Confessions of a Box Office Manager: The perils of recommending a show

Oh dear. This is one of those moments where you wish there was a button you could press and a trapdoor would magically open in the floor on the other side of the counter (although I wouldn't even mind if it was on this side, given the day I'm having).

And the thing is, they're not even paying customers (I'll put up with an extraordinary amount of abuse if cash is eventually going to change hands, although I'll thank you not to spread that around). No, the two elderly ladies glowering at me through horn-rimmed spectacles on the other side of the glass haven't bought tickets to my show.

I remember the original conversation clearly: our recent midweek matinee was almost sold out which meant no senior citizen concessions, a state of affairs that outraged Susan and Ethel. I know they're called Susan and Ethel as neither of them could finish a sentence without referring to the other one by name: "We miss Cats don't we, Susan?" "Yes we do, Ethel. How many times do you think we saw Cats, Ethel?" "I don't know, Susan. It's gotta be at least a dozen though hasn't it, Susan?" "Yes I think so, Ethel." "We never went a bundle on his other one though, the one about the trains, did we, Susan?" "Ooh no we didn't. Starlight Depressed we called that didn't we, Ethel?" "Hahahahahaha! Ooooh it was loud wasn't it, Susan?".

I thought Susan and Ethel were rather fab but I could see a queue building up behind them so I tried to suggest an alternative matinee to ours, based on the fact that they love dancing (I know this as they told me – and each other – several times) and they didn't want anything too loud. I recommended something I'd seen recently, a new musical with gorgeous spectacle, elegant choreography, a decent plot and a sound system that didn't make your eardrums bleed. I even checked online that this show was indeed playing a matinee that day – it was – and that there was decent availability – which there was – and gave them directions to that theatre. So accommodating was I that I even incurred the ire of the pompous git who was next in line ("you can be too helpful you know" he sneered, waving his platinum AmEx at me, at which I nearly called the ladies back for a further in depth discussion about the musicals of ALW).

But now the ladies are back, looking like a vengeful cruet in a pair of M&S winter coats.

"You said that show was gonna be lovely!" says Ethel – or is it Susan? – pointing an accusing finger at me.

"That's right! That's what he said, Susan!" (Ah no, so that was Susan first then, my bad.)

"And we have never been so bored in over fifty years of going to the shows, have we, Ethel?"

"No we have not, Susan! Diabolical it was. And the seats they gave us! Tell him about the seats, Susan!"

"I will, Ethel, I will! The seats they gave us, they were terrible…"

"Diabolical…"

"Diabolical, yes. Back of the dress circle. In a theatre that size! What good is the back of the dress circle for two ladies at our time of life?"

"We couldn't see!"

"That's right Ethel! We couldn't see, we couldn't hear! It was…it was…"

"Diabolical."

"Yes it was. It was diabolical."

I'm not really sure how to respond as I do rather feel that my responsibility ended when I recommended them seeing what I genuinely thought was a wonderful production. But since I didn't write, direct, design, produce or star in the bloody thing, let alone allocate them their crappy seats I fail to see how the rest of it was my fault. I open my mouth to say as much but they're not done yet.

"…and we have never paid that much for an ice cream. Daylight robbery it was, Susan!"

"They should be ashamed of themselves! And you…" Ah, we're back to me now are we, jolly good, "- you should NEVER have sent us there!"

"OK, right," I finally manage to interject, "firstly, I'm sorry you were disappointed…"

"DISAPPOINTED? It was diab-"

Right, I've had enough of this…

"Diabolical. Yes you said. Now may I finish? OK, so, as I was saying, I am sorry that you didn't like the show that I suggested you see. I personally loved it, as did any number of my friends. Clearly we haven't seen as much theatre as you two have, so we don't necessarily know the good from the bad, but we try our best. I am not in the habit of recommending rubbish but obviously we have very different tastes. Once again please accept my apologies for what was apparently a horrific afternoon for you both. Should you wish to come and see this show – the one I am actually selling for – at a future date please ask for me by name and I will make sure that you get really great seats. I have no idea whether or not you'll both like it but I can assure you that an enormous amount of love and care went into making it not diabolical. And the ice creams here are significantly cheaper than the ones you had the other day."

And breathe. I have no idea whether that last bit is true but I suddenly became aware that I was ranting and that they were looking at me strangely.

There is an awkward pause.

"Um, I see. Thank you. Well come on, Susan. We have got another matinee to get to."

"We just wanted you to know. So that you don't send anybody else to see that diab-, that awful show."

"Duly noted" I grimace, "thank you for stopping by."

And off they go. Heaven forfend that today's theatrical offering is not up to standard. I make a mental note not to recommend any show other than this one in future but I know that resolve will last two days at the most. I actually love talking about theatre with customers, and I really didn't see this coming today. But hey, nobody died.

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