Nothing Civil About This War

, , , , , , , | Working | November 6, 2017

(My partner and I have been waiting for months to see “Captain America: Civil War,” and going to the movies is a very special occasion for us due to finances. We decide on a theater located on the top floor of a rather nice mall that is surrounded by a food court, since prices are fair and the location is close. We pay and take our seats in the front, and not too long after the previews start someone sits directly behind us and begins noisily eating out of a paper bag. My partner turns and informs me they are eating a burger out of a paper bag and I figure they will be done soon. Except, they have an entire large backpack FULL of burgers, and they proceed to eat them as noisily as possible all the way through the credits and half an hour into the movie itself! My partner confirms that they are eating burger after burger like their backpack is a dispenser, and the paper on each burger is crinkled so loudly and purposely that I cannot hear most of the dialogue. I’m talking continuous and endless loud crinkling, like an Internet troll decided to come to the movies. Fed up, I decide to do what I never do and complain. This theater is two stories, and to get to the desk I have to go down an escalator and across the lobby. When I get to the concessions desk, a very nice guy calls a manager when I explain the problem, and whispers quickly that he had the same issue a week ago and not to expect any real help. A female manager arrives and I explain to her my issue. She looks incredibly bored.)

Manager: “What do you want me to do about it?”

Me: “You have a no outside food and drink policy.”

Manager: “Yeah, but it’s not like we can enforce it; we’re right next to the food court.”

Me: “So, what am I supposed to do? I can’t hear, and have missed a big part of the movie.”

Manager: *sighs* “I can come up behind you and talk to them, but that is really it.”

Me: “That’s fine.”

(I went back upstairs and into my theater, where the guy was STILL eating noisy, paper-wrapped burgers and continued to do so for an additional twenty minutes. I could hear everything behind me and looked back several times, and the manager never came into the theater, at all. When we left after the credits, we counted over a dozen burger wrappers thrown all over the aisle behind us. I was upset that nothing was done and that the manager lied and never came to check, so I decided to write a formal online complaint on the company website. Apparently those complaints go directly to the managers, and the manager I talked to decided to answer and state that I was making too big of a deal out of this. Then she lied and said she did come to the theater, and that their was no evidence after the show of outside food or drink. Then she offered me free passes to shut me up! I was pretty upset that my complaint got brushed aside twice by the same awful manager, who apparently just liked to lie. I decided to not push it further, as I had clearly hit a wall, and refused the passes. Who wants to go to a movie they can’t hear? I went back about eight months later and didn’t see her, so hopefully she works somewhere else now.)

Can Only Count To Two

, , , , | Right | October 31, 2017

(This happens at least once every day, without fail.)

Customer: *walking up to me, confused* “What theater is my movie in?”

Me: “Can I see your ticket?”

(The customer hands me their ticket, which has the theater number printed in large, bold text that takes up more than a third of the ticket.)

Me: “That’d be theater number four. For future reference, it’s right here on the ticket.”

Customer: *annoyed* “Well, how should I know that?!”

Me: “Because it’s right there on the ticket?”

Customer: *sighs* “Whatever.”

(There is a brief, awkward pause.)

Me: “Is there something else I can help you with?”

Customer: “Where is theater number four?”

(I point to the theater, which is clearly marked with large numbers on either side of the doors and a large sign with the name of the movie playing.)

Me: “It’s right there, sir. The one marked ‘Theater #4.'”

Customer: *suddenly angry* “HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT?!”

(One of these days, I swear, I’m going to respond with what I’m really thinking: “Because, unlike you, I ACTUALLY USE my basic powers of observation like a responsible adult. Do I need to hold your hand and walk you to your seat as well?”)

No Rewards For Your Loyalty

, , , , , , | Working | October 30, 2017

(I’ve had the local cinema’s loyalty card for a few years and, having had some rough times and low funds of late, I decide to treat myself and use what points I have left to ‘purchase’ a ticket for a special anniversary showing of a trilogy of films that I’ve always loved. I book online and, because my points cover the cost of the ticket, I am not required to provide any further payment information. The email confirmation says I can use my loyalty card to collect my tickets at the till.)

Me: *holds out loyalty card* “Hey. I’m picking up a ticket for [Films].”

Worker: *looks at the card but makes no move to take it* “I can’t use that. I need the card you paid with.”

Me: “I didn’t use a card. I used my points, so you should be able to find it through my account.”

Worker: *still not moving* “You don’t get it; I can’t look it up with your account. I need the card you used to pay for your ticket.”

Me: “I didn’t pay anything.”

Worker: “Yeah, right. Tickets aren’t free, and I need the card you booked with or you’re not getting your ticket.”

Me: *starting to get frustrated*This is the card I booked with. Because I used my loyalty points!”

Worker: “Ma’am, at some point in the transaction, you had to put in your card details and—”

Me: “No, I didn’t! I didn’t have anything I needed to pay. I wasn’t asked to put in my card information, and the email said I could use my loyalty card to collect!”

Worker: “Look, I can’t do anything. I can maybe sell you a new ticket.”

Me: “Is there somebody else I can speak to?”

Worker: “There’s no point. Nobody here can do anything for you if you don’t have your card.”

Me: “Listen here. Either you are lying or misinformed and I can collect with my loyalty card, or the email telling me as such is wrong, and I wish to complain to someone who can do something about it. Either way, I need you to get someone here to talk with me about this right now, because I refuse to miss any of my film over this.”

(A supervisor comes over and apparently the employee has “warned her” about me.)

Supervisor: “Ma’am, I understand your frustration, but if you don’t have the card you paid on, we cannot print off your tickets. We can, however, sell you a new ticket and give you our company’s customer service number so you can get your original ticket refunded.”

Me: *glaring daggers at them both* “I am telling you, as I told him. I. Didn’t. Pay. By. Card. I used the points on my [Cinema] loyalty account, and the email told me I could use my loyalty card to collect my ticket. I wasn’t asked to give any card details.”

Supervisor: *looks at me briefly before turning to the worker* “If she paid with her points, the tickets will show up when you swipe the card.”

Worker: “But she doesn’t have her card!”

(The supervisor rolled her eyes, took the loyalty card I was still holding out, and printed off my ticket with an apology. She was still trying to explain it to him when I walked away.)

An Idiotic Gift

, , , , , | Right | October 26, 2017

(I work at a movie theater. An older gentleman comes up and buys six tickets for himself and a group of friends for the upcoming weekend. He’s a bit cranky while selecting his showtime and seats, but otherwise the transaction goes smoothly. When it comes time to pay, things take a turn. He pulls out a wad of papers and throws them at me without even making eye contact.)

Customer: “Use these.”

(I unfold the crumbled papers to find about a half-dozen receipts.)

Me: “Um, these are receipts.”

Customer: “Gift card receipts. Use ‘em.”

(I look again. They’re receipts for gift cards he’s purchased for the theater from the local [Retailer]. They literally just say “Gift Card” and the amount he paid — no card number, no scan bar, nothing that I can use.)

Me: “Do you happen to have the cards that you purchased? I can’t just use a receipt like this.”

Customer: “I’m not an idiot.”

Me: “I didn’t say you were.”

Customer: “Use ‘em.”

Me: “Unfortunately, I can’t. I either need the gift cards themselves or the sixteen-digit serial number from the back of the cards to redeem them.”

Customer: “Look. I’m not an idiot.”

Me: “I didn’t say you were.”

Customer: “Use ‘em, then!”

Me: “Sir, I have no way of using your gift cards with just these receipts. I either need the cards themselves or the serial number from the back.”

Customer: *deep sigh* “It’s always a different story from you clowns! Out to get the little guy while you line your pockets.”

Me: “Sir, the way the gift cards work has never once changed in the seven years I’ve worked here.”

Customer: “I. Am. Not. An. Idiot. If I couldn’t use these receipts, why would I have thrown out my gift cards, then? Huh?”

Me: “Wait, what? You threw out your gift cards?”

Customer: *after a pause, looking concerned* “I didn’t say that! I’m not an idiot! Just use the receipts!”

Me: “Sir, I can’t.”

(This back and forth continued for another two minutes. The customer kept insisting that he “wasn’t an idiot” and becoming angry that we couldn’t use his receipts. A nearby manager even got involved, and it just continued on in the same circle of idiocy. The customer ended up throwing some cash at me for the tickets and leaving. So, he bought gift cards, immediately threw them away, and then threw a hissy fit when he couldn’t use the gift cards he threw away… but don’t worry, he made sure to let us know he “wasn’t an idiot.”)

Not Into Darcy’s

, , , , , , | Related | October 24, 2017

(I’m female, and in my early 20s I am feeling out my nascent lesbianism. My family is pretty cool, but I am still quite nervous about coming out, especially as I’m not sure if I am gay, bi, confused, or going through a phase. One night, I go to the cinema with my dad to see the first Bridget Jones movie. At the end, he turns to me and, clearly trying to use young-person language, says:)

Dad: “So, Colin Firth? Is he… fit, then?”

Me: *caught off guard* “Ermmmmmm. Um… Ah. Um… Well, Dad, I’m not so much into boys at the minute.”

Dad: *without missing a beat* “So, Renée Zellweger. Is she fit, then?”

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