It is 2007, and a confused-looking customer approaches me at the concessions.

Customer: “Hello. Sorry to be a bother, but I was wondering, at what point in the film does the nice lady start to draw the rabbits?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Customer: “Well, I came to see Miss Potter, the film about Beatrix Potter and how she wrote and drew Peter Rabbit?”

I look at her ticket and see that she is in one of our smaller screens (for independent and arthouse films), but I saw her come out of our premier screen showing a film that started quite a while ago…

Me: “I see. You should be downstairs in screen twelve, and the film is just about to start. I believe you just came out of screen two, which is showing Grindhouse.”

Customer: “Oh… so it’s a different film?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Customer: “That figures. I was wondering why the nasty man was driving around chopping off those young ladies’ legs.” 

When a customer confuses a PG-related English period drama about a children’s book author with an R-rated Tarantino flick about a stunt-car driving mass-murderer, you begin to stop questioning things…

 It is 2013, and a bridal party has arrived for an appointment in my store. They are having a good time going through gowns for the bridesmaids and the wedding dress for the bride herself.

Bride-To-Be: “I just don’t know. I love so many of these, but I wonder what George will think.”

Bridesmaid #1: *To me* “George is the groom.”

Me: “I see. Well, in my experience, you should go for whatever makes you 100% happy. Your fiancée will be happy as long as you’re happy.”

Bride-To-Be: “I guess, but he’s paying for it, so I want it to be something he would appreciate, too.”

Me: “Well, has he said anything about his preferences?”

Bride-To-Be: “Well, not really. Oh! He was talking the other day about weddings and was getting excited about it! Something from one of his shows!”

Me: “Oh, can you remember what show it was, or what it was about the wedding he liked?”

Bride-To-Be: “It was that dragon show that everyone’s watching lately. Something about a red wedding. Maybe we could do something like that?”

I go silent. I look at the pale faces of her bridesmaid entourage, and I can see we have all come to the same dreadful conclusion.

Bridesmaid #1: “Honey, no… you don’t want that.”

Bride-To-Be: “Why not? Was the dress ugly?”

Bridesmaid #2: “Trust us, honey. Just… don’t.”

Bride-To-Be: “Why? Was it truly hideous?”

Bridesmaid #3: *Walks over with a phone* “Here’s a clip of it on YouTube.”

Bride-To-Be: *Starts watching it* “Oh, it’s like old-timey renaissance fair stuff. That’s kinda cute—”

I hear the screaming from the video begin. The poor bride-to-be’s eyes go wide, and I can see her face turning pale. As the screaming reaches a crescendo, [Bridesmaid #3] pulls the phone back.

Bridesmaid #3: “I’ll stop it there before it gets any worse.”

Bride-To-Be: “It gets worse?!“

Bridesmaid #1: “Let’s just stick to the nice dresses we have here, honey!”

Bride-To-Be: “But… but that’s his favorite show! His favorite show! Who am I marrying?”

Me: “To be fair, it’s a lot of people’s favorite at the moment. I also quite enjoy it each Sunday.”

Bride-To-Be: *Looks me over* “Well… you seem quite normal.”

Me: “I think I am?”

Bride-To-Be: “Hmm… okay. Well, let’s see more gowns for my girls, then. But nothing red!”

Me: “You got it.” 

I got a thumbs-up from all the bridesmaids, and one of them told me later that I had just saved the wedding. Ten years later, I got a “thank you” card from the couple on their tenth anniversary, so I guess they’re doing well!

It was opening weekend for “The Fellowship Of The Ring”. We had HUGE crowds (like, lined up into the STREET huge), and almost every showing was sold out. I’d been running around like a crazy person because I was one of the few cross-trained at every station other than projectionist, so I helped sell tickets, I helped with concessions, I helped throw stupid teenagers out, all of it. I worked double shifts that day and was on about my twelfth hour there, running HIGH on caffeine from my dear friend, the Double Espresso, when two young, handsome men approached me hand-in-hand.

I put on my best smile and asked if I could help them. Then, I realized that both of them had tears in their eyes.

Customer: “Yes. We want a refund, please.”

I assured them I could do that (they were only a short way into the movie) and asked what reason I could put down for the refund. They looked at each other, and the second young man took a deep breath and spoke with what seemed to be controlled fury.

Customer: “It was too violent.”

I admit, I blinked at him in disbelief. Bad move. 

Customer: *Now yelling in my face* “You should be ashamed! There are children in there! You shouldn’t let them see people being stabbed and hurt and burned like that! I want my money back right now!“

His partner started to hush him (probably because he saw the very well-armed security guards walking their way), and I caught the last bit as I walked to the back to get their money. 

Customer: “They’re aiding the corruption of children! They should be ashamed. We’re never coming back here!”

I returned their money to the first young man and noticed that the second was standing by the door, waiting with a red face and a very sour expression. The first young man thanked me, and they left.

We have ratings for a reason, and on this day, we had a unicorn blessing: everyone going in was seemingly of the acceptable age for the rating (PG-13). No parents were taking their underage kids in because they “gave permission”, etc. 

I peeked in the theater at one point and no, there were no screaming babies or sobbing young children; from the glimpses I could see when the screen lit up enough to show, the youngest were young teens. While they were riveted. No one seemed traumatized. When the movie let out, no angry parents stormed up to berate us.

I used to work at a call center outsourced by the government department that regulates complaints from TV viewers. This is before the golden age of streaming and most TV was heavily regulated regarding what was considered “offensive or obscene” such as swearing, violence, sex, etc.

These days, I think most complaints come in via email or online forms, but back then, we’d get a lot of calls from viewers who were, if I am being honest, a bit sensitive.

The following call took place a long time ago, so it has been considerably shortened and paraphrased.

Caller: “I’m calling to make a complaint!”

Me: “Can you please let me know the name of the programming and the channel on which it was broadcast?”

Caller: “It was [Show] on [National American TV Channel]! It was on last night after my dinner!”

I love it when callers do this, because everyone has “dinner” at the same time…

Me: “And what is the nature of your complaint?”

Caller: “Well… the show was so boring!”

Me: “Your complaint is that the show was… boring?”

Caller: “Yes! When I watch TV at night, I want the shows to be exciting! And [Show] was just so… so boring!”

Me: “Was anything on the show what you would consider offensive or obscene, ma’am?”

Caller: “Well… no. If it was, it would at least be interesting! But it’s just… so…”

Me: “…boring, yes. I’m afraid I can’t pass on such a complaint to the relevant body, ma’am.”

Caller: “But I was on my Facebooks! We’re all in agreement! The show was just so boring!”

Me: “I understand, but [Channel] broadcasts hundreds of shows that are designed to appeal to a wide range of viewers. Some will appeal more to others, and we’re not here to regulate what shows are interesting or not. We can only take on complaints if a show is potentially broadcasting something considered offensive or obscene.”

Caller: “But we’re all talking, and we all agree! It was boring! There should be more interesting shows at nine at night!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am sure your Facebook group is all in agreement, and I am not disputing that, but again, I can’t take your complaint forward.”

Caller: “So, what do you expect me to go back and tell them?!”

Me: “Maybe change the channel?”

Caller: “But there are a hundred of us in the group!”

Me: *Checking my stats* “And [Show] was viewed by over four million people last night, ma’am.”

Caller: “Send me their names! I’ll add them to the Facebook group.”

It did not get much better from there.

Yesterday, my workplace had a large Halloween event, and our staff was encouraged to dress up for the day. I scrounged up a fairly recognizable Jedi costume from the contents of my closet and borrowed a lightsaber — the cheap kind that you swing out while pulling on the release mechanism.

It was a long day with short breaks throughout. Six hours in, I got a table with three little kids, all dressed up: a six-year-old girl in a princess dress, a five-year-old boy in a turtle costume, and a two-year-old cowboy who inexplicably carried a massive plastic gold sword. (I’m guessing at the ages.) The older kids belonged to one couple who were regulars, and the littlest was with his mom.

At one point, I went back to check on them, and the little cowboy picked up his sword from the table and waved it at me. I know a challenge when I see one, so I pulled out my lightsaber and extended it. His eyes lit up, and he jumped from his chair to fight me. The five-year-old wanted in on the action and began to walk toward me like a droid, saying, “Roger, roger. Roger, roger.”

I gave them (and the whole dining room, including their grandparents, who were also regulars) a show and let them back me into a corner as we clashed swords. Then, I fell to the floor, threw up my hands, and clutched my stomach as they slew me. I closed my lightsaber as I “died”.

The two-year-old proceeded to take it from my hand and attempt to extend it, but he clearly had no idea how.

Me: *Regretfully* “You can’t use it without the force.” *Takes the lightsaber back* “I need this to fight Sith.”

Honestly, that interaction was the highlight of my twelve-hour day. The dad of the older kids tried to apologize a few minutes later, and I assured him it was not necessary. It’s things like this that make the messes kids leave behind a little more bearable.