I was doing some poxy arse-covering COSHH awareness course in the office which sat on the entertainment scale somewhere between "chewing tinfoil" and "drowning". The worst part of it was that there was no ticket or certification at the end of it, just an eight hour classroom input that absolved the job if we were to drink bleach or put cordite in the microwave or something.

The trainer was pleasant enough, and signed our certificates, handed them out, and looked confused when I fed it straight into the shredder.

Everything gets a certificate now. It wasn't the trainer's fault, but my in-tray and mailbox was already twice as full as it should have been without more pointless certificates to sift through.