(no subject)

Someday I'm going to snap and tell a patron, "If you're on another call, eating dinner, or 'busy right now', don't answer your fucking phone."

And then I will get fired.

And it will totally have been worth it.

Seriously. I understand that telemarketers are the most hated people on Earth (okay, maybe after neo-nazis and people who stand in front of the doors on the subway train when they're not getting off at the next stop) but I'm actually calling to try and help people out. If you don't have five minutes to renew your season tickets or literally ten seconds (I've timed it) to say "I don't want to renew", don't answer your fucking phone.

THE PHONE WILL NOT SELF-DESTRUCT IF YOU DO NOT ANSWER IT.

Nice Boss won't even let me say "I'm sorry I forced you to get up and answer the phone". He says sarcasm is not part of the Box Office dress code.

Have I mentioned don't answer your fucking phone?

Also, a patron today asked me where he could get diesel fuel. I suppose "a gas station" would have been a good suggestion to give him, but instead I merely pointed out that I was sitting in a theatre box office. He managed to infer that I was not sitting next to a large sign reading I KNOW EVERYTHING, GO AHEAD, ASK ME.

(no subject)

Standing in the concessions line across the lobby from where I am sitting are four men whose khaki trousers are perfectly gradiated from light to dark.

It's like seeing a chart of the evolution of the wild indigenous Khak.

(no subject)

Sometimes I like to make up stories about our patrons. I'm pretty sure the only reason the dude in the corner is secure enough in his masculinity to wear a pink shirt is that he's really a mafia boss. I'm also well-nigh positive that the woman in the khakis is actually escaped from a cartoon.

The problem is that nothing I come up with is half so good as the reality I get when I overhear snippets of conversation like "I'm only good for two or three if I don't have my coffee" (two or three what?) and "So she told him about the chairs and he divorced her. I know, right?"

What happened to the chairs??

(no subject)

Sam's Three Things About Studio Sixty, Those Whores:

1. Seriously, Harrie? Seriously? You're choosing that moment to show everyone how pious you are? I mean -- I have no problem with prayer, or public prayer, or even public evangelism. I wouldn't stop it if I saw it, because that's freedom of speech and freedom of religion right there in a tidy bundle. But I do believe that getting down on your knees and praying aloud in front of your entire peer group at that precise moment is the height of self-aggrandising tackiness, and if I had any tiny shred of respect left for Harrie I would burn it. She is being demoted, something that has not happened since I took away Niki's name for being lame. Harrie, I take your name. You shall now only be known as That Chick.

1a. In addition, it's lame television. The drama would be ratcheted up several notches if That Chick simply said "okay" and sat down, and Matt asked her if she was okay or what she was doing, and she said "I'm praying."

2. "It doesn't have to be good. It just has to be on." Jack said that and the look on Matt's face is a look I'm pretty sure I learned to make myself, from my mentor, for whom medocrity is not the eighth deadly sin but rather the only one.

3. Cal continues to be awesomeness personified. Just thought I'd put that out there.

3a. One more flashback and I swear to all hell. To all hell. I don't know what I will do, but all hell will be involved.