My occupation opens up many doors for me if you consider that all of those doors lead me down the same path of being a completely judgmental and cranky human being. With a job such as my own there is very little room for creativity, which is why I have taken it upon myself to come up with different ways of judging people. While working with the public in Vegas, it really broke up the day to play the game "Tourist or Hooker?" Because, in Las Vegas, it is often difficult to decipher betwixt the two. At the box office, as I am on the phone all day, I lump people into specific categories depending on their voices. We have a cast of stock characters who call the SC on a daily basis. I would like to take this opportunity to share them with you and explain why, in most instances, dealing with them sucks.
Here you go...
#1-Stupid Girl: Stupid girl's jaw has become permanently unhinged, apparently, because she barely enunciates when she speaks and consonants (unless she's using the words "
Liiiiii
Ke" or "O
Kaaaaaaaay...") are pretty much nonexistent. My theory is that she is so used to sucking off dudes in her spare time, her mouth must remain agape at all times in the off chance that a dick just happens to fall into it. Stupid girl tries really hard to be smart. It doesn't take long into the conversation, however, for me to realize she is not the brightest crayon in the box, but I'll bet she's real pretty. (Please see my blog about
the purse incident. Stupid girl has a tendency to elongate all her syllables as well. I have no theory as to why this is the case. Perhaps she thinks she's singing. In any case, she's almost always a dumbass, part of a bachelorette party that is wearing dick necklaces, and spends way too much money at Victoria's Secret.
#2-Cool Dude: There's someone out there for everybody. Right, Brah...? Cool Dude and Stupid Girl are a match made in douchery heaven. From their mentality of "It's all about me? Oh, it's not? But, like, really it like totally is," to their inability to comprehend basic instructions the first time they are given, seeing these two archetypes meet in the theater on a Saturday night is like watching that really cute scene from
Lady and the Tramp, except Lady is Snooki from
Jersey Shore, the Tramp is still drunk because of an afternoon Cubs game, and the spaghetti they share is actually a PBR. Or vomit. Cool Dude also doesn't use his jaw to enunciate but if you suggest it is because he likes penises in his mouth, he will beat you up in an alley while his buddies watch. Then, when they walk away, he'll totally make out with you no matter your gender. This guy will almost always be asked to leave the theater due to being too intoxicated and will be accompanied by Stupid Girl who, after a few drinks, has a lot to say about the situation. Inevitably, this guy calls day of show on a Saturday and is shocked that we are sold out. Explaining the waiting list to him is like teaching a monkey not to throw his own shit- damn near impossible and, apparently, I am under-qualified. Go figure.
#3- The Hick: This one hurts my feelings. Being from the south, I should have a soft spot in my heart for the country bumpkin who is converging on the "big city" with his or her family. But, I don't. This person reminds me of every Nascar enthusiast I knew from high school. I know exactly what they're wearing (ball caps and camouflage), what their children are named ("Maindy" "Braindy" "Brint" and "Junior"), what they ate for dinner (something fried that they killed), and their confusion over the simplest detail gives southerners with common sense (like myself) a bad name ("So...ya 'ant mah credit card number. 'S'at thuh long 'un on thuh fru-unt?"). I like to imagine this family of hicks in Boys' Town, their bigoted minds just swirling with hatred and sexual confusion at all those "men dancin' with other men." This person makes me ashamed of myself and my heritage. We aren't
all like this, I promise. Some of us actually accept our gay family members with open arms. In fact, we don't even label them as "gay"...they are just aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, etc. We do exist. We do. And we all got out and moved away to big cities like "the one where our black president lived."
#4- Rapey voice: He. Is. Offensive. When I hear this guy, I feel violated and immediately crave a rape kit and a shower to wash away the shame. He speaks in very familiar ways as if we are long-term fuck buddies and calls me things like "hun," "doll," and the like. Note to Rapey Voice: You are not my boyfriend or my Memaw. Nicknames, therefore, are not okay.
Rapey Voice has not grown with the times and thinks my place is in the kitchen. If his credit card, which is probably maxed out due to all the wining, dining, and schmoozing he does, does not go through, it is my simple female brain that must have entered the number incorrectly. He will then take it upon himself to give a quick, "Hun, can you read that number back to me?" which, in his mind, counts as a verbal smack on the ass. That'll set me on the right course. This guy probably sprays expensive cologne on his junk.
#5- Old-Timer: This person is male or female, and I cannot figure out how they're still breathing, much less why they want to attend a sketch comedy show where thirty-somethings dish about sex, drugs, and all that mature, fun stuff. The Old-Timer may surprise you by their raunchy sense of humor if they can actually stay awake long enough to attend an evening performance though, nine times out of ten, they are booking for the Saturday matinee. It's getting the order placed that hurts. I once talked to an Old-Timer who was too blind to read off her credit card number, her husband too deaf to hear her calling from upstairs, and she had to wait for "that college girl who comes by on Tuesdays" to call back and finish the transaction. Old-Timers are befuddled when you ask for an email address or, Heaven forbid, a phone number. "Well, we'll be in Chicago...My cell phone?...Well, I have one, but I don't turn it on and I don't know the number." They are seldom from the city of Chicago, because Chicago Old-Timers only see shows at Victory Gardens. This adds a whole other layer to the ordering process, because they are a tourist. Therefore, they need to know what to eat, what time to eat, what to wear, how a train works, what cab fare is from downtown, which taxi services only hire Americans, how many curse words are in any given show, what else is going on in town, which t-shirt or improv class will their grandson enjoy, whether or not we sell gift certificates, if we have food here,if there is a drink minimum, if there are a lot of stairs, why there are service fees, how to avoid service fees, if I am a real person or a machine, and so on. Stay home. There are lovely movies on the Hallmark channel.
#6- Uppity, Middle-Aged Lady: I wish I could just insert audio here, because I feel as if a text-based description will not do her justice. This woman is my least favorite, because she is the woman who only calls when she's having a bad day. Inevitably, I will be the person who takes her call, which is terrible, because I have a low tolerance for bullshit and the whole "I didn't receive a confirmation email and someone said I would so I am mad and, even though you say I don't need the email to come to the show, I am still going to complain, because my current mood is set to 'bitchy'" mentality. She is not the first person who has had this non-issue, though she thinks she is. It is my job to fix this. That doesn't mean I'll be happy to take care of it, but her attitude makes me love it even less. If she would just calm down and trust that I know what I'm doing (because this job isn't difficult) we'd all be happier. But...no. She picks up on my disdain towards her and we clash. It's ugly. This woman has nearly gotten me fired five times in the course of three and a half years. She is in a bad mood, her comedy ticket situation is very serious, and she will verbally rip anyone a new asshole if they stand in her way. She is right, you are wrong...even if you are really right. She is my least favorite.
