*Box Office Revelation #5*: Canyon Ranch is the spawning ground for
Canyon Ranch is a health spa a mile down the road from the mount. Angry rich New Yorkers, usually elderly, and frequently mad at the world, would go to Canyon Ranch to exfoliate or something. One of the things they did was send patrons to our shows. Bev, the concierge there would call us up and apologetically ask for 2 tickets to whatever show the old coots wanted to see, and give us the credit card information. Bev was a great person, and was quite regretful that we had to endure the grumpiness of the people from Canyon Ranch. (She actually sent all the box office staff a mug in thanks for being so tolerant.)
*Box Office Revelation #6*: The ladies man, isn't.
It had been raining again. The skies had cleared up a fair amount, and it was drizzling lightly, it was about an hour before the doors opened to Midsummer's and people were just beginning to arrive to pick up their tickets from the box office. Because it's possible that it might rain hard enough to cancel the show, we are informing each person about our rain check policy when they pick their tickets up.
A man comes up to Katherine's window, and is quite surprised to hear about this policy.
"Why do you need to cancel the show if it rains?"
"It's an outdoor theater, sir."
"You mean there's no building?!?!?" he exclaims.
It should be made known at this time, that this man, along with not knowing the definition of outdoors, sounded EXACTLY like "The Ladies Man" from the Saturday Night Live show.
"That is correct sir" Katharine informs him.
This is when the guy starts to lose it, and begins yelling.
"But you said the doors open at 8pm! Doors mean a building!!!!!"
"It's a figure of speech sir, it means that you are allowed to begin seating yourself at that time."
"Are you telling me I have to sit in chairs that have been in the rain all
day long? I canít do that! I have children!"
"Actually sir, they're lawn chairs, so we've kept them inside, we also put some plastic sheeting over them to keep everything dry."
This, interestingly enough, did not help matters.
"LAWN CHAIRS!?! I CAN'T SIT IN A LAWN CHAIR!!!!! THE
DOORS OPEN AT 8 O' CLOCK! DOORS MEAN A BUILDING!!!!"
Pan over to me, the poor dope running the other window. I don't work well under pressure, and I work especially poorly when someone is screaming 8 feet away from me. There is a massive line rapidly forming of people waiting to get their tickets and I'm positively tweaking out, having to ask peoples name 4 or 5 times to find their tickets, while apologetically pointing towards the screaming man at the next window, who is now making physical threats at Ron, who has just informed him that no, he cannot get a rain check unless the performance is canceled, you cannot change your shows within 48 hours of the performance, and no, we don't give refunds.
Luckily, people were quite understanding that night. I was considering calling 911 to have the guy removed from the premises. I was also considering calling the scene shop and having four muscular guys toting potentially lethal power tools escort him off the property. Luckily Ron got the guy to go away.
There aren't a whole lot of other things that were incredibly memorable about that summer, though I will leave you with one that proves not all the strange happenings at the box office were bad.
A middle-aged woman had stopped by to pick up her tickets. She was attractive with long brown hair. I handed over the tickets and said, "thank you, have a nice day." Rather than thanking me like everyone normally does, she took my hand and kissed it, winked, then walked off. Ron, who happened to see the incident, asked me what the hell I did to her. It was quite amusing overall.
Working at Shakespeare and Company was, in retrospect, something that had very entertaining moments.
It is not something I would want to do again.