August 18, 2005

...But I Wouldn't Want to Have to Paint It

Noteworthy box office customers from the last two weeks:

•A group of students from the Etobicoke School of the Arts, a very serious high school in Toronto's favourite suburb, which Alison and her sister both attended. What's more, it turns out that these students actually knew Alison's sister; quoth the girls, "Oh, yeah! Julia! With the mole! She's so cute!"

•A trio of drunken thirty-something women on a themed hen night (this is an assumption, as they were all shit-faced and carrying stethoscopes— so either they were on a themed hen night, or the NHS has really improved their hiring practices). They charmed me in a way that only really drunk, imminently married thirty-something women can, by repeatedly calling my name in an attempt at a seductive voice, and swooping in for a kiss as I handed them their tickets. Since I obviously would never want to kiss a woman fifteen years my senior (ahem), I thankfully managed to duck to the side and get away with only an awkward hug.

•A trio of drunken thirty-something men who heckled loudly at a show, were thrown out of said show, and came down to the box office to try for a refund. Argued for twenty minutes with an increasingly large number of staff (me, assistant box office manager, front-of-house manager, our two enormous bouncers), before one of them was actually picked up by the shoulder by one of the bouncers and carried into the street.

•A pair of proud parents with a child at Emerson College (Emerson College being the reason this blog is called exBostonian, for those of you who weren't paying attention). Which I guess isn't all that noteworthy, I just thought it was effing weird.

•The biggest jerk in the world, who has tried four different times to buy a student ticket from me, each time using the same excuse: "I've lost my wallet with my student card in it." Now, this may well be the case, but the fact of the matter is that people try and scam student tickets at the box office all the time, so we really have to have proof of student status, and "I lost my wallet" just doesn't cut it. And while a reasonable person might accept that we need to maintain some kind of standard of evidence, Jerky McPooface just can't let it go. He's tried several tacks so far, including the retarded "Look, I can tell you which university I go to" (as if ability to name a university proves you go there); the surreal "Jesus, what's your problem, do you want everybody walking around with a chip in their heads telling you every detail of their lives?"; the faux-offended "What, you think I look too old to be a student?"; and, most often, the plain old irritating "I am a student. I AM. I AM!." And the thing is, if he had just been nice about it to begin with, I would have done it for him. Dickhead.

•A woman with pierced cleavage. Just think about how conceptually bizarre that is.

I'll leave you with that.


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