"The Houselights are Dimming, The Footlights Are Bright, The Toast of Society's BurningTonight . . ."

I actually have the best job in the world.

I go in, seat people, sell a few programs, watch a show, sell ice cream, watch the rest of the show and go home!

And get paid to friggin do it!

I have a tiny torch that I get to shine in people's faces if I catch 'em filming stuff or talking or rustling sweets too bloody loudly.
I have been bollocked several times for the latter.

"He was rattling his friggin' M&Ms!"
"We sell them! He's allowed to eat them! You cannot flash your torch in his eyes!"
"He was on his third strike!"
"You most certainly can't then take them off him and attempt to escort him off of the premises!"
"Ahhh bollocks!"

My first shift was a genuine "pinch yourself" kind of day.

Boss: "There's a spare shift going for The Sound of Music over at HMT. Do you reckon you could keep an eye on the stalls?"

An hour later I was sat in one of the boxes (that's the best place to "watch the audience" apparently) watching Connie Fisher twirling about a mountain.

It was a bit weird later on like, when I bumped into her backstage. I wasn't stalking her or owt, our changing rooms are right next to the dressing rooms and we crossed paths. It got even weirder when I bumped into Captain Von Trapp looking for George Street then practically walked him there. He was wearing lycra running shorts. *SHUDDER*

Ice cream selling is a skill. Balancing the bloody tray around yer neck whilst trying to stop greedy little nose pickers tea-leafing tubs out of it is an art! I find a good swift shin kick does the job.
And I don't think I've ever had to smile so much in my life!
I've actually developed dimples! And with my friggin' hamster cheeks that is quite impressive!


There's only one downside.
You do have to deal with snobby theatre folk, who I can effectively offer no comment on as I'll sound like a bloody hypocrite.
Except this: I offered to walk you to your seat, you refused, and now your sat in someone else's seat because you have counting issues. Please don't look at me like I'm thick or treat me like I'm special needs because you can't tell the difference between numbers and letters. And if you tut at me, I will shove my torch through your teeth. I'll see you at the interval twatbag when you'll no doubt pay for a £1.50 tub with a £50 note (true story!) and take all my change so I can't serve any bugger else! Enjoy the show! *FORCED SMILE*