I Hired a Fatty TalesofFatHate

When I was his apprentice, my grandfather would tell me that no one could be a proper jeweler if he had "jelly sausages", fat squishy fingers. A few years ago, I had to hire a third jeweler. I decided to do a blind hiring, whereby each applicant would submit a portfolio of his previous work and I would give the job to one with the best oeuvre. Unfortunately, in my drive to be meritocratic, I ended up hiring a ham with some of the worst jelly sausages I have seen to date. We'll call him Hammy.

THE BIRTHDAY SURPRISE

In the middle of each month except December, we have a birthday party for our employees who were born in that month. Each person gets a cupcake for a certain nearby bakery. Because I have two security guards who work overnight, we set two cupcakes aside in the break room refrigerator; everyone knew the drill with the guards' cupcakes. The cupcakes are not only decadent in terms of their ingredients, they're also quite large; I've never finished one in a single sitting.

It's June, and Hammy has been with us for three months. We had our birthday party, everyone got his cupcake, everything goes normally for the rest of the day. At the end of the day I noticed that there was only one cupcake in the break room. I thought I had filled out the order wrong and got one too few cupcakes. It's no big problem: I buy the two guards dinner and they can split the one cupcake that is there.

In July I was careful to order enough cupcakes for everyone. But this time there were two missing cupcakes. Now, all of my security people are retired LEO's or military, and so cake probably isn't on top of their list of priorities, but I still don't like to leave them out of the shop's activities. So once again, I have to make things right for the two night guards.

In August I ordered two additional unfrosted cupcakes. Someone who isn't me prepared a special frosting consisting of an ungodly amount of beta-alanine mixed into store bought frosting. After the birthday party, SWIM swapped out the two guards' cupcakes with the special cupcakes. About an hour before closing, Hammy comes into my office complaining that he's having an allergic reaction to something and wants to take the rest of the day off.

In September, the same thing happened. By October, however, he had learned to stop eating other people's food.

THE DISPLAY CASE

Each of my jewelers has his own display case to show off what he's made. The things in these cases are for sale, but they don't really sell well; they're more or less to show what each jeweler can do, to people who want to hire them for commissions. Each jeweler has access to the store's gem collection (save one stone) for use in their works on display.

It's like saying to a chef, "here's virtually every ingredient you can think of, make something." Every jeweler who has ever worked for me has found this arrangement to be like a dream... except one. Enter Hammy.

Hammy left his case completely empty for the first two months he was here. "Hammy, I'm tired of looking at an empty case. Can you fix that?" To his credit, he did fill up his case. It took him three weeks, but he filled it.

He filled it with wedding bands; plain, unadorned wedding bands. Making a wedding band is one of the simplest things to do: you take a span a wire, wrap it around a mandrel, weld the two ends of the wire together, polish the ring, and you're done. It takes literally ten minutes.

So, I have one case with with plenty of white diamonds and platinum that looks like the New Year's Eve in Time Square. I have a second case the plenty of colored stones and fancy diamonds with something that the jeweler calls the "Rainbow Tiara". And in the final case, I have fifty plain, unadorned wedding bands.

"Hammy, don't you think you should put a bit more effort into your display case"

"No, I'm too busy, I can't."

"But that's how clients will hire you for commissions."

"I'd rather not." Oh no, I've hired Bartleby, the Ham. "I'm just too busy." With that, I let the issue die.

THE CHRISTMAS PARTY

Every year, on the first Sunday after Christmas, all of my employees and their plus ones, go to dinner at a nice restaurant and I pickup the bill at the end of the night.

So, we have our Christmas party. Everyone has a good time and to my great surprise Hammy did not embarrass himself by having half the restaurant sent to his table. The night winds down, everyone clears out, and I go to pay the bill. It's nearly $800 more than last year. I'm a bit annoyed, but it's late and I'm tired.

The next morning I look over the bill. Hammy came stag and so his table only listed a single main. He also ordered four half-bottles of Chateau d'Yquem. Hammy had managed to create a meal that cost as much five regular person meals.

THE LAST STRAW

After several months, Hammy decided it was time to start trying to get commissions. He took my advice and decided to put something besides plain, unadorned wedding bands in his display case. So he set to work making a white diamond necklace with a fancy color diamond pendant.

It took him a long time, but he was finally ready to start setting stones. Everything is coming together.

While Hammy is setting his stones he keeps going back and forth between his bench and the gem safe. I think nothing of it, he's probably just having a hard time matching stones. I went to have lunch with a client, and don't give a second thought to Hammy.

I come back as Hammy is leaving for his lunch break, still no problem. As soon as I sit down at my desk, my assistant comes in and says, "Hammy cracked some diamonds."

I'm thinking, no big deal, shit happens, learn, and move on. "Did you tell him not to make a habit of it?"

"Uh, you should look at his sweepings." (Sweepings are like gold filings, etc. that get swept off the bench, but still have value and so can't just be tossed in the trash.)

I went over to his bench and look at his sweepings. "What the hell. LOOK AT THAT. WHAT THE FUCK." There was probably about 50 carats of broken, chipped, and shattered diamonds. Then I saw something that pissed me off so badly, that I just went silent. There are no words in the English language that are vulgar enough to communicate how angry I was. There beneath the pile of diamond dust, was an insanely expensive, vivid pink diamond that had been cleaved in two right down the center.

I could only pick up the poor diamond that never got a chance to be part of something special, and take it into my office. I sat in silence mourning the diamond and waiting for Hammy to return.

When he got back, I was livid. It was a quiet, calm, but still furious rage. Hammy was sitting in front of me across my desk. I was sitting within six feet of an unrepentant murder with the body of his victim between us.

"Why did you feel it was okay to break stone after stone after stone?"

"I was having a hard time getting the setting right. I did stop using the diamonds and tried to practice on that synthetic (he looked down at his victim), before [my assistant] told me to go to lunch."

"That was a very rare pink diamond. It is... it was worth more than a brand new Jag."

"Well, I didn't know that. I would have been better off using that ruby next to it."

At this point, I lost my shit. The ruby he was referring to is an epically valuable red diamond that has been in my family for at least four generations: it is the one stone that every employee knows not to touch. I don't remember exactly what I said after that point, but I do remember using the phrase, "Fuck the fuck off, and get the fuck out." And with that he was fired.

TL/DR: I hired a fat ham. It went just as expected. I fired a fat ham.

Submitted June 21, 2015 at 12:30AM by MuscleMouseBro http://ift.tt/1GyTy88 TalesofFatHate

Amazing tales of a Fat-Hating delivery man(moved from FPH) TalesofFatHate

Hello! I am your friendly neighborhood Delivery Man. I use an appliance dolly or 4 wheel dolly for everything we deliver and install, unless it is something like a couch, in which case we carry it. There is always 2 of us, no more(no matter how heavy the item is).

I deliver 1000 pound gun safes, couches, refrigerators, dishwashers, saunas, vending machines, ovens, Over-the-range microwaves, bedroom sets, jacuzzis, you name it. When it comes to the appliances, we install those as well. I usually have about 12 stops a day, and I work about 50-75 hours a week, depending on the time of year(Black Friday sales, 4th of July sales).

Every fucking time, I make sure to call 30 minutes ahead of the delivery, so the person can be ready for us. We obviously need clutter-free passages from our truck to the ultimate destination of the item we are delivering. These fat fucking cunts almost always turn my 10 hour day into a 15 hour day. SHOCKINGLY, my troubles usually begin when I am delivering a fridge. The average weight of fridges I deliver is about 400 lbs. Not light, especially if there is a lot of steps.

Here is a list of Common Crimes Against Me by fat fucks:

• They never have a clear path inside the house. There is ALWAYS garbage, clothes, books, other debris in the way. Often, they are hoarders, and have maybe cleared a foot-wide pathway through the house to their kitchen. I am dollying a heavy fridge. I need more.

• I have had to refuse t do multiple dishwasher installs because there is dog or cat shit on their kitchen floor, preventing me from laying down to get under the dish so I can hardwire it.

• Often, when they have NOT payed for install, and only payed for a crated delivery(in the box, no installation), they will lie to me and try to get installation free. I offer to add it to the paperwork, but they say no, they want installation, they already paid enough for the appliance, and I must be too lazy to do my job.

• During the winter, while it is snowing, they refuse to shovel their walkways and driveways. I had a 400+ pound man tell me to shovel his driveway when I was delivering his 800 pound gun safe. He tried to hand me the shovel to do it. Nope. Not my job. Even with a 400 pound fridge, you cannot dolly through snow or over ice. Appliance dollys do not work that way. They always claim that they had no idea they needed to shovel. Like I can levitate a fucking fridge.

• I have installed washers and dryers(for some reason the weirdest people must purchase new washers and dryers) while the fat man or woman was naked, I had one lady masturbate while we were carrying the appliances in(we carry these because it builds strength. Easier than a dolly). We just kept our heads down and focused on the job.

• They are always lying about supposed damage done to their house during delivery. I always admit damage. Even if the customer did not see it happen, I will point out my mistake. Fatties just try to get my company to pay for new carpet/flooring.

• They try to get us to do plumbing/electric/carpentry work to get their appliances installed. Because of liability, I can't do shit like fix a customer's plumbing to install a dishwasher, or cut their cabinets to make their brand-new giant-ass fridge fit in the space provided. We just install, vanilla style. But they ALWAYS try to get us to do what they should have done before buying a 600-4000 dollar appliance.

• I always go above and beyond to make the customer happy, and I usually get a genuine handshake, or if we are lucky, a tip. NEVER from the Butter Golems. A lot of times, they just let us in then sit on their couch and graze. That is good sometimes, but they are rarely even polite.

There are a ton of specific stories, but those are just the average, happens-all-the-time type deals. Oh, and I work in the Midwest. /rant

EDIT: Also, they never measure when they buy a high dollar item. They just assume we will make it fit, no matter what. Usually for fridges. New fridges are HUGE, and they don't bother to measure the space. Fucking pigs.

Submitted June 02, 2015 at 04:41PM by Solorolloyolo http://ift.tt/1GitEbD TalesofFatHate

Cheeto-ham on a plane TalesofFatHate

Many moons ago I had to travel through the Dallas International Airport. You probably already know where this is going. I didn't. At the time, I, living in the South, was so used to fat people they didn't really register to me.

My arrival at DFW was stage four of a five stage travel horror. After having my gate changed twice, I sprinted onboard the (delayed) plane. They had combined two flights, so we were filled to the brim. I was in the window seat, the middle seat next to me was empty. But not for long.

She was one of the largest people I had ever seen. She was wearing a flower moo-moo, rasping for breath as she struggled sideways down the aisle, the last person to board the plane. I had no delusions that she was not going to sit next to me. I just didn't expect her to sit ON me. Which she did.

She smelled like that greenish grey mass that you have to clean out of your refrigerator in college. She was sweating profusely, I noticed, as she was squished next to me. I was regretting wearing a sleeveless shirt, because now I was wearing her body odor too.

She had a massive bag of snacks with her, which she continually reached in throughout the (thankfully) short flight. She tried to talk to me the entire time, but I could only answer with Mmhhhmmmm, as it was so painful to breathe in her stench.

The snack that stood out to me the most was a ziplock full of cheetos. Except they looked like there was extra oil in the bag. They were unusually greasy. As she reached her bloated mitts in the bag, babbling away, with her mushy, orange-filled mouth, she noticed me staring at the bag of sodden cheetos. I guess she thought I was looking at them enviously, because she asked (with a full mouth), "want some?".

My mother raised me to always be polite. And I swear, up to that moment, holding my breath, trying not to cringe too obviously away from her, I was doing my best. But I saw in her eyes she saw the disgust in mine.

She turned back to her purse-o-food and didn't say anything the rest of the flight.

That was when I became a shitlady.

Submitted April 22, 2015 at 08:20PM by FoodIsNotLove http://ift.tt/1yPNibI TalesofFatHate

The Great Pizza Roll Massacre! TalesofFatHate

As I said in the prologue, my husband's best friend has a nightmare of a wife. Picture 450 pounds of chewed bubble gum stuffed into a lawn & leaf bag, add some fried hair and bad tattoos, give it the charming disposition of the Stay-Puft marshmallow man on a rampage, and you have a pretty accurate idea of the type of creature I'm talking about. An entitled hamzilla with an inferiority complex nearly as big as she is. (Like I mentioned before, the only redeeming quality she has is her short life expectancy.)

So...

One evening, my dearly beloved asks if I want to go hang out with his best bud and the monstrous troll he calls a wife. Of course I don't, but unless she has someone to whine and play WoW at (yes, I'm a gamer too, but I know when to put down the fucking controller and go for a hike) she won't let her poor shmuck of a husband have any of his friends over. Ever. Now, I'd rather nail my tongue to a board than spend so much as a second in this fat bitch's company, but my love and the shmuck are as close as brothers, so I agreed to take one for the team. How bad could it be, right?

Hindsight is always 20/20....

We get to their house and I plaster on my best fake smile, determined to grin and bear it. We walk in to the usual: the kids are running amok, she's screeching at the shmuck to go do something about it because she's running a dungeon on WoW, the place is a mess because he hasn't been home from work long enough to clean it, etc. I'm used to that, having run this gauntlet before. Their girls think I'm awesome (and who am I to argue?), so they run to me for hugs and I manage to calm them down while my fella and the shmuck straighten up a bit. Honestly, you'd think this would embarrass her, but she's totally oblivious to the fact that her guests are cleaning her house and wrangling her kids. Anyway...

I put the kids to bed without too much fuss (it being way past a toddler's bedtime at this point) and head back into the living room to be as sociable as I can stand to be. My fella, the shmuck, and I are sitting on the couch, chatting away (as I said, he's a really good guy, he just has low self-esteem and horrible taste in females) and actually having a pretty decent little visit. That is, until the blob decided to join in....

She flings off her headset and loudly announces that she's hungry. No shock there, I don't think I've ever seen her go longer than ten minutes without cramming something into her maw. She stomps off into the kitchen, shaking the floor with every step, and I can hear her banging around, slamming cabinet doors, rummaging through the refrigerator, and bitching to herself. (Clearly not getting some prized price of dungeon loot had set off her "trigger".) She comes tromping back into the living room and begins talking over all three of us, loudly telling her shmuck that she wants pizza rolls. He's an incredibly laid-back guy with the patience of a saint, and he calmly explains to her that he really doesn't have the extra money for a trip to the grocery store for junk food, and that there are plenty of things in the kitchen to choose from. He even named off a few and offered to help her fix something. The only reply he gets is a loud huff before she stomps off to the kitchen again and, by the sound of things, starts throwing a temper tantrum. My loving shitlord and I exchange an eye-roll, and the shmuck starts up the conversation again, clearly too used to this behavior to even be embarrassed about it. About two minutes go by before she stampedes back into the living room and interrupts again, much louder this time, saying that she's craving pizza rolls and that there's nothing in the kitchen to eat.

Bitch, I can see your kitchen from here. There's food in it, honest.

Shmuck finally heaves a defeated sigh and hands over his wallet. (If he hadn't, I would've offered her a $10 just to shut the fuck up.) She squeals "Thank you, baby!" like it was his thoughtful idea to send her off on a junk food run and busts out the door without even asking if he it anyone else would like anything. (We'd already eaten, but for fuck's sake, where are your manners? Oh yeah, you ate them.)

She's soon back (too soon) with an enormous 60 count family bag of pizza rolls. Remember that, kids. 60. She lumbers off into the kitchen and resumes with the racket, only instead of throwing a tantrum, she's frantically nuking pizza rolls a plateful at a time. She waddles back into the living room and plops herself down in the floor with a goddamn serving platter heaped up with these little grease bombs. (Btw, the only way she can sit is this humped-over cross-legged position with her gut in her lap. Seriously, you can't even see her legs or feet.) Without offering any to the other three people in the room, she starts shoving them into her feed-hole two and three at a time. The noises she's making at this point are beyond description. Snorting, smacking, wheezing, just the sound of a hog eating slop, really. It was all I could do not to gag.

Meanwhile, all the racket she's made in the throes of her eat-lust has awoken her oldest child, who's maybe 3 at the time. Naturally she sees her mom eating something tasty, and since kids have no concept of personal space, she dashes over to share. This fucking whale cunt literally slaps her child's hand away and screeches at her (mouth full, of course) "You already ate and you are not messing in my food! Now get back in the bed!"

Yes. She SLAPPED HER KID'S HAND AWAY FROM FOOD JUST BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T WANT TO SHARE. I thought I was going to jail that night, honestly.

The look on this child's face would have broken your heart. I calmly stood up, told her to come on with me, and carried her into the kitchen. We made some peanut butter graham crackers, poured a glass of milk, and went back to her room to watch SpongeBob. I was absolutely seething, but wee-uns pick up on such things, so we snacked, watched cartoons, and snuggled until we both fell asleep. Thank God kids have more goodness in them than grown-ups...

My fella came in and woke me up a little while later and asked me if I was ready to go. You can imagine the look he got for that one. I told the shmuck goodbye and thanked him for having us. (I am from the South, after all. Manners, even when you're furious.) My only farewell to the fat fuck, who was by now smearing pizza roll grease off the plate with her hammy fingers and licking it off, was a look that would've curdled milk. I managed to keep my mouth shut, but goddamned if I was going to pretend to be friendly...

My fella told me on the drive home that she had sat there, a shapeless blob of fat on the floor, and eaten SIXTY FUCKING PIZZA ROLLS BY HERSELF. Without so much as offering him or her own husband so much as one. OMFG...

Can you imagine being so disgustingly gluttonous that you would SMACK YOUR CHILD'S HAND AWAY FROM YOUR FOOD?! I'd starve to death before I would eat so much as a bite that I thought my kids wanted.

I told him that the next time he wanted to go visit his buddy, he could hire a goddamn hooker to go in my place, because if I am ever forced to endure that creature's company again, I will curb stomp her fat fucking head.

Submitted December 22, 2014 at 09:45AM by killer_muffin http://ift.tt/1Cmp0pQ TalesofFatHate

Messing with Sasquatch TalesofFatHate

So you young whipper-snapper-shitlords won't likely know what I'm talking about but back in the day we had IRC- internet relay chat- for communications on the Internet. You would run an "IRC client" and connect to an IRC server and find a "channel" that had a specific topic that you liked and chat with people all over the world. Undernet was one of the biggest, if not the biggest of these groups of IRC servers.

So a friend and I used to go on #bbw and talk to hams. Now this was before HAES and FA.. back then I just knew there were morons who thought fatties could be "big and beautiful".

We would start chatting up the fatties and get their attention and then start asking them things about how they got so fat, if they could move or walk farther than the refrigerator, etc. It wouldn't take long before they'd ban us so we'd use a proxy and get back in with a different username.

These ban enforcement would be programmed into a "bot" that would see your IP address and kick you back out automatically. Now these bots could also kick you and ban you based on keywords. It didn't take long before the word "harpoon" became an auto-ban thanks to our shitlording (before it was even a term).

We'd always get a kick out of messing with a new FA coming into the channel by telling them we were talking about that great old novel "Moby Dick" and asking what kind of weapon it was that you used to spear him with and when the FA would reply with the inevitable "harpoon" they'd be gone!

Ah.. the good old days- messing with fatties.

Submitted October 07, 2014 at 06:21AM by duck_dogers http://ift.tt/1ttl5ON TalesofFatHate