Monday, November 8, 2010

The Wicked Witch of the West

Today at work, I got to help the Wicked Witch of the West. She looked like this:

Not really. She just looked like an old lady. My co-worker called her that because she was mean, and from California.

But the point is, I've never encountered a stranger so disrespectful.

She came in wanting to purchase tickets. She said she had two retired military personnel, and I informed her of the discount.

"I read somewhere that veterans are free."

They're not. And I told her so, but nicely.

"Well, if I find somewhere that says they are, I can bring it in and you can refund me, right?"

"If you can find something that says that, you can bring it in and take it up with my manager."

I applied her retired military discount, and told her I placed her in the 6th row in the center. She wanted to be up front, but it's more expensive, and we can't apply a discount to it. She said it was fine, but her expression read, "Well, if I NO other choice."

I sold her the tickets and when I handed them to her, I told her was in the 6th row. This is when she turned into the Wicked Witch.

"You told me the fifth row."

"I'm sorry, I thought I said the sixth."

"No, you said the fifth."

"Well, I have the fifth, but they're not as close to the center."

"Let me see your computer screen, because I don't think you're being truthful with me."

That is FALSE. I gave her the best seats I had. And for reference, there are 24 rows in our theatre. Row 6 out of 24 is great, right? I think so, too.

"I can't do that, ma'am. I have confidential information on here I can't allow you to see."

This was true. We can't let customers see our screens.

"You're lying."

Um, WHAT? I was okay until she flat-out called me a liar. I DON'T lie, and I hate people who lie to me.

So at this point, a plethora of thoughts are going through my head, including:


"I need to get this lady out of here so that I can be angry."

"I need to make this customer happy so that I can keep this sale."

So I ultimately ended up giving her what she really wanted all along: seats in the first row, center. And then she said thank you like nothing was wrong.

Once her back was turned to me, I crouched on the floor behind the counter, shaking and so angry I couldn't speak. It scared me how angry I was, and how much I was able to keep my cool while she was being absolutely awful to me. Anyone who knows me well knows my temper. You guys would be so proud of me. I'm proud of me.

This woman is just beyond my comprehension. I don't understand how she thinks she's entitled to demand whatever she wants and treat me like crap.

I suppose that's a good thing. The end of this blog is found in a blog my dad wrote. He said it better than I probably could.


  1. Really, really proud of you. I know how challenging that was, and you should be proud of yourself. What a piece of work she was. I'm sorry you had to go through that, but it sounds like you handled with grace and maturity. You rock!

    I love you, sweetie.


  2. Man... I won't say what I want to say, because I think your dad has the right idea and my response is sort of in the opposite direction, but I sure am sorry.