I purchased tickets to a small community theater production in my area. Instead of will-call like they used to do, the tickets were emailed to me as a PDF. Yay, electronic tickets — progress! But no. Each ticket was a separate page that consisted of a small QR code and a bunch of ads. At the top of each 8.5 by 11 page was the large bold text, “This is your ticket. Print this entire page and bring it with you to the event.”

It seemed silly not to be able to use the electronic copy on my phone or to at least only print the QR code section from all the tickets in my group on a single page and ditch the ads, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I don’t travel around with a printer to be able to print the full page if they reject the other options, and we wanted to see the show we’d paid for.

Apparently, most other people had the same thought, as we were all there with our full-page tickets.

The young ticket scanners started complaining, getting louder and louder with each patron showing up with their printouts.

Ticket Scanner #1: “You are all so wasteful!”

Ticket Scanner #2: “Can’t you get with the program and use electronic tickets?!”

In their eyes, we were horrible old people who were stupid and didn’t care about the environment.  

Finally, one patron had enough and marched right up to them, handed them their ticket, and pointed to the words at the top.

Patron: “I want you to read these words out loud. And then, I want you to apologize for your snide comments!”

The next time I got tickets from that particular theater group, the tickets still had that phrase at the top, but the email they were attached to had a section that told us that, despite what it actually said on the PDF, patrons were welcome to just display the QR code on their mobile device if they wished. Apparently, they had purchased the ticketing template/system from a third party but no one had bothered to read the whole page until they had a bunch of insulted patrons.

Back in 2019, my husband and I purchase tickets to see a well-known comedian at a local theatre in April 2020. For obvious reasons, the show gets postponed. The venue confidently picks a new date of April 2021. Everything will be fine by then, obviously! No shock that we receive an email a few weeks before the show to say that, too, will be rescheduled.

A few months go by, and the health crisis situation “improves” in the UK to the point where most similar events are now going ahead. I’ve heard nothing about when this show has been rescheduled to, so I email the venue asking what’s happening. I don’t hear back, but I’m not too worried. To be honest, we’d only be selling the tickets anyway, as my husband is CEV (clinically extremely vulnerable to [contagious illness]), and it wouldn’t be safe for us to sit in a packed theatre.

And then, one evening in March 2022, I get an email from the venue with information about current [health crisis] protocols to be aware of for the show… which is happening the next evening! What the f***?! I double-check my emails and, sure enough, this is the first I’ve heard from them since the show was postponed in the spring of 2021. I immediately email them to point this out and request a refund.

Over the course of the next month, I go back and forth with the venue. They claim they emailed about the new date but, when challenged, they cannot prove it. They deny receiving my email asking for the new date, but I show them evidence of having sent it to two of their email accounts. They say they can only offer a refund if requested a week before the event. I point out that this would be hard for me to do when they didn’t tell me the new date until twenty-four hours before the show!

Eventually, they offer me free tickets for any of their shows. I point out that this is no use to me as theatres aren’t safe for my family. They continue to refuse a refund, insisting it’s impossible.

Finally, I ask if they have a governing body I can escalate this to or if I should just go direct to Trading Standards.

Weirdly enough, I get an email offering me a refund not twenty-four hours later!

When I did theater in high school, the tech crew would put a speaker in the hallway that was our backstage so that we could hear what was going on onstage, including lines said through microphones and sound effects.

One day, after the cast had been rehearsing for a while but while the tech crew was just getting started, I was talking to some of my friends backstage, very close to both the speaker and the men’s room.

One of them excused himself to use the bathroom, and I turned to do something else. A second later, music that the crew was planning to use for a set change started playing over the speaker, but since they hadn’t used the speaker before, they played it at an unbelievably loud volume. I jumped a mile because this was in no way expected, but they soon turned it down to bearable levels.

I turned around to see that my friend was even more surprised than me and was now lying sprawled out in the entrance to the bathroom.

Friend: “Well, I had to use the bathroom. Had to. It’s a past-tense need now.”

In my early twenties, I worked for a touring theatre group. I basically was everyone’s assistant. I would drive with the crew to whatever town had booked us, help to set up the stage, run lighting, help with costumes and props, and most importantly, make sure everybody got fed. Food and drinks were often provided but not always.

Once, we went to a town we hadn’t been to before. We had a long drive and a difficult stage with lots of heavy elements to put up and lots of lighting to prepare. By lunchtime, everyone was famished.

I remembered that we had passed a fast food place when driving into town, so I got everyone’s order and headed off on foot since I wasn’t allowed to drive the big truck we used to haul our equipment.

Unfortunately, the place was a lot further than I thought and it took me forty minutes to get there. I bought all the food but knew it would be cold and gross by the time I got back. Also, we were on a really tight schedule.

When I left the fast food place and walked back to the main road, I saw a BMW that had slowed down to approach the intersection.

I jumped in front of it and waved my arms to get it to stop. The window rolled down and a sharply dressed businessman looked out.

Man: “Can I help you?”

Me: “I need to go to the local sports hall. Could you drive me? Thanks.”

And I just opened the door and got in the car.

He looked confused but didn’t argue with the crazy girl carrying five large bags of fast food. He asked for directions but didn’t say anything else until we reached our destination. I got out of the car and thanked him, and he drove off. 

I didn’t even think about what a bad idea that had been until the stage crew told me they’d rather have cold food than me endangering myself.

I just started dating a guy. We’ve gone out maybe three times, and we’re both college-age. For our next date, I recommend a play at the local theater. Every summer, they do a play for free for the local community, and they’re quite the talented troupe.

The two of us arrive and wait in the queue. At the door, there’s a student who is filtering people into the auditorium itself. He stops me.

Guy: “You’re not allowed to have purses in here.”

I look at my purse. It’s maybe slightly larger than the standard size, but it’s not huge at all by any definition.

Me: “It’s never been a problem before. I just put it on my lap.”

Guy: “You can’t bring that in here. It’s a fire hazard.”

Me: “It’ll be on my lap the whole time.”

Guy: “You can’t bring it in here.”

Me: “It’s not like I’m smuggling in snacks. See?”

I open the main pocket and show him the inside.

Guy: “You can’t bring it in here. It’s a fire hazard. You’ll have to lock it in your car or something, but you’re not going inside with that.”

Me: “But I need my purse!”

Guy: “You can’t bring that in here.”

By now, everyone is staring, and we’re holding up the queue. I’m getting flustered. You see, it’s “that time of the month,” and my purse has all of the supplies I’ll need for it. Since I’m on a date, I’m wearing a nice pair of slacks that, of course, have no pockets.

Boyfriend: “It’s okay. I’ll let you borrow my car keys so you can run it out there.”

I’m semi-panicked. I don’t know what to do or say because I’ve never been in this situation before. I’m on the young side, and I don’t want to reveal to the man I’ve barely started dating — let alone total strangers — that it’s “that time of the month.” Looking back on it, having had more life experience, I would have waved the feminine care products under the worker’s nose and demanded he hold them for me until I needed them.

However, I am rather shy and don’t know how to stand up for myself at the time. It doesn’t help that every single male in my entire family moans and groans so loudly any time “that time of the month” is brought up that they drown out any conversation on the topic. It has made me feel, for years, that periods are something majorly embarrassing. And I know I’ll need the items in my purse, including pain killers, just to make it through the entire performance.

Boyfriend: “It’ll be okay. We didn’t park all that far away.”

He hands me the keys, and I leave to stash my purse in his trunk, still feeling so mortified over becoming the center of attention that I need to take a breather outside to keep myself from crying.

I have to borrow my boyfriend’s car keys again during intermission to run to his car, get my purse, run into the theater bathroom, and then run back out to his car to stash my purse. It’s not like I could even keep a hold of his car keys during the first act because, hey, no purse and no pockets.

The play is very good despite any physical and emotional discomfort. To top it all off, however, the troupe closes with their usual request for donations. This time it is that very same guy who was gatekeeping purses who pitches the need for contributions!

Guy: “Thank you for all coming out. If you enjoyed what you saw today, please leave a donation in one of our boxes. Our plays are only possible through donations like yours, and we appreciate you supporting the arts.”

I wonder how he expected many donations when he forced 50% of the audience to lock their wallets in their cars.