Movie Theatre Behaviour for Dummies

I’ve worked at a movie theatre for a little over three years. It was part-time work to help pay for university, but now that I’ve graduated, it’s become the Pit of Hell that I try to work at five or so days a week to pay for things. I love my co-workers. I feel like I get paid to hang out with my friends for six to eight hours, and the job itself is pretty brainless. Plus, I haven’t paid for a movie in years.  

Still, those are small benefits compared to the shitstorm you put up with from people who actually go to the movies. I don’t know what happens when people walk through our doors, but it’s like all logic flies straight out the window. People turn into raging beasts who take out all their misery on the poor minimum wage workers in hats and nametags, and it makes me want to staple things to their face.

I suppose it’s the same in all awful minimum wage positions, but I had always thought people would be happy to come to the movie theatre. I mean, you’re going to be entertained for over two hours in fairly comfortable seats. You’re going to eat fatty foods, drink gigantic fizzy drinks, and munch on any candy you want. If you’re smart, you sneak extra food from the convenience store nearby in too, just to be on the safe side.

But then there are the special idiots who make my job ridiculous. For those of who you are terrible, let me give you some basic rules that you should follow for various positions at the theatre.

Box Office

Know what you’re seeing by the time you get the register. If the line is enormous, you have at least five minutes to mull over your choices with your friends/loved ones/awkward dates. No, I am not going to tell you what every movie is about when there is a massive line behind you. YOU should have your shit figured out beforehand like everyone else.

If a theatre worker asks if you have some sort of loyalty card, don’t look at them like they are the scum of the Earth for asking. We get written up if we don’t ask and a mystery shopper records it. WRITTEN. UP. Three write-ups and we’re fired. So fuck you. I’m going to ask. It takes five seconds for you to tell me yes or no.

Don’t launch into a big tirade about how you don’t want to buy a loyalty card either. I don’t care. The guy in the register next to me doesn’t care. We don’t care if you have the shitty loyalty card or not. We have to ask. And hey, if you do, great! Get your points! Otherwise, fuck right off with your attitude.

Don’t complain to us about the prices. Do you think my sad nametag with my favourite movie on it means I control this stuff? Do you think if I said anything to anyone in a position higher up than me, something would change? No? Good. Because that’s how it goes.

If you look under fourteen or under eighteen, I will ask you for ID. Don’t give me sass. Don’t roll your eyes. Just do it. Do it and I’ll give you a ticket. Movie theatres get fined big time for having underage assholes in theatres they aren’t supposed to be in, and there’s a possibility the person who sold the ticket can get in trouble too. You. Are. Not. Worth It.

Also, if you just turned eighteen, don’t scoff and act like it’s the dumbest thing in this whole wide world that I asked for some proof. You can’t even drink yet, you little shit, so get over yourself.

If I’m the only person working and there’s a massive line, don’t stand in front of me and tell me that we’re understaffed. No fucking kidding we’re understaffed. Would you like to jump on a till? No? Then order your damn tickets and get out of there.

Tell me if it’s debit or credit. It matters for the buttons I press on my end, and both cards look almost identical—especially if you hold the hard up backwards and your stupid finger covers all the information. Specify, you dick, or we’re going to have to do this all over again when the machine says it can’t read your card.

I don’t make the movie times, so don’t get pissy when you read something wrong and you’re late for a show. Get over it. We don’t change times at random. The website is connected to my machine. My times are right. The website is right. YOU fucked up. Deal with it.

Don’t show up five minutes before your show on a Saturday night, the second day said popular movied is released, and be baffled that it's sold out. Don’t throw your attitude in my face. Don’t yell at me. Pick another show or gtfo.

Similarly, we can’t oversell a theatre. We aren’t a fucking airline. We can’t magically conjure up extra seats. So when you come back to me for a refund and are incredibly rude about it, telling me we oversold—we didn’t. I have to smile and nod because that’s all I’m allowed to do. But you’re wrong. There are seats in the theatre. They aren’t right in the center near the back two minutes before trailers start on a busy night, but there are fucking seats available. I mean, no one wants to sit in the front row, and I'd return my ticket too if that was my only option, but get some perspective.

Don’t cut in front of the line to ask me a question. I have to answer you so you don’t complain to my manager, but it’s ridiculous and the people behind you come to me rattled that it even happened.

Tell me how many tickets you want. Tell me if they are kids or adults or seniors. I’m not a mindreader. I don’t know you have six people waiting by the concession stand. Have your shit READY.

The same goes for coupons. I get a lot of coupons that are half-concession and half-ticket, so do me a favour and RIP them before you get to me. It saves us both some time.

Don’t be a dick. I’m stuck in this little box asking the same questions over and over again for six to eight hours of the day. When you’re a dick, it makes me want strangle you. Maybe staple your eyelids. Whatever.

Concession

Don’t complain about the prices. You know what you’re getting into: it’s pop culture lore that movie theatre food is overpriced and over-portioned. You don’t need it, so don’t hassle us when it comes time to paying for it.

Real butter always costs extra. Always. We have to do it. Have to. Don’t fucking wait until we’ve rung everything through and ask for butter, because then we have to do it without charging you, and we get in trouble. It’s usually less than a dollar. Fuck right off with this.

There are a finite number of fizzy drinks you like. I’m sure we have one of them. When I ask if you want Coke, either agree and we can move on, or disagree and tell me what else you want. Don’t make a huge thing about it and take ten years to pick a drink.

Only certain candies come with a combo. No, we can’t put something different in there for you. Pick from the options, or don’t get the combo. What a difficult world you live in.

Don’t huff and puff when you’re in line. Generally, we know what we’re doing—it’s the idiots in front of us that are taking a full ten hours to order their food. Huff and puff at them.

Floor/Ticket Ripping/Bathrooms/Theatres

Don’t be a pig. I don’t know how people get popcorn fucking everywhere, but try to have a little restraint when you eat in the dark. If you’re angry about shit that went down at box office or concession, don’t grind your popcorn into the carpet, because now we get to clean it up—we who had nothing to do with your previous debacle.

I know everyone does it, but don’t put your feet up on the backs of chairs when someone is sitting there. It’s gross for them and it’s douchey for you—and then we have to handle someone complaining.

When you get your ticket ripped, hang on to the damn stub. You need it to get in and out to the concession area, depending on the layout of the theatre. On busy nights when that one person ripping hundreds of tickets is swamped, do them a favour and fucking have your ticket with you.

Don’t ever pop in front of someone’s face and be like LOL CAN U REMEMBER ME PLZ? No. No, I won’t. By the time you go and come back, I’ll have handled fifty to a hundred other people trying to get in to see their show. The only time this is acceptable is if it’s a weekday matinee and I’m doodling on a piece of paper—clearly we aren’t busy then, and it’s plausible to remember you.

Step out of the way if someone is trying to sweep where you’re standing. We have to do it. Stop fucking dropping little pieces of popcorn everywhere.

Put your trash in the garbage can at the condiment stands. Like. It’s literally RIGHT BESIDE YOU. You can push your straw wrapper that extra inch and keep the area tidy—I have faith in you.

Ladies, have some decorum in the bathrooms. Flush toilets. Don’t leave paper towels by the sinks. Put your fucking tampons in the bins. Put your fucking used pads in the bins. Use the garbage bin that seems least full. I feel like this shouldn’t even have to be said, but it does, and that’s sad.

Take some of your garbage down when the show is done. I know it seems like there is a whole crew of us to clean your shit, but let me break it down for you. A crew at night may have seven people on it. One person is ripping tickets at all times—and another may assist if the line gets cray-cray. Two other people are on washroom duty, and have to leave every half-hour or so to clean them. Another person is on theatre duty, and has to check on pre-shows and the like. So that leaves, what, between two and three people to clean however many theatres that just finished in the last ten minutes. Have a little respect and just help out a little, for fuck’s sake.

Don’t leave wet tissues in drink-holders. It’s fucking disgusting—snot or drink condensation, who knows?!

Don’t wedge that cardboard box you used to carry your one popcorn and drink twenty feet to your theatre under the seat. It’s hard to get out when we have full hands from other messy people.

Don’t walk into a theatre while we’re cleaning and just take a seat. Wait outside like a normal person until we’re finished. Do you want to sit in garbage? No? Thought not. And we don’t want you in there, so just give us some space. Plus you probably by-passed a line that the ticket ripper told you about that you blatantly ignored, so we’ll have to deal with your bitching later.

Hide your outside food. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST DO IT. I have to take it away from you otherwise, and I really, really hate fighting with people about it. Your two-dollar coffee is not worth me getting written up. Nope. Fuck right off. Don’t talk to me like we’re buds and I’ll just let you do it this one time—no. Put your food from other places in a purse, under your coat, whatever. Don’t parade it in front of me and then become a ball of white hot rage when I tell you—politely—that it’s our policy not to let it in. I find random wrappers and food containers all over the theatre while I’m cleaning: clearly those people got it right, so why can’t you?

Tl;dr version: Don’t be a dick. Clean up after yourself. We know better, so just do what we tell you. Thank you, and enjoy the show. 

There was definitely a lot more swearing than I anticipated. Apparently, I have some anger issues. On average, I deal with a lot of nice people. I work with awesome individuals, and I get to interact with movie nerds and little kids who are all so thrilled to see a show. There are just those few people that really get under my skin, and they ruin it for everyone. 

Does anyone else have any similar horror stories to share? Did I miss anything?