thediastema's Diaryland Diary

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The other day I was going, \"What if [this] happened? Thank god it never will!\"

So today in the Cage I'm running some guy's charge card and while the phone machine's waiting for the response from the good people at AmEx, my eyes wander and land on a memo from HM.

It's to the Queen.

It gives me diarrhea on sight.

~~

You see, the upcoming show is Peter Pan.

Box Office currently has a staff of seven ticket agents with various responsibilities:

  • Polly, who works only during showtimes.
  • Molly, who works when school, hobbies, and married life don't interfere.
  • Olly, who usually just works daytime shifts.
  • M2, who balances work with school and various extracurriculars.
  • Me. (You'll recall that when I'm not working this department, I'm working the other department.)
  • ONC, balancing work with school and shopping.
  • Texas, balancing work with swing-dancing, writing bad poetry and living the trust-funder lifestyle.

To have five people working all day during the run of the show, which is what HRH wants, we were going to have to hire temps (sluts!).

The problem with temps (sluts!) is that it takes the whole duration of the temping (slutting!) period, and half that again, to even begin to cut your teeth on the intricacies of the computer software, ticketing policies, and patron relations. The problem with our ticket system is that it's an old, old DOS computer system that nobody else uses anymore. I mean it, this sucker's OLD. It's so old, the likelihood is that any temps (sluts!) with experience in JCBSET are probably dead or senile by now.

Any non-temps (unconfirmed sluts) who HAD proficiency in the system, furthermore, would have better things to do for the holidays.

~~

With one exception.

~~

The memo stated he had phoned yesterday and that he'd be phoning again today to discuss possible hours with HRH, but apparently it was more convenient to drag his ass all the way over in the rain and park his overprivileged blond ass there right in front of the charge machine the next time I needed it.

"Pardon me," I said sweetly, meaninglessly. He took his water bottle out of my way and stepped broadly aside so we wouldn't have to do anything crazy like occupy the same square metre at the same time.

HRH had a brain fart, which I love because I'm jealous of her generally-superhuman nature. "Now, did you two know each other before?"

"O, yeah."

"Uh-huh." He turned to me. "Now, did you work Concessions when I worked it? No, wait, you came on the year after."

Heh! Yeah, but I didn't think we'd met until the fall after that...

I finally authorised the Visa and hopped back on the line to tell my patron his tickets would be in Will-Call.

~~

He saw the screaming cartoon ostrich I'd taped to the edge of my terminal monitor.

We're going to have to have a talk about that, I think.

With the possible exception of Meat Loaf, I don't think any comeback in history has ever been such a ticking timebomb of really bad ideas.

~ETK

I really wanna interview Flans, Linnell and Dave Foley all at the same time. Here's the fun part--NONE of us would be allowed to have any caffeine prior to the interview.

Heidi: So, um...that guy. *points to Flans*...you...do stuff that...yeah.

Flans: I can't hear a word you're saying with all this sunlight eating away at my eyes...

Heidi: Et tu, Dave?

*Dave does not hear, for he is banging his head against the wall and chanting "fuck" over and over*--Heidi, the only living woman to beat my record for daily coffee consumption.

16:17 - 08 November, 2002

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