(I have recently been promoted to manager at a popular theater chain. It’s the opening weekend of “The Hunger Games: Catching Fire,” and we’ve been slammed all day. I’m folding kid’s meal trays at the concessions counter with only ten minutes left of my shift when I’m approached by a guest.)

Me: “Hey, did you need some help?”

Guest: *very stern* “Theater one is stiflingly hot!”

(Our auditoriums’ heat and AC units are set on a timer that we adjust. Most of the time, the last shows of the night are less occupied, so we pump the heat to make up for the lack of body heat. This showing is sold out and we have forgotten to adjust the heat, which is our fault.)

Me: “Oh, I’m sor—”

Guest: *pointing finger in my face* “WHY DIDN’T YOU DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?!”

Me: “I’m really sorry about that; that’s an oversight on our part. Just out of curiosity, did you see the usher enter the theater at any point?”

Guest: “Yeah.”

Me: “If anything’s ever disrupting the film in any way, feel free to flag him down and let him know. That way, you don’t have to miss the feature t—”

Guest: “I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING BECAUSE I FIGURED SOMEONE ELSE WOULD, BECAUSE IT WAS SO HOT!”

(As soon as he says that, I no longer have any sympathy for him.)

Me: “Again, I’m really sorry about that. I’ll adjust the heat right now.”

Guest: “Oh, never mind. The movie’s already over!” *walks away*

(Five minutes later, I’m approached by two other guests.)

Other Guests: “Excuse me, sir. The heat in theater one was really high.”

Me: “I apolo—”

Guest: *walks up from behind the guests, splits them aside, and points a finger at me* “I TOLD HIM ABOUT IT AND HE SAID HE COULDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

Me: *patience all but gone* “Do you want a readmission ticket? Is that what you want?!”

Guest: “Well, yes! I think I deserve one! And so do these people! Everyone in auditorium one should get one!”

(Luckily, all 160 people from theater one weren’t standing in the lobby, or I would’ve had to give them all one. So, I left and grabbed three readmission tickets. I handed the man one and he headed for the door, still complaining loudly as he left. A couple minutes later, I was approached by yet another group of guests, who were also upset about the heat, but voiced their concerns in a calm, rational manner. I gave them three readmission tickets a piece just for being human beings about it.)

(I work at a movie theater, where I am a supervisor for the “Family Flicks” free movie every Saturday. Twenty minutes or so before every show, I go in and — just to keep them entertained, because there are 900+ kids — ask stupid movie trivia about shows and give away random posters or movie swag, and other stuff that would end up trashed, anyway. A guy comes to me:)

Guy: “Can my son have free popcorn, soda, and some posters?”

Me: “Sorry, I am all out of prizes for the day, and we sell popcorn in the lobby, but hurry if you’re going, as the movie is starting in a few.”

Guy: “So this is not a ‘free movie,’ as your postings on your site state?”

Me: “The movie is free, sir, every Saturday. If you want snacks or drinks, we sell them, including kids’ size, and you’re welcome to bring snacks from home. We do this for a chance for parents with limited income, or who have a lot of family that just want to see movies and can’t afford them. I understand how expensive movies are.”

Guy: “FINE!” *huffs off goes to buy a very large popcorn and soda*

(At the end of the show, a little less than two hours later, as everyone is leaving, I see the same guy sitting there with his son:)

Guy: “Say, ‘Thank you,’ son.”

Son: “Thanks.”

(The guy dumps his full soda and popcorn right on the feet of an employee; he got the free refill just as show ended.)

Guy: *looks at me* “Consider this job security.”

Son: “That’s right. We came all this way, and you did not pick me to answer any stupid questions; you owe us.”

(Next week, the same guy and son came in, and the big boss for the theater just told me — after hearing the story from me, staff, and a few other long time guests of the program — “Let him do it again if he wants; spending $16.50 to dump out for someone making $8.00 to clean in under two minutes is his right to be stupid.”)

Me: “Good afternoon. You’re through to [Company]. How can I help?”

Caller: “How come Batman can’t fly?”

Me: “Batman cannot fly because he does not have any super powers.”

Caller: “Oh. I feel sorry for him.” *click*

Me: “What?”

(I am selling tickets at a movie theater. Our location has reserved seating, and a customer has to choose a seat before the system will allow us to authorize a sale. I am the only one selling tickets at the moment, but between my register and the ticket kiosk machines, I manage to keep a line of no more than three customer groups at a time.)

Man: *older, and generally kindly* “All right! Front of the line! Let’s see, let’s see… Oh, right! My wife and I wanted to see [Movie] at [time]!”

Me: “Of course! That’s two for [Movie] at [time]. And where would you like to sit? You can see our seating chart here.” *I indicate the screen that’s just popped up* “Seats in white are available. Blue is taken. The back of the theater is here, and the screen is here.”

Man: “Oh, my. I’ve never had to choose my seats like this before!”

Me: “Yes, it’s a system not many theaters have. But I do need to know where you’d like to sit.”

Man: “Usually I just walk in, and decide from looking at things.”

Me: “Yes, I hear that a lot. We can always sell you tickets for where you’d like to sit, and you can head into the theater and check them. Then, if they’re not acceptable, I’d be happy to switch them out for you, right away.”

Man: “Yes… but how do I pick the seats I want?” *still smiling, still friendly*

Me: “Well, do you prefer to sit closer to the screen, or further back?”

Man: “Oh, I don’t know. I usually like to walk in, and see the layout first.”

Me: “I usually sit around here, in the middle. There’s a bar you can put your feet up on, and no seats in front of you here.”

Man: “Yes, yes… but what if I don’t like those seats?”

Me: *starting to get a bit worn* “I’d be happy to swap them out for different seats for you, then.”

Man: “Of course! Of course you would. But how to choose which seats I’d like… I usually walk in before deciding where I’ll sit.”

(This goes back and forth for almost ten minutes. A considerable line has formed behind him, and I’ve had to radio for assistance selling tickets, but no one has showed up yet.)

Me: “Sir, I have to tell the computer something to sell you a ticket. I’m just going to give you these seats, here—”

Man: “No, no, what if I don’t like them?”

Me: “Then we can switch them out for other seats.” *I gesture at the line behind him* “If you’d like some more time to think it over, would you mind if I took care of the line behind you?”

Man: *he turns, and regards the line that’s formed, before turning back to me, still all smiles, completely calm* “That’s okay. I’ll just pick my seats now. Now. Where would I like to sit? I usually pick my seats after I’m in the theater, you know.”

(I ended up having to work with him for about twenty minutes. Thankfully, a coworker eventually made it over to help with the line. He was so odd. He refused to pick a seat, but wasn’t belligerent or angry at any point in the transaction, and he never seemed like he was being passive-aggressive, or pranking me. His wife eventually joined us, and she picked their seats. She had been waiting for him by the ticket-taker. At least they still made their movie?)

Coworker: “Hey, I have a customer here who says he saw a woman and her kid removing the wet floor sign from theater eight.”

Me: “All right, I’ll go check it out in a sec—”

(Suddenly a woman comes limping towards to ticket desk.)

Woman: “Oh, ah, oh, my back!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, are you okay?”

Woman: “No! I want to speak to your manager! Ah, oh, my back!”

Me: “I am acting manager. What can I help you with?”

Woman: “I’m going to sue this place! I just slipped and fell on an unmarked wet spot in one of your theaters!”

(My coworker and I exchange a bemused look while the lady pretends to be in serious pain. I decide to play with it a little bit.)

Me: “Oh, no! Whatever can we do?! Please, don’t sue!”

Women: “Well, firstly, you can compensate me for my pain. Oh, the pain!”

Me: “All right, miss. As you are injured, I need you to fill out this accident report.”

Woman: “Oh… Can’t you just compensate me without? I’m a very busy woman, you brats! Oh, my back!”

Me: “Well, firstly, I just need a picture of you.”

(My coworker rushes over with a phone and takes her picture.)

Me: “And can I see a driver’s license, and a credit card? Our drawers won’t open without a cash transaction, so I’ll just put, say, $250 straight into your bank through your credit card.”

(I don’t know if that’s actually possible to do, but it sounded true enough, because the woman’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. She pulls out her driver’s license and her credit card and hands them to me, all the while groaning in pain.)

Me: “And real quick, can you tell me what happened, while I write an incident report?”

(I get a blank piece of paper and a pen, and while she tells us her story, I write, “This woman is an idiot. This is going to be funny; just wait,” and hand it to my coworker.)

Me: “All right, miss, I only have one problem before I put the money through.”

Woman: “Yes? Ah, oh, my back.”

Me: “When you told this story, why did you leave out the part where you moved the ‘wet floor’ sign?”

(The woman sprinted away, leaving me with her license and credit card. My coworker saw her license plate, and we called the cops to say she attempted fraud and was driving without a license. Apparently she was already on probation for attempted fraud, and in a few months when she gets out of jail, she won’t be going back into my theater; we put up the picture of her and her name next to the ticket booth, and she is no longer allowed to enter any of our 50+ movie theaters nationwide!)