I really enjoyed taking tickets tonight for the 7th Street Theatre’s* showing of Monty Python’s Holy Grail; in doing so I briefly recalled Julia Sweeney’s fascinating narrative on ticket-scamming her job to the tune of hundreds a night. I know if / when I work again as ticket agent this won’t be happening for several reasons: one, I am not a thief; two, the theatre doesn’t seem to make much more than a few of those hundreds gross per weekend; and three, it was fucking hard to do and I even messed up a bit! Yes, I had one of those embarrassing moments where someone gives me money and I’m in the middle of giving their change back and they suddenly push some more back at me and claim a confusing number of extra tickets they wanted. I know there is that whole “start over” possibility but there were ones and fives in the ticket booth in a pile and a press of customers waiting and finally I accepted the customer’s word – not that he would be deliberately dishonest (in general, Little League coach-looking dudes in Grays Harbor aren’t into grift) but I certainly didn’t have my math brain there to help back him up.
Whoops. I did the best I could and documented my mess-up. My mistakes will result in the cash being higher than the book amount so at least I don’t look like a goddamned criminal.
Ralph and I biked home – it was so fun to have a date, albeit a short one! – and upon arrival my mom, flushed with wine, told me a success story of spanking Nels after he threw something at the cat. It was a “success” because it bothered him and he cried and cried and felt remorse. Oh, if anyone wants to ask me, please don’t spank my kid(s). They get enough terror at home.