, figured, the jig was up. I had been caught. But instead, it was an invitation to the Christmas party! Later, that same afternoon, I was sitting in my office eating lunch when there was a knock on my door (I took to closing my office door so nobody would be inclined to step in and ask a lot of questions. One more thing, my so called office was only a file storage room with a desk, phone, but no computer. It also had a nice view of these giant salt mountains at the edge of the bay. But I digress ...)

Anyway, so, there is a knock on my door. It was the owner of the company. I had met him only once on my first day during brief orientation. He looked in, smiled and said, "Hey, you coming to the Christmas party?"

"I sure am," I said. I grinned real big.

"Great," he replied and shut the door.

I sighed with relief.

Then the door opened again. It was the owner. This time he look confused. "Who are you?" He said.

I told the truth. "I was brought in to do some filing."

"Last summer?" He asked. "Hmmph." And then he was gone.

It was over. The axe was dropped about forty five seconds later. I was all ready gathering my things together when I got the call. I still remember those days salt mountain quite fondly.

Its a true story, for what's its worth ...

So, Bartleby- did you go to the party?;)

Great nickname! Ah, Bartleby.

It doesn't sound like Tref was doing much scribbening at that job, though.

I have to admit I'm pretty shocked, reading some of these. :eek: I thought I was a slacker!

Do you have a record of that?
 

My school years taught me that what’s real doesn’t matter so much as what the records say are real. So hear are a few examples of that learning – made more amusing if you know my current profession:

In high school, each semester’s PE class was divided into 3 sections. During each section, you select your next PE class. To manage the process, they gave us the cards they use to track attendance and grade, handing them out to us to then hand to the coach we wanted next. The cards were needed at the beginning and end of each semester to record our grades and attendance, which meant – you could take the card for the 2nd section, not go to PE at all – but bring the card back for the third section selection. Being the instigator that I am, I shared this theory with a friend – who did it successfully and got a one hour break for a third of the year.

A subversive teacher of ours would sign his hall passes M. Borman, knowing it never really mattered who’s name was on the pass. We took this clue, stole a bunch of passes and continued the tribute signing them M Borman. My High school was very interested in finding his whereabouts.

On returning from an absence, we were required to go to the office to get a “readmit” slip, which would be signed by all our teachers (to let us back into class) and then turne3d back into the office at the end of the day. This was intended to prevent cutting class. However, getting our hands on some blank readmit forms – we were able to cut classes at will, as the office presumed, according to our records, that we had perfect attendance.

Detentions were tracked with tick marks on an index card, add the tick marks and you served your detention. The records being the obvious evidence of the act. Well, it’s amazing how easily accessible those cards were – I feel sorry for the kids who served their full terms.

Were I younger, I have no doubts I would have been a hacker in high school

Oooh, you were good..... I would just cut class and take the consequences.

:cheers:

More Toole then Melville
 

I did go, but it was an uncomfortable evening, and I kept to myself. In my deffense I didn't know anybody and they didn't know me. I may have pulled my standard move of getting up to make a phone call and never returning.

One day, I will relate my favorite work scam ever. To this day I still can't believe I pulled it off. (Nobody was injured and nothing was stolen, though I did collect a mighty fine paycheck.)

I can't stop confessing!
 

In sixth grade, my friends and I formed the “Interceptors Club,” we enjoyed all things that had to do with espionage and especially James Bond. From our viewing and reading we learned that by placing tape over the door latch, we could prevent our teacher from locking up the classroom during lunch or recess – as was the practice. So, while the other kids were out playing, we were in the classroom rifling through their desks and checking out their personal belongings.

Our greatest find was a love letter written between classmates. Innocent 6th grade love – with all the accompanying embarrassment and cruelty. We provided the later. We duplicated the letter and distributed it to the class – incognito, of course. We almost got in trouble, but at the last minute the lad confessed to actually writing the letter – red faced and humiliated, while we laughed and joked for days.

Ah, clubs gone by! When I was in the sixth grade I started a club, too: the mischief-makers club. We'd roam the neighborhood, looking for trouble to cause. Like taking the toys of little kids and tossing them up into a tree or on a roof. Like telling them their parents had been in a car accident and were dead :eek: . Or that their pets had run away and were never coming back. Yes, if there is a hell, I'm gonna burn.