Boss who doesn't know your name would like to see more commitment from you

A REGIONAL manager who has never bothered to find out your name is offended by your lack of commitment to your job.

Despite being vague about what you do, how long you have been in your role and never addressing you by name, senior manager Carolyn Ryan wants you to stay late without pay or time off in lieu to show you are a team player.

She said: “Hey. I know it’s not been easy for anyone these last two years, whatever your domestic situation might, or might not, be.

“But I see you here at this desk every day and what I don’t see is an effort to really engage in our business. We consider ourselves a bit of a family, but where are you when we all went out for karaoke? Oh, you were there, apparently, but were you really there?

“I’m sending you emails and I’m getting a bounce-back notification saying the address wasn’t found. Not the kind of look we want for a client-facing role.”

Employee Jack Browne said: “After that she sent in an official complaint about me, calling me by the name of the junior marketing manager in the office upstairs.

“I forwarded it to his boss.”

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Six household objects you'd like to physically fight

PHYSICAL objects are such aggravating bastards that sometimes you just want to punch them into little pieces. Here are six frequent offenders: 

Smart TV

The least intelligent object in your house. Theoretically capable of streaming from all over the internet while receiving terrestrial and satellite channels, it prefers to lapse from being a technological marvel to a colossal black rectangle awaiting a firmware update.

Fight rating: easy win. One kick and it’s f**ked.


As winter takes hold, the boilet will stop working. After 20 minutes on your knees trying stuff from a PDF manual found on the internet it feels like a swift, decisive headbutt to the control panel would sort it.

Fight rating: powerful opponent. Can take a beating and burn your hands with steam.


Every time the wifi’s down, a new chapter of The Router Wars is written. It is turned on and off upwards of fifty times while the green light remains pugnaciously red. There then follows a false calm, to lull it into a sense of security, before you break it in two with your bare hands.

Fight rating: featherweight, but you cannot afford to win.


‘Why are you so shit?!’ you’ll scream into the oven as, never getting past tepid, it fails to cook oven chips. Swearing profusely and threatening it with acts of violence from Tarantino films, you start stabbing it with a butter knife and gouge your hand quite badly.

Fight rating: f**king nails. Could do you and all your mates and walk away smoking a fag.


An Alexa in your home means there’s always someone righter than you. She’s always listening, apart from whenever you ask her anything and she either doesn’t respond or barks back ‘I’m having trouble understanding you right now’. You dream of karate-kicking the unhelpful cow off the kitchen counter and into the bin like a suburban Bruce Lee.

Fight rating: she will tell Jeff Bezos and he will f**k you up hardcore.

The tumble dryer

It’s just shrunk an entire load of school uniforms. This is not the time for constructive discourse. This is the time for a 49-year-old woman called Jean to rip the door off a 50kg white goods item it took two burly deliverymen to lift off the van.

Fight rating: Jean has gone radge. The dryer is dead.