Stories Wot Mak Ur Job Funny

I work nights and since most ARRSERs online at this time are either septics or in bed, I have nothing to entertain myself with. Interested to hear more stories from you lot about your work and daft things that have happened over your course of employment anywhere, doing whatever.

I'll indulge you with a couple of possibly interesting tales of my own.

Most of you will know I work nightshift at the reception desk for a hotel.

This story actually happened, more or less in the way I have explained. I haven't taken any artistic license and although I may seem to have embellished, I promise that it is no wah.

The Flooding

One night, not too long ago, I was cheerfully sitting at the front desk at around 4am, picking my nose and watching the tiles grow dirtier when a lad popped through to main reception still in his boxers and T-Shirt, blearily rubbing his eyes in reaction to the bright, almost clinical light of the reception area.

"Sorry, buddy," he said groggily, "I hate to be a pain, but the smoke detector in our room is leaking."

"It's whit?" Asked I, still picking my nose.

"Leaking, mate, there's water pissing out of it."

"It's not meant to do that..."

"Yeah, I know," replied the bloke, clearly frustrated now, "what are we supposed to do about it?"

"I'll come take a look."

So I gathered up my keys and my little pager, put the 'BUZZ FOR STAFF' sign up at the top of the front desk and followed the poor bloke down to the bottom end of the corridor to room 10 where he was kipping with his oppo. Opened the door and switched on the light to find that the lads had moved their beds over to the far wall. Immediately, a freezing cold stream of water began dripping down the back of my neck, pouring down my shirt and gathering in my trouser pockets.

"Whit the fuck!?"

I jumped out of the way and craned my neck up. Sure enough the smoke detector was spraying water across the room. From the detector itself upward was a great big fucking crack in the cieling that spread all the way to the other end of the bedroom. Water was pissing out of it everywhere like it was some kind of art deco fountain.

"It wasn't that bad before," said the bloke who'd come to collect me.

"Yeah the roof just ripped open two seconds ago," his mate replied.

It took me a moment to snap out of my daze for I was in awe of the spectacle. I also had no fucking idea what I was supposed to do. We don't really have proper procedures for the roof splitting open and the hotel was full that night. I couldn't have shifted the two guys into another room if I'd wanted to. So quick as a flash I bolted out the door, legged it down to the laundry room and grabbed a couple of mop buckets. I dashed back and let myself into their room, tossing them a bucket each.

"What the hell are we supposed to do with these?" One of the guys asked, clearly pissed off now.

I shrugged: "Dunno, pal, erm...just try and, like, catch the water or something. I'll be back in a tick."

So I rushed out of the room and decided that, because I'm a lazy bastard, the elevator was my best option. I popped into the lift and desperately mashed the button for the first floor, swearing and grumbling the entire time because the lift was so bloody slow. When I got up there I rushed over to room 26, my workies boots bouncing off the floorboards, waking every poor cunt in the hotel up.

I battered the door. No answer. I battered it again. No answer.

I battered and shouted: "RECEPTION! OPEN UP PLEASE!"

No answer.

Without another moments hesitation, I decided to act and shoved my prized master key into the lock, kicking the door in like Chris Ryan himself and slamming the lights on immediately.


A fucking tank of a bastard, easily 6,3, stood naked right next to his bed. A semi still on and everything - although I regret looking, but you just can't help it in these situations - he made no attempt to cover himself up and more or less lunged towards me. The real kicker was his missus in bed beside him, who had unfortunately covered herself up with the duvet and had shifted up to the headboard, hand blocking the light from her eyes. The big cunt grabbed me by my shoulders.

"Wah-wu-water, mate, there's water!" I squealed helplessly.


"Water...yer room's leaking water."

Cue an awkward moment of silence where I stood in this beasts grasp, my arse sticking out behind me as I desperately tried to avoid his cock brushing against mine through my trousers. My career as a bored night porter flashed before my eyes, I could picture the headline in the Scottish Sun already: 'PERVERT SCANDAL AT GLASGOW HOTEL' and I was not best pleased with it. Thankfully the guy got the picture and pulled a pair of awkward Y fronts on and a T shirt.

We clicked on the bathroom light and confirmed that his taps weren't running but unfortunately his bathroom ceiling also had a massive big bloody tear in it, large enough to reveal the pipes and all that, where water was falling down like niagra, forming a massive pool on the bathroom floor at least an inch or so deep. It was loud as hell too. I asked the guy: "How come you never heard it?"

"We were asleep for Christ's sake!"

"Aye, but it's dead loud," I even nerves getting the better of me.

Fearful that the bastard would smack me in the mouth I ducked beneath his grasp, promised to be back in a minute or two and bolted back out into the corridor. By now heads were poking out of doors, people wondering what was going on. I travelled this walk of shame with my head down, muttering apologies and asking people if they would go back to their bed. I was also smart enough not to take the lift this time and bolted up the stairs to the second floor. This time I was pissed off. Two rooms flooded, no chance of moving anybody elsewhere in the hotel and I already looked like I'd been trying to get a swatch at a guy and his other half (or prossie, they're not uncommon) banging away.

I got to room 42, directly above 26 (which is above room 10) and banged on the door as I had previously. There was no answer. I banged again, smacking it with my boot. No answer! This time I wasn't hanging about, I shoved my key into the lock and braced my shoulder, pushing hard against the door.


The security chain had been pulled across, I must have bent it a little but the force of the blow caused the door to send me careening backwards where I fell into the door across the room, landing with an almighty fat-cunt-THUD.

"BASTARD!" I shouted.

The door behind me was pulled open, I fell backwards into some other poor blokes room.

This created an awkward altercation but I quickly apologised, profusely assured the guy that everything was okay, I'd just had a problem with a big flooding in three rooms. He was fine about it, actually smirking at me and instead of wandering into his room stood at the door as I gently opened up number 42 again until the chain would let me go no further. The light was on and I could hear water pissing violently to my right where the bathroom was. I stuck my face in between the gap, my glasses steaming up with the heat from the water.


Silence was my only response.

Now panic really began to set in. I had heard rumours and stories of other folk in my predicament across other hotels who had found people dead in rooms. Nothing had ever been confirmed but we did have a policy and a procedure for dealing with potential suicide or death by sudden means. A massive torrent of potential consequences rushed through my mind in one go. For some reason I went to the two most elaborate scenarios!

Either this cunt has electrocuted himself to death.


He's got into the bath, ran the hot water and slashed his fucking wrists.

I think I whimpered slightly as I closed the door over, being the massive wuss that I am I wasn't prepared to kick the door off the chain and find a rotting, smelly dead boddy (or a clean fresh one, if it's in the bath, eh?) lying in a hotel room. I did the only thing that I could think of - I followed company policy and rushed back down to reception. On my way I was accosted by one of the young guys from room 10.

"Mate, mate. We can't sleep in there, our ceilings totally burst open."

"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do right now!" I shouted as I pushed him out of my way, my mind working overdrive. "The guy in room 42 has gone and done himself in I think. He might be dead, I can't wake him up!"



I got to the desk and, in my blind panic, I grabbed the phone and called 999. I should have just phoned the local police office but I didn't know what else to do. I wanted blue lights and the CSI team to show up so that I could wash my hands of this mess and still get home for 7am.

"Fire, Police or Ambulance?" Asked the Operator.

"Em, no police!"

*CLICK* I'm put through to the police and I explain roughly what I think has happened. A guy is in his room, it's severely flooded across the hotel, I've tried banging down the door but I can't get a response from him. I don't want to break the door down, I need the police to assist me. I can practically hear the operator struggling not to laugh on the other end of the phone...

5 Minutes Later

(Shit, folks, it's 5am and that means that I have to get the breakfast orders sorted and mop the floor. I'll continue this in the afternoon tomorrow!)
I think you need to change your medication - and someone should tighten the straps of your straitjacket.

In the meantime carry on, don't leave us hanging.


Got bladdered during an overnight stop-over in Edinburgh. Woke up in the middle of the night for a slash, fumbled around in the dark and found myself in the corridor outside my room, naked, with a bladder like a space-hopper and a locked door behind me. Found a cupboard to unload into, then went downstairs to ask the night porter to let me back into my room.

Two hours later, repeated the performance. Found the night porter on the floor below mine investigating 'leaking pipes', trying to determine the source of the water by the 'taste-test' method.


Book Reviewer
My godson when a young doc in a hospital in Bristol, pressed for time, decided to shower and cook himself some bacon at the same time. Nipped out of his door starkers to put the bacon wrapper in the bin, heard the door CLICK SHUT behind him. Problem was that although the hospital reception had spare keys it always had the Great British Public swarming around it. So Tom had a little think about how they would perceive a totally naked doctor and tipped all the gash out of the bin, put the rather smelly black bin liner on as a sort of kilt, and went off to get the spare key ..

I checked into an hotel in Brussels once on a business trip, opened what I thought was the wardrobe door and found myself looking into the next room. A HUGE and naked and ANGRY American rose up out of the bed and advanced towards me. I hurriedly slammed the door shut and jammed it with a few convenient pieces of furniture. As I returned later from my business meeting I saw said American outside putting his whore into a taxi so I think I may have interrupted something ..


Working at a swish Hotel in Brighton, about 2003 I think. Got back in at 3.00 am after a banging night and nearly a shag (Greys I think it was) and decides to have a shower. Ten minutes later every last fecker in the Hotel was stood outside waiting for the big red Fire Engine.
How was I to know having a shower gets the Fire Brigade? The Night Manager had a bit of trouble finding me and on my day off, just down the road at an all night Cafe on me chinstrap. Oh, and they knew it was me...dunno how


Another. In a certain City six years ago, running my cleaning company I had an African chap cleaning offices , evenings. He'd got a little racket going on unbeknown to us, using his mates to clean instead, while he swanned off. Long story short; he didn't tell his mate the security door codes in one solicitors' premises and there was a bit of a problem when said mate locked himself in some part of the building. Feck all got cleaned, feck all was left in the fridge next morning, and the Police were called as an "illegal immigrant had broken in". Said illegal immigrant was a bug-eyed gibbering wreck when they found him, by all accounts.
TFB has just started a new job and one of her tasks is to recruit women to sell cosmetics. she met two girls, sisters and seemingly quite normal, in a shopping centre and arranged to visit them. She and her boss poled up at the designated address at the correct time and rang the bell. no answer, so not unreasonably they rang again. At which point the windy flies open and a huge great blob appears at the window demanding what they want.

They explain they have an appointment with the daughters of the house at which point the big piece hanging out the window goes mental. "If them two bleep bleeping bleepers think they can run a bleeping business from this bleeping house after what they did last night!" Apparently the girls had invited erm...a few...gentlemen callers so to speak around. It wasn't the drunken wreckage, nor the sexual aspects that "Mum" minded. It was the fact they had woken her whilst trying to put MTV on and in the process of fiddling with the TV deleted her favourite soaps!

Moral: bring the sweepings of the devizes pub and fast food scene home and take them all on on your mum's shag-pile BUT FFS don't mess up her Sky +!
Some lovely stories there, folks!

Cuddles - be honest, TFB clearly did all that on purpose! (am I right in remembering that TFB is The Fantom Bedpisher or something?)

Right I'll carry on.

5 Minutes Later

So muggins here is in Room 10 along with the young workie lads bailing water like we're on a sinking ship. Thing is, this isnae a boat, it's a bedroom so we're bailing the water down the toilet and into the bath. I know that's a daft thing to do but let's face it, the place was fucked. A bit of plumbing work was going to be necessary anyway. We're going at it with Room 26's big Y front wearer (now adorned in jeans thank fuck) shouting instructions at us and ringing his mate on his mobile to tell him what's happened. Meantime, his other half is outside having a fag.

In troop two police officers, accompanied by 26's 'companion', who demand to know who phoned.

Now I don't know about you, folks, but I've never paid much attention to the old trope that 'Police Are Getting Younger' but I swear to God they may as well have sent me two cub scouts. These guys looked like they would get ID'd at Laser Quest, I couldn't believe how young they seemed. I'm not shitting you when I tell you that they easily looked 17-18 years old. It was unbelievable. They walked right into Room 10 and took one look at the expanding crack in the ceiling.

"Are you joking?" Says one lad.

"What the hell happened?" Asks his oppo.

Right, I'm a fresh twenty three years of age. Being 23, I know, is the equivalant of telling most ARRSERs that I'm 12 so that probably explains a lot of my actions this night. My problem here is that upon realising how young the polis seemed, I immediately wanted to assert myself as some kind of authority figure. I don't know why I felt this way, I can't explain it. Perhaps it's a primal thing, some kind of young male urge to be the dominant one or the leader of the pack. Never mind that I'm a shitty night porter in a hotel whilst these lads are doing real work.

"Oh you're here," I say like an utter cnut, "took you long enough!"

"You phoned two minutes ago! Right, tell us what's happened."

I begin to tell the story as I lead the two guys up to Room 42, struggling to catch my breath as they rush up the stairs with complete ease. This is down to the fact that I spend 8 hours a night chain smoking and haven't bothered going for a run for about a year now. Too stressful, etc, I work night shift, etc!

"Well...*pant* 10 and 26 are...*pant*...flooded...*pant*...and it's coming from...*pant**pant*...42...*pant*...and I have tried to get into room 42 as best I can...*pant*...but the guy...*pant*...won't...*pant*...get up!"

"Is he definitely in the room?"

"Aye...*pant*...the chain is over...*pant*...the lock...*pant*."

We manage to get up to the room and we're standing out side the door. The cops give it a rattle and shout that the police are here. They then whip out one of those night stick things and beat on it as hard as I can, I swear to fuck the whole door frame shook with the force of it. Then I make a right twat of myself.

"Listen, lads," I say in my best authoritave tone. "I have a full hotel in here, you're going to wake the place up."

Blank looks from both coppers who pause and then immediately start hammering the door again.


And then this incredible thing happens! A gruff voice can be heard from inside the room!


The two polis pause again, look at me like it's my fault and then look at each other. Their mouths are open and everything, they can't believe this guy is awake. Neither can I, actually, considering the extreme sound of pissing water and all the shennanigans going on around the hotel. I'm gravely disappointed that the fucker isn't dead. (although in retrospect, that's probably a stupid thing to say)

"How long did you bang on the door?" The ginger one with all the plukes asks me.

"Er...about fifteen minutes," I respond, telling a porkie pie so massive that my nose could have poked him in the face.

"Right, fuck this," says the slightly bigger of the two weans.

He pushes me and his oppo back, lifts his foot up and SLAMS it ala Andy McNab into the door, which springs easily away from the chain-lock and smashes into the wall. Water pisses out everywhere, a great big puddle flowing over the carpet and out into the hall, it absolutely swamps us to the very top of our socks. The two polis march right into the room. The lights are on, the place is roasting hot and there's steam absolutely everywhere, you can't see. I meekly follow them in, grumbling at the calf-deep puddle in the room.

There's a guy lying on the bed in a manner that's hard to describe in typical humorous fashion so I'll just be blunt.

He's easily in his mid fifties and he's sort of wearing a suit. Greying hair, dignified looking. Now I say sort of because the jacket is hanging off one arm. His shirt is unbuttoned apart from the very top collar button and his kecks and trousers are at his ankles, where his posh looking shoes are still firmly tied to his feet. He's holding his flaccid cock in one hand. His eyes are firmly shut and he hardly shifts. He's sprawled across the bed, squinting at us like we're the cunts for barging into his room.

Ginger, the plukey polis-man, shakes him by the shoulders and the guy lulls upwards, semi-conscious.

"Do we need an ambulance!?" I shout through the steam.

"Nah, nah he's fine...just drunk."

Evidence of that is apparent. On this guys bedside table are about three empty bottles of wine. Now I saw the bloke actually come into the hotel from the pub at about 11pm and by this stage it's nearly 5 in the morning. He was clearly a bit shakey when he came in and he's just gone up the stairs and necked three bottles of wine, no wonder he was in the state he was in. I won't go into more detail, for all I know the guy was a proper alkie - with proper problems and all that sort of stuff that I don't understand yet. Suffice to say the cops hauled his clothes on and sat him on the bed then proceeded to read him the riot act.

I'm too busy turning the taps in the bath off - scalding myself in the process.

The room is flooded to fuck, the water is well over my ankles and it's like walking around in a weans paddling pool.

The cops tell me to fuck off downstairs and ring whoever's in charge.

Now my manager is my hero (or heroine, is she'd probably prefer) and I know that sounds like utter tosh but she's a fucking legend. She's about 5,2, she's a lesbian and she is capable of ripping your guts out of your arse in one fell swoop. I'm sure any RSM would have a hardon for her. She picks up the phone and proceeds to rip into me for ringing her in the first place.

"But...but..." I try to get the story over to her.

"I'm not even working tomorrow, why are you phoning me!? You have the breakfast sheets there!"

"But...but..." I desperately say and then tell her the whole sorry story. Three rooms are flooded, the cops are here, the bloke in the top room is clearly drunk and left his taps running for absolute hours. So after some time she eventually comes over from her flat above the pub along with her missus (who is also a copper) and they storm up the stairs, leaving me to twiddle my thumbs at the reception desk.

In pop the two lads from Room 10 and BIG CUNT from Room 26.

"What are we meant to do now, mate?"

"Don't know," I shrug, leaning back in my chair pondering the same thing, "obviously we'll refund you the rooms, prolly' give you a free breakfast and all that. I can't bail the water out so the technical guys will need to get phoned to come in and sort the place."

"Are you BLAAAADDDY JOKING!?" Asks BIG CUNT from Room 26.

"I'm sorry, it's the best I can do. I can't move you into a fresh room because the hotel's full, if you can just pop back to your bedro - "


All the lights in the reception area suddenly flick off and we are encompassed by complete darkness. Even the computer at the reception desk has turned itself off. I nearly shat myself and was on my feet in seconds. I don't know precisely how the leckie system in the hotel works (or how leckie works in general beyond the whole 'switch it on or off' process) but seemingly the water had gotten somewhere it hadn't and some fuse had gone or whatnot, like I say - I'm not an electrician, just a telly watcher.

We had the contract to fit a load of curtain walling and patio doors on some posh cardboard style apartments near Manchester City's ground.

By the end of the first week, after a number of unneccesary and infuriating delays, a scouse Banksmen had been seen with his sticky mitts in the back of one of the vans and a couple of drills walked.
Cue a big kick off, one of the fitters dragged the thieving prick round the yard by his throat, the site manager was on the phone to me screaming and shouting and in the interests of all involved it was swept under the carpet and I went to site to settle my lot down.

All forgotten by next day and that, I thought, was that.

Enterprising bunch though are tradesmen when riled, one morning when the majority were in for toolbox talks I was beckoned towards a couple of sniggering lads who showed me a picture of a small but perfectly formed piece of pooh nestled amongst a bed of what looked like corned dog and assorted salad, further pictures of a small rucksack with a butty box in it and a manky looking penis with a wrinkly foreskin squirting piss into a bottle of Kia Ora confirmed my initial thoughts that they had got there hands on his dinner, he wasnt best pleased, considering he bulked up his mouthful of butty then frantically sucked at the bottle like a baby on the tit, apparently, only to honk up again :)

It was certainly worth having to replace the lads on site.
Accidently locked myself out a room in a hotel in Douglas back in 2003 stood outside the room bollock naked for over 2hrs needing a piss as shouting down stairs failed to bring up the night porter. In the end I had to piss as my bladder was almost the size of an airship. In the end I waddled over into a corner of the hall and pissed like a man possesed. Eventually two other lads came in found me in my state and died laughing wnet down stairs to find the night porter but he done a bunk. So had to sleep in their bath with a towel around me and they got the spare key to my room next morning.

Only they had told everyone down stairs what happend and got some sniggers and claps as I walked into breakfast
For all you "locked myself out of my room and pissed all over the carpet instead of being sensible and going outside" types, I'd just like to point out that alcohol can't always be an excuse for absolute stupidity ;)

Remember...I said ALWAYS.
How come you didn't just try phoning these rooms first, instead of all this panic?

Anyway, keep the tale comming...
Hotel related - on leave a few years ago (87/8/9 ish) stayed in a small pub/hotel in Devizes (The Castle) and proceeded to slake a monumental thirst round quite a few well known hostelries. In the wee small hours having navigated back to my room on autopilot, I get the urgent call of nature that several pints of ale bring. In a befuddled state I choose the wrong door for it to 'click' behind me - and lo there is a very ornate brass jug with pampass grass in - the pampass grass looks dry and I am full up - well that was that, so I wander downstairs and look for the spare key in the reception area - only to set the alarms off. The night manager comes down in her dressing gown to find a very sheepish, naked, hair by vidal schermuly drunken erk.

Ah well got back into bed anyway, thats the main thing.
ffs this is like corrie, get on with it man!....
Went to Devon from Lancashire for my uncle's (the Gunner MC one) funeral. Stayed in a motel in Exeter and found myself sufddenly surrounded by gunner ties - all buddies from WW2 of Uncle Dave. Many beers (and war stories) later I am asleep in bed, when I awake feeling the need to pee. So I head of to the last know co-ordinates of a pee-hole; the one by the bar! Half asleep I made my way there, did the business and then almost awake, make my way back. Passing three girls on reception who watched my manly progress with more than professional interest! Luckily the door was not fully shut or I would have had to make my way back and explain to the already interested gallery on the desk!!
Some lovely stories there, folks!

Cuddles - be honest, TFB clearly did all that on purpose! (am I right in remembering that TFB is The Fantom Bedpisher or something?)
No! Do keep up. TFB = The Fenian Bride aka as Mrs Cuddles!
I am starting to fear that I will never get to find out the end of this story.......
Don't worry, we'll have it translated into Doric for you!

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