Customer: “I see that [Specific Time] on [Specific Day] is reserved for a private party. How can I buy tickets for that time?”

Employee: “That time is reserved for a private party and tickets are not available to the public.”

Customer: “So how do I buy tickets to the private party?”

Employee: “Unfortunately, you have to be on the host’s guest list to have access to the event.”

Customer: “Okay, I would like to add my name to the list.”

Employee: “It is a private event, so we cannot add your name to the list.”

Customer: “Okay, so I can just show up, then?”

(I am a lighting intern at this theater, and only there a few days a week. The show has a very large, very realistic tree as a main set piece, and it is fixed to the stage floor. On my first day, this conversation happens:)

Me: “Wow, that tree is really big.”

Coworker: “Yeah… It looks like some of the branches get in the way of the fire curtain, though. Well, the scenic team will work it out if it’s a problem!”

(Two days later, I am back again.)

Me: “Wait… why does the tree look so sparse? Did they make it smaller?”

Coworker: *sighs* “They wanted to add more branches, so they sent someone in a cherry picker to weld some more on.”

Me: “Aren’t the leaves made of paper?”

Coworker: “Yep! So the ‘wood’ and the leaves caught on fire, and set off the fire alarm. The fire inspector came by, because there’d been an issue, and saw the branches that were over the fire curtain line, and made us trim them back — in addition to the branches that burned off.”

(I work as a house manager for a big theatre during a concert. I am standing at one of the bars chatting with a friend when a woman comes up to the bar.)

Woman: “Hi! You remember I came in tonight with a hair tie and flower in my hair?”

(I’d never seen her before that moment, so I say nothing.)

Woman: “I seemed to have lost them both.”

Me: “Would you like for me to go search the seating area for you?”

Woman: “No, that’s okay. I don’t want you to interrupt everyone’s enjoyment of the concert.”

Me: “Well, if you’re sure, then I won’t.”

Woman: “I don’t know. What do you think? I mean I just bought it at the store for like $5.”

Me: “I can go look if you want. I mean it’s part of my job.”

(She waffled on about me going or not going into the seating area where the concert was still going on for like five minutes. At this point I realise she’s a bit drunk.)

Me: “Look, I’ll go in there and have a look around and I promise not to disturb anyone.”

Woman: “Okay, but I wasn’t in my seat the whole time. I was kinda over here.” *she points to an area above us which I know is flat and where she could dance*

Me: “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

(I hear her calling me back, but I wasn’t going to stand around while she waffled again so I ignore her. I grab a small flashlight from an usher and proceed to look in the general area of where I thought she’d been and even beyond that area. I find nothing, so I go back out to let her know.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I was unable to find a hair tie or clip anywhere in there.”

Woman: “Wow. That’s really weird. I mean who would steal something like that?”

Me: *thinking she lost it before she arrived* “I really don’t know.”

Woman: “Okay, I guess I’ll go.”

Me: “Do you have a ride?”

Woman: “I’ll just take a taxi.”

Me: “Okay, then, just go out the front of the theatre and you’ll be able to find one quickly.”

Woman: “Thanks for your help!” *she gives me a hug* “And this is for you!” *she pushes a glass of champagne in my direction and wanders off*

(Once she was gone, the bartender informed me that the woman asked her if she thought I was really looking for her stuff or if I’d just gone in to enjoy the concert a bit and would lie about searching. She also assured me that the woman hadn’t touched the champagne nor had she paid for it.)

(I’m a supervisor for a high-traffic box office during a yearly theatre festival. It is a busy spell on a Saturday during closing weekend. A woman runs up to the counter yelling for help, carrying her large child – I’d say around eight years old – cradled in her arms. He is hysterical and I immediately approach her thinking some horrible accident has happened.)

Me: “Are you okay?! What’s happened?”

Lady: “MY CHILD HAS JUST HAD BUBBLES BLOWN INTO HIS EYES! I WANT A FULL REFUND!”

Me: *trying sooooo hard not to smile* “Oh, no! First, can I help your son wash his eyes? We have a tap around the back of—”

Lady: *not moving* “He blew them directly into his eyes. This is absolutely disgusting.”

Me: “Okay, what show did you just see and where was the venue?”

Lady: “We saw Mr. Bubbleman and he was trying to blow his bubbles into the children’s eyes! We even sat at the back of the audience because I had a feeling this was going to happen and now look! I want a full refund and I don’t care about your ‘no refund policy’!”

Me: “I’m so sorry this has happened and while I can’t authorize a refund, I can quickly go speak to the producer of the show about what’s happened and he could possibly refund you directly?”

Lady: “I can’t believe this!” *she’s still holding her giant child* “This service is terrible. Why won’t you help my son? Mr. Bubbleman will lie! He’ll tell you he didn’t do it but he did! If he acts dumb, just you tell him that I’m going to have to go straight to hospital because of him!”

(Her bratty child isn’t even crying anymore and seems to be bored of the situation – trying to wiggle out his mum’s arms.)

Me: “Look, on behalf of the festival, I really apologise. If you stay here, I’ll run over and quickly speak to the producer.”

(I sprint to the venue and grab the producer and start to explain the situation, trying to be careful not to escalate the situation more. Before I even finish, he jumps in and just looks really sad.)

Producer: *sighs* “Yeah, refund her…”

Me: “Really? I mean, that’s total bull-s***! She’s accusing you of deliberately blowing bubbles in the children’s eyes?! I mean, that’s crazy! Your show is a bubble show; wouldn’t you assess the ‘risks’ before you even bought tickets?”

Producer: “Of course I know it’s complete bull-s***, but I learnt quickly in this business not to argue with over-bearing mothers with screaming, spoilt children.”

(I work at a live theatre in a small town, where most of our patrons are elderly and kind. One day, a young male customer comes through the front doors.)

Me: “Good afternoon, can I help you with something?”

Customer: “Yes! I just moved here, and I don’t know anyone. I have to ask you a question.”

Me: “Great, I’d be happy to help you.”

Customer: “I was walking by the theatre and thought that this might be the place to get help.”

Me: “Well, we’d be glad to help if we can. What’s your question?”

Customer: “I’m looking for marijuana.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Weed. Green.”

Me: “Yes, I understand…”

Customer: “Great! So, do you sell it here?”

Me: “No, sir, this is a real business. I can sell you tickets to a show, but we do not sell drugs.”

Customer: *annoyed* “Well, you’re no help! You people are useless! I guess I’ll just go ask some random person on the street since your ‘business’ can’t help me!”

(He angrily stormed out of the store. My colleague and I looked at each other, dumbfounded.)