Port Orange 6 - Blog Entry #1
The following is the first in a series of blog articles that I am writing for the Port Orange 6 MySpace. If you are interested in similar blogs and articles then I suggest you check out the PO6 at:
http://www.myspace.com/portorangesix
Enjoy.
I’ve never been good at article introductions so I don’t expect any witty or foreshadowing humor in the following paragraph. The reason behind this writing is due in part because I was asked to do so and also because I feel personally compelled to transfer to script the complications, situations, horrors, humors, and overall life of the Port Orange 6. I write this for you, former & current employees of the PO6.
So where to begin for this first entry? Ah, how about the customers…
During my time at the theater, it always amazed me that so many customers seemed to be under the impression that I, a mere mortal, harnessed the impressive ability of telepathy. They would approach the ticket booth and, sensing my deep powers of ESP, would simply state “3 please”, certain that I would immediately comprehend the exact show-time of the exact film that they desired to view. Honestly… what the fuck? 3 what? 3 tickets? 3 toasters? 3 dragonkicks? Believe me; I would be more then happy to dutifully administer a series of 3 dragonkicks to each and every member of your pathetic family… preferably to the throat. Oh… you want 3 tickets to Ice Age 2? Oh, no fucking way.
You’ve all been there. Admit it.
Following this particular exchange, the transaction usually goes one of two ways. Either the customer, unimpressed by the fact that you are not David Blaine, takes their measly paper stubs and proceeds to the entrance… no actually the entrance is on the other side… yes… where it says enter… no those are the exit doors… no… yeah… those doors… ok… I fucking hate you. Or, the customer immediately launches in a tirade about the ridiculously high ticket prices. “Oh my gawd! What a rip off! Why are the prices so HIGH!?!” Well ma’am, that is because I am personally fucking you by charging you $6 bucks for a ticket that normally costs $2. I am taking my $4 dollar profit from each ticket sold and using it to finance my own home-built ninja robot that, once completed, will be used to assassinate unicorns.
Or perhaps it could be that the prices are established by the corporate office in an effort to maintain a competitive and productive conglomerate, as is usually the case in ANY FUCKING COMPANY-BASED ESTABLISHMENT IN THE UNITED STATES. Seriously, have you ever seen anyone walk into, say, Home Depot, and argue the price of a hammer with a sales person? $4.99 for a hammer? Fuck that! That’s outrageous! It was .50 cents cheaper last time I was here! Is there a senior discount for this hammer, because even though I am actually 49 I am going to lie and say that I am, in fact, over the age of 62 and thereby eligible for your senior discount of .50 cents!
Awesome, you just lied and therefore damned your soul to hell so you could save .50 cents. You rock.
Moving on.
The interesting thing is the customer’s impression of us theater employees drops by about, I dunno, 467% between the walk from the box office to the lobby podium. Once inside the theater the patron immediately inquires: “Where is it? Which way is my movie? I NEED TO KNOW WHICH WAY TO GO!!!” Because, in all honesty, I was simply going to rip your ticket and tell you that in order to catch your 3:30 showing of Mean Girls, you must first transverse a gigantic maze of mirrors.
Honestly, even if the exact location of the auditorium wasn’t spelled out for the customer, the theater is only 6 screens! It’s a single lobby! You’d think that any adult with at least moderate cerebellum activity would be able to locate their designated auditorium without the hand-holding of us ushers. Well, apparently not. But the best part… the absolute kicker… you know it: “2nd door to your left ma’am.” and wham, they turn right and wander off aimlessly for 5 minutes before they A: ask you again which way to go, or B: complain that you told them the wrong direction. It’s often a wonder that I managed not the kill myself with the log pen during my tenure at the theater.
Next time: I’ll get into the complexities of the concession stand transaction, and how the daunting task of specifically ordering food items turns every customer into a refuck with an IQ of 41. Also, have something you want me to write about? Specific incidents, closing duties, previews, regulars, etc. etc. Whatever the topic, shoot me a message and I’ll consider it for a future article.
Spud currently works at a bar in Deland, FL and is finishing a bachelor’s degree in Psychology, and a bachelor’s degree in Marketing. He currently holds the record for having quit and then rejoined the staff of the PO6 more times than anyone else (4 at last count).
http://www.myspace.com/portorangesix
Enjoy.
I’ve never been good at article introductions so I don’t expect any witty or foreshadowing humor in the following paragraph. The reason behind this writing is due in part because I was asked to do so and also because I feel personally compelled to transfer to script the complications, situations, horrors, humors, and overall life of the Port Orange 6. I write this for you, former & current employees of the PO6.
So where to begin for this first entry? Ah, how about the customers…
During my time at the theater, it always amazed me that so many customers seemed to be under the impression that I, a mere mortal, harnessed the impressive ability of telepathy. They would approach the ticket booth and, sensing my deep powers of ESP, would simply state “3 please”, certain that I would immediately comprehend the exact show-time of the exact film that they desired to view. Honestly… what the fuck? 3 what? 3 tickets? 3 toasters? 3 dragonkicks? Believe me; I would be more then happy to dutifully administer a series of 3 dragonkicks to each and every member of your pathetic family… preferably to the throat. Oh… you want 3 tickets to Ice Age 2? Oh, no fucking way.
You’ve all been there. Admit it.
Following this particular exchange, the transaction usually goes one of two ways. Either the customer, unimpressed by the fact that you are not David Blaine, takes their measly paper stubs and proceeds to the entrance… no actually the entrance is on the other side… yes… where it says enter… no those are the exit doors… no… yeah… those doors… ok… I fucking hate you. Or, the customer immediately launches in a tirade about the ridiculously high ticket prices. “Oh my gawd! What a rip off! Why are the prices so HIGH!?!” Well ma’am, that is because I am personally fucking you by charging you $6 bucks for a ticket that normally costs $2. I am taking my $4 dollar profit from each ticket sold and using it to finance my own home-built ninja robot that, once completed, will be used to assassinate unicorns.
Or perhaps it could be that the prices are established by the corporate office in an effort to maintain a competitive and productive conglomerate, as is usually the case in ANY FUCKING COMPANY-BASED ESTABLISHMENT IN THE UNITED STATES. Seriously, have you ever seen anyone walk into, say, Home Depot, and argue the price of a hammer with a sales person? $4.99 for a hammer? Fuck that! That’s outrageous! It was .50 cents cheaper last time I was here! Is there a senior discount for this hammer, because even though I am actually 49 I am going to lie and say that I am, in fact, over the age of 62 and thereby eligible for your senior discount of .50 cents!
Awesome, you just lied and therefore damned your soul to hell so you could save .50 cents. You rock.
Moving on.
The interesting thing is the customer’s impression of us theater employees drops by about, I dunno, 467% between the walk from the box office to the lobby podium. Once inside the theater the patron immediately inquires: “Where is it? Which way is my movie? I NEED TO KNOW WHICH WAY TO GO!!!” Because, in all honesty, I was simply going to rip your ticket and tell you that in order to catch your 3:30 showing of Mean Girls, you must first transverse a gigantic maze of mirrors.
Honestly, even if the exact location of the auditorium wasn’t spelled out for the customer, the theater is only 6 screens! It’s a single lobby! You’d think that any adult with at least moderate cerebellum activity would be able to locate their designated auditorium without the hand-holding of us ushers. Well, apparently not. But the best part… the absolute kicker… you know it: “2nd door to your left ma’am.” and wham, they turn right and wander off aimlessly for 5 minutes before they A: ask you again which way to go, or B: complain that you told them the wrong direction. It’s often a wonder that I managed not the kill myself with the log pen during my tenure at the theater.
Next time: I’ll get into the complexities of the concession stand transaction, and how the daunting task of specifically ordering food items turns every customer into a refuck with an IQ of 41. Also, have something you want me to write about? Specific incidents, closing duties, previews, regulars, etc. etc. Whatever the topic, shoot me a message and I’ll consider it for a future article.
Spud currently works at a bar in Deland, FL and is finishing a bachelor’s degree in Psychology, and a bachelor’s degree in Marketing. He currently holds the record for having quit and then rejoined the staff of the PO6 more times than anyone else (4 at last count).