(I’m working on the counter on a fairly busy evening, and am serving a couple of men who are very friendly. The transaction goes normally until the end, when one of the customers stares intently at my name badge.)

Customer: “Who couldn’t spell your name?”

Me: *confused* “I’m sorry?”

Customer: *looks at feedback card with my name on it, and looks at my name badge again* “Who couldn’t spell your name?”

Me: “Nobody? That is my name.”

Customer: *blank stare*

Me: “Kirsty. That’s my name.”

Customer: *tries repeating my name but totally botches it* “What? I can’t…”

Me: “Kirsty. As in, ‘rhymes with thirsty.’”

Customer: “Kir-sty… Hmm. Weird.” *walks away*

(I’ve never known anyone to be so flummoxed by my name, and usually, if anyone has been slightly confused by my name, it’s been people from other countries.)

This story is part of the Struggles With Names roundup!

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(I’m opening on concession. This is my first guest of the day: a 40-something mom with her two teenage daughters. This entire time, more and more guests are starting to show up and line up behind her.)

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: *literally the most dull, ho-hum tone I’ve ever heard* “Oh, I don’t know… like… I know I want popcorn and probably two sodas. I guess.”

Me: *trying to be perky and cheerful* “All right, let’s start with the popcorn. What size would you like?”

Customer: *deep, slow sigh* “I don’t care.”

(I flinch, because “I don’t care” is pretty much a sure sign at my theater that it’s going to be a needlessly LONG and tedious order.)

Me: “We have three sizes available: small, medium, and large. There’s about a dollar difference between the sizes, and large comes with a free refill. I could give you a large and some trays to split it up, if you think you’ll all want popcorn, since it’s the best value.”

Customer: “Probably not large. But I don’t know. Girls, what size should we get?”

Daughter #1: “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Daughter #2: “I’ll leave it up to you.”

Customer: *turning back to me* “I don’t care. Just get me a popcorn.”

Me: “Absolutely. I just need to know which size you’d like.”

Customer: *deep yawn* “But it doesn’t matter to me.”

Me: “I understand, ma’am. But we have three sizes, so I need to know which you’d like.”

Customer: “Can I see the sizes?”

Me: *gesturing to a display case* “Yup, absolutely. Right here we have the small, medium, and large.”

Customer: “I really, honestly don’t care.”

Me: “All right, how about a medium?”

Customer: *looks at the display for about 20 full seconds* “Eh… Small. I’ll save the extra dollar.”

Me: “All righty!”

(I prepare her small popcorn. She suddenly perks up slightly and shows me a rewards card that gets free upgrades and earns points.)

Customer: “Can I use this to earn points?”

Me: “Sure thing! You could also use it to upgrade to a medium popcorn for the same price as a small if you’d like.”

Customer: “I don’t care.”

(At this point, I’ve had enough of “I don’t care,” so I decide to move on, especially as there’s now a half-dozen people behind her.)

Me: “How about the drinks? What sizes do you think you’d want?”

Customer: *another deep sigh* “Look. I keep saying, ‘I don’t care.’ I just want drinks. This is far too slow. I just want drinks.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. But I need to know what to get for you.”

Daughter #1: “One will be a [Soda #1]!”

Me: “Great! What size?”

Daughter #1: “Oh, I don’t know.”

Customer: *interrupting* “So, with the rewards card I can get a medium popcorn for the small price?”

Me: “Yes. Would you like to change your order to a medium?”

Customer: “I don’t know.”

Me: “All right, just let me know when you decide.”

Customer: “I probably won’t. I don’t really care.”

Daughter #1: “Mom, I was trying to figure out which size to get for my drink! You interrupted me! What size can I get?”

Customer: “Whatever you want.”

Daughter #1: “It doesn’t matter.”

(At this point I’m screaming inside, and there’s now more and more people lining up behind her.)

Me: “How about a medium? It’s still quite big, but it doesn’t cost the most.”

Daughter #1: “Okay!”

(I prepare the medium drink.)

Daughter #1: “I didn’t want ice.”

Me: *fighting to urge to throw the drink in her face as I pour it out to make another one without ice* “Sure thing.”

Daughter #2: “Can I get a small [Soda #2], please?”

(I’ll leaping with joy in my head, since she’s the only one who seems to know what she kind of wants. I make her drink, after making sure she wants ice.)

Me: “All right, ma’am. Anything else?”

Customer: “I don’t think so.”

Me: “Okay. Before I finalize the order, did you want to upgrade the small popcorn to the medium with your rewards card?”

Customer: “I. Don’t. Care.”

Me: “I’ll just do it. No reason not to. Okay?”

Customer: *under her breath* “This is the worst service I’ve ever received… Can’t even follow simple orders.”

(I finished up her order, now with almost 20 people behind her, all waiting angrily because this one order had taken so long. The final punch to the guts? Upon asking if she wanted to use the $20 in rewards she had on her card to cover the order? “I don’t care,” of course. Oh, and having to deal with the next few customers chewing me out for being “too slow with that last lady.”)

(The movie theatre I work at offers a reduced ticket price for weekend matinees.)

Customer: “So, are all seats really only [price]?”

Me: “All except one, which will cost you $1,000 if you sit there. Choose carefully!”

(I say this with a very large, jokey smile and tone of voice.)

Customer: *goggles* “Really?”

Me: “No, no. I was joking.”

Customer: “Oh. You shouldn’t make jokes. They aren’t funny.”

(At our theater, the concession stand is a round structure in the lobby with several registers on either side and a food pick-up area in the back for special orders. Depending on the volume of traffic, we usually only have one side of the stand open, and leave the other side closed with signs directing guests to go to the other side. One night, I’m on the right side of stand, when I hear someone repeatedly clearing their throat loudly trying to get attention. I cannot see them anywhere on my side of stand, so I ignore it, assuming it is a guest somewhere else trying to signal someone. Several minutes later…)

Guest: *very annoyed tone; but I cannot see them* “This is insane! Where is the staff?!”

(I walk around to the closed side of stand and see a guest and his family waiting at one of the closed registers, standing literally right in front of a sign that reads “This side of concession is CLOSED. Please proceed to the other side for assistance.”)

Me: “Um, sir… That side of concession is closed. We can help you over on the other side, if you’d like.”

Guest: “But I’ve been waiting here for almost five minutes!”

Me: “I understand, sir. We can help you on the other side.”

Guest: “How in the flying f*** is this side of concession supposedly ‘closed’? That doesn’t make any sense!”

Me: “Well, sir, we have that side clearly marked as closed.”

Guest: “No, you don’t!”

Me: “Sir, you’re waiting at a closed register with no staff nearby, standing in front of a sign that says that side of concession is closed and to proceed to the other side of stand. I am unable to assist you on that side, as the registers are not open or operational, and all of our inventory on that side is locked. We can assist you on the other side, if you’d like.”

Guest: “I didn’t realize this sign was for this side of concession! How was I supposed to know that the sign was for this side of concession!”

Me: “I really don’t know how to answer that question, sir, as nobody is on that side, and the signs clearly state that that side is closed.”

Guest: “But I didn’t think the sign was right!”

Me: “Why would the sign not be right?”

Guest: *clearly straining* “Because… because… I should get free popcorn! This is too confusing! How was I supposed to know the sign here was for these registers?! You’re just trying to confuse me!”

(It took almost another full two minutes to convince the guest to come around to the right side of stand.)

(I work in a single-screen movie theater located in a former live, stage theatre that was built in the 1920s. My friend’s dad is retired, but works about 25 hours a week as an usher. Frequently, a teenager will buy a ticket and come in and sit down. At an opportune moment, they will get up, sneak over to the side or rear entrance, and open the door to allow five or six of their friends to get in without paying. One evening, my friend’s dad sees a kid get up and head in that direction, so he goes around the other way and waits at the end of the corridor. Sure enough, the kid comes by, opens the back door, and lets in six friends. Just as all these kids get through the door, my friend’s dad comes up to stop them.)

Usher: “Stop right there, all of you. Out of the theater, now!”

(The kid who let everyone in shouts at him:)

Kid: “But I have a ticket! You have to let me back in!”

Usher: “No, I don’t, kid. You violated policy by allowing all your friends in this door. Get out.”

Kid: *shouting* “Oh, yeah?! Well, I’ve got a ticket to this show.” *while waving the ticket at him* “You have to let me back in, because I paid for this ticket.”

Usher: “No, I don’t. Get out now!”

Kid: “Well, screw you, old man. I’m going to get a cop and tell him you won’t let me in after I bought a ticket!”

Usher: “Oh, so you want a cop, huh?” *turns around and shouts* “Hey, [Cop]! Come here a minute. One of these kids would like a word with you!”

(Around the corner comes [Cop], a 6’4″, muscular, burly city police officer, who stares down the entire crowd of teenagers:)

Cop: “So, you boys have a problem, huh? Would you like me to come with you, to discuss what you did with your mama?”

(After a few seconds of shocked silence, one of them finally says:)

Other Kid: “Oh, uh, no, that’s okay! I guess we’re good.”

(He said he’d never seen a group of teens bolt out of the building so fast!)