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.

My South African spouse and I are watching a live performance of “The Lion King” and enjoying the costuming, songs, etc. After intermission, the stage opens on a nighttime scene. My spouse glares at the display for a moment, and then turns to me and says, in his best radio announcer voice:

Spouse: “That is not the correct Southern sky!”

Galloping stick giraffes, dancing baboons, and costumed lions were all acceptable, but for authenticity, get the constellations correct!

A few years ago, I was working as a Porter/Assistant for Artists/Security technician, all in one Person in a well-renowned festival hall in Austria.

While we tried and succeeded in retaining a very professional and cheerful facade, the inner workings, employees and stagehands were quite discontent and sometimes outright angry, especially during the very stressful festival season. Unfortunately, some of the office workers also grew quite an ego while dealing with high-profile artists, politicians, etc.

One of my jobs as a porter was to man the staff entrance, and give out information to artists, visitors and passers-by alike. I also handled the appointments to the office floors. One time, a woman I had never seen before approached me.

Without a greeting whatsoever:

Woman: “I’m here to see my sister.”

I greeted her and asked for the name of her sister, since like I said, I had never seen her before. She huffed and gave me a stern look.

Woman: “Well, [Name of one of the most arrogant office clerks] of course. How do you not know me?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I have never seen you before, but I´ll gladly check if she is in her office.

Woman: “I’ll just go up, I know the way.”

She leaves my window and tries to open the front door, which is secured by an electronic lock that I can open for approved guests and personnel. She rattles the door, and I can see on a camera by the door that she waves her hands around wildly, before coming back to my window.

Woman: *Now angry.* “Open the door for me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t do that as you’re not approved yet. If you give me a minute, I’ll call upstairs and have everything sorted out.”

She huffs and waves her hands around again but stays quiet. I give her alleged sister a call and prepare for the worst. The phone rings and she picks up.

Sister: “[Name] speaking.”

Me: “Hello Mrs. [Name], Porter here, your sister is with me downstairs, and would like to visit you. Is it alright to send her up?”

Sister: *Instantly angry.* “You don’t need to call me to tell me my sister is with you, just send her up!”

This would violate several guidelines, which she doesn’t care about the slightest of course.

Me: “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we have to call ahead to check if you’re even in the office, otherwise your sister would wander around the office floor in front of the presidents and intendants offices. It’s for your safety as well.”

Sister: “Don’t give me that! How would I have picked up the phone if I wasn’t in my office right now, duh!”

I sat there, a little dumbfounded and stayed quiet for a few seconds, hoping she would notice what she just said. I shouldn’t be so lucky.

Me: “So, you mean I shouldn’t have called to check if you were in your office, because you picked up your phone when I called, thus I should have known you were in your office before… I called?”

Sister: “Of course, how is this so hard to figure out!?”

Me: *Mentally resigning.* “Alright. I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’ll send your sister up now.”

She still tried to say something but I hung up too quickly. The angry woman in front of my window still huffed and tapped her foot, and I waved her to the door, opened it for her, and waited until she went up to the office floor, mumbling under her breath. I’m certain they had a good rant about how the incompetent porter messed up their day.

My story got some good laughs during a beer with some colleagues later on though.

I’m selling tickets in the theater auditorium, and a couple approaches me.

Female Customer: “You got any James Bond tickets?”

Me: “James… Bond? Ma’am, this is a stage theater showing plays. You’ll want the movie theater a few blocks down.”

Female Customer: “So, what are you showing, then?”

Me: “Tonight we have Shakespeare’s A Comedy Of Errors.”

Male Customer: “So, no James Bond?”

Me: “Not unless the errors have taken over the comedy.”

Blank stares.

 Me: “Let me get you directions to the movie theater…”

I am a volunteer in a performing arts theater. We have plays, musicals, music artists, etc.

Like most venues, we have certain disabled spots where chairs have been removed so that they have wheelchair access and no stairs, and they’re set up so that people are able to see the show without any difficulties.

For most other seats, you need to walk up or down stairs to get to or need to walk through the aisle to get to a seat if it’s two to forty seats into the row. Logical, right?

Example #1:

A person buys a ticket for the front row center but they are in a wheelchair and can’t understand why we can’t take out non-removable seats five minutes before the show starts as they are unable to get out of their wheelchair and didn’t tell the ticket office they can’t walk.

Example #2:

A person buys their teenagers tickets to their favorite singer and gets them seats at the center of the theater, up two flights of stairs. The youngest child is in a large motorized wheelchair, and the siblings don’t know what to do as the parents dropped them off so they can have a date night.

Example #3:

A person in a walker buys the cheapest ticket in the theater near the back, up three flights of stairs, or up the elevator and down two flights of stairs, and doesn’t understand why the elevator doesn’t go to their exact seat, which is also not wheelchair accessible.

In all three of these situations, we were able to work it out, but not before a lot of confusion and three unhappy groups as they ended up in the accessible area in the back of the house as the front was already sold out.

On our website, and at the ticket office, both in person and by phone, once you say “wheelchair,” “hard of hearing,” “sight-impaired,” “ADA,” or any type of keyword, they bend over backward to give you the same great show that everyone else has. All of the above “didn’t think it mattered.”

So, please, if you or a family member have a permanent disability or a temporary one, i.e., you broke your leg after you purchased tickets, or your grandparent had a stroke and now needs a wheelchair, CALL THE TICKET OFFICE and let them try to help you.