(I used to work at the reservations desk for a dinner theatre.  Since this was pre-Internet, people would often call to find out some information about the play before deciding whether or not they wanted to see it.  These calls would be the most frequent when we had a new show starting and word-of-mouth hadn’t happened yet.)

Caller:  Can you give me some information about (new show that just started)?
Me:  Of course!  It stars (b-list actor from old TV series), and its plot is (details).
Caller:  Is that all you can tell me?
Me:  Um … it’s about 3 hours long, including the time to serve the meal.
Caller:  No, no.  You’re not telling me anything useful.
Me:  What else would you like to know?
Caller:  Well, is it funny?
Me:  I’m afraid I can’t answer that – I’ve never seen it.
Caller:  What?  Why not?
Me:  Um, I just haven’t.  (Note:  employees used to get free tickets to the opening night of new shows, but the theatre had recently ended that practice.  Since I was a poor student, I couldn’t afford to buy the tickets myself.  I didn’t think it was appropriate to tell the caller that, however.)
Caller:  This is ridiculous!  How am I supposed to know whether or not to buy tickets if your information is so limited?
Me:  I’m very sorry that I couldn’t be more help.
Caller:  *click*

A week later, the theatre received an angry letter about how useless “the girl” (i.e. me) had been, and how they would never buy tickets to any of our shows again if that was the level of incompetence they could expect from the theatre.  My boss was furious and vowed to fire whomever was responsible.  Luckily, the caller didn’t mention my name, so I kept that job for a little longer until I found something better.

(I am working in the box office, doing phone sales. I help a dithering customer by choosing the best available seats for their choice of show.)

Me: “So, your seats are dead centre.”

Customer: “Is that roughly in the middle?”

(There is another concert theater near the one where I work, and we get calls about their performances a lot. Most people just accept their mistake and end the call when we tell them they’ve got the wrong box office, but not this guy.)

Me: “[Theater] box office; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi there. I just saw an ad for [Concert] at [Other Theater]. How do I get tickets for that?”

Me: “You’ve reached the [Theater] box office, not the [Other Theater] box office, so you would have to contact them. I believe they also sell tickets on [Popular Ticketing Site] but I’m not certain.”

Customer: “I know you’re not the same theater. Anyway, how much are those tickets?”

Me: “Well, sir, you would have to contact [Other Theater] for that information.”

Customer: “Oh! Well, I just thought that you would know that since you’re in the same area.”

Me: “We’re not affiliated with [Other Theater].”

Customer: “Okay, then. Bye.”

(I wonder if he goes to restaurants and asks about their competitors’ menus?)

(I am waiting for my car after an afternoon ballet performance of the Nutcracker. A couple and a young girl are standing next to me. While the woman and girl are dressed very nicely, and the man is just in worn jeans, boots, and a holiday sweater.)

Woman: “So, did you like your first ballet?”

Girl: “Yes! Thank you, Auntie!”

Man: “Yeah, I did. Wasn’t what I was really expecting.”

(The woman and girl both turned to look at him, wide-eyed.)

Girl: “You’ve never been to the ballet?”

Man: “Not really a priority with my family. Never even seen one before.”

Woman: “But it’s the Nutcracker! It’s a holiday tradition!”

Man: “Love, last year one of my brothers accidentally stabbed me during the family Christmas rugby game. Didn’t feel it because I had a blood alcohol level that would’ve ignited near an open flame.”

Woman: “How do you accidentally… Um, never mind. Yes, different traditions.”

Girl: “What’s rugby? Are we going to play it on Christmas?”

Woman: “No.”

(Somehow, I just don’t see that relationship going anywhere.)

Our class is scheduled to see a West End production. We dress in our formal clothes, and we get to the theatre early. Most of our class is happy to wait in the foyer or on the sidewalk, but three of us want to look around the area. One of our male teachers agrees to chaperone us on a walk.

At first, we’re cheerful and loudly discuss which way to go. We turn down a side street, which seems at first to be lined with small shops with neon marquees and neon-lit windows. There’s only foot traffic here, and some women are clustered around open doorways, chatting or leaning against walls. But as we near the closest marquees, we realize who the women are, and what the “shops” actually are. And we begin to realize we are a group of three young women wearing fancy dresses being escorted by a guy at least twice our age, and that this is not a place we want to be at all.

My eyes bug out, and we giggle nervously while our teacher turns red. We go quiet and focus on getting to the other end of the alley while the hookers watch us.

We head back to the theatre immediately. We never say a word about it to our classmates or the other teachers.