Let’s Paint This Town Three

, , , | Right | December 30, 2019

(I work at a place where we seat people according to coloured cards that they receive, which also have table numbers on them. The number of times I have had this exchange:)

Me: “What colour is your card?”

Customer: “Uh… fourteen?”

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The Difference Between Them Is Theatrically Large

, , , , , , | Working | December 26, 2019

I work as a stagehand in a theater that tends to have high turnover. A few months after getting hired, the technical director — my boss — leaves, and a new one is brought in. We get on right away, and as I am new to the industry he quickly becomes a mentor figure for me.

On one of our first shifts together, we have to stay late after a show to put up the orchestra shell. This is basically two side walls that we have to assemble piece by piece. To put it together, we need to screw the top layer together, hook it to the motors, lift it in the air, assemble the next row down, screw that to the top row, lift it in the air, and so on. I’ve only done it twice before, but the new technical director hasn’t done it at all, so he trusts my judgement on it.

There are two other guys he brought with him from his last theater. They’re not technically employed with us yet, but no one else can work tonight. These two men decide that my method is inadequate, despite never having done it themselves; they would rather lay all the pieces of the shell on the floor, screw them together, then attach the motors to the top of the shell and lift it up like a drawbridge. I have my doubts about this method, but they’re insistent, so we leave them to do their method while the technical director and I put our section together properly.

Lo and behold, we finish faster than the other guys, and the wall is safely constructed and secured. When the two men finish screwing the pieces together, they find that the motors don’t reach far enough to get to the top of the shell — which is lying flat on the stage — so we have to shove the assembled shell close enough to get the motors hooked up. Once they start to raise the shell, it looks at first like it will work… and then we hear the cracking. They don’t stop, though, and by the time the wall is up, there are significant cracks in the wood — thankfully not visible from the audience.

My boss commends me for sticking to my guns and doing things the right way, but it still bothers me that he allowed those men to do something he knew wouldn’t work and which ended up permanently damaging the shell. A few months later, one of the men leaves to go on tour and the other is fired for stealing equipment. The boss is fired less than a year after he starts for inappropriate use of budget funds, which severely sets the theater back financially after he leaves.

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Women In The Workplace: A Play

, , , | Friendly | December 17, 2019

(I am a young woman in my early twenties. The theatre company I’m a part of builds its stage every year for its productions, and everyone is expected to help out. Some cast and crew members even bring their families to help. I’ve helped with all sorts of renovations and builds throughout my whole life, and a few stage builds, so I’m not green to this sort of labour. However, there still remains the stigma that pretty girls who can sing and dance don’t or shouldn’t know a lick about construction. I pick up a drill and the father to one of our younger actors comes up to me, smiling smugly.)

Smug Man: “Miss, do you even know how to use that thing?”

Me: “I can show you where I can put it.”

(That seemed to scare him off for a while. Later, I am helping an older relative to one of our company members disassemble some older pieces from years prior. He is holding the pieces in place while I use my drill to take out the screws. One screw is particularly stripped, but before I can suggest some methods I know to taking out stripped screws, guess who strolls up?)

Smug Man: “See, you have no idea what you’re even doing.”

Me: “Fine. Good luck a**hole.”

(Sick of him, I shove the drill into his hands before stomping off. About an hour later, the nice man who I was helping comes up to me.)

Nice Man: “I have to talk with you about something.”

(The theatre company has a strict policy on cursing, so I think it’s about the comment I gave earlier.)

Me: “If it’s about that other guy, I was just sick of him and–“

Nice Man: “Yeah, me, too. You shouldn’t have left. He stripped the rest of them bald. He makes a terrible foreman, and even worse of a worker. We need more gals like you helping out.”

(His kind comments helped me get through the rest of the day. Though the jerks are rare, all the kind people — men and women — who support and work with each other make it worth it.)

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Wanted To Give The Date Some Pez-zaz

, , , , | Romantic | December 8, 2019

(This guy and I have been flirting back and forth for a bit and we decide to go see a play. This story takes place in the middle of the performance. Mind you, it’s NOT intermission but during the performance. I’m silently watching the show and suddenly feel something on my leg.)

Guy: “Hey, psst.”

Me: *whispers without looking away* “Yes?”

Guy: “You want a PEZ?”

Me: *shocked* “What?!”

Guy: “You. Want. A. PEZ?”

Me: *looking down at the PEZ dispenser on my leg* “Is that BB-8?!”

Guy: “Yeah. It’s orange flavor.”

(I then proceeded to laugh through the next song. At intermission, I told my friend who told me he may have gotten the idea from “Seinfeld.”)

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I Am Pissing Sarcasm

, , | Right | November 21, 2019

(I work in an old restored theater which has been turned into a multi-level concert and entertainment complex. One of my jobs is to stand and direct people to various venue events, concessions, or the restrooms. I wear a distinct uniform and ID badge at all times. One evening I am directing hall traffic, standing directly beneath the sign for the restrooms. The sign for the restrooms is made of brass letters, approximately one foot tall by eight feet long, and the doors to the men’s and women’s are directly under it.)

Patron: “Do you work here?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, can I help you?”

(The uniform didn’t give it away?)

Patron: “Do you have restrooms?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, we do.”

(You are looking right at the darn sign and the doors.)

Patron: “Do you know where they are?”

Me: “Oh, gosh, I’ve only worked here a couple of years and I’ve yet to find them. I just use the bushes out at the side of the building.”

Patron: *long pause* “Oh, okay. So which door do I go out of?”

Me: *facepalm*

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