The Box Office doesn't open until 10am (2nd edit)

The woman was undoubtedly on a mission as she strode through the foyer. Janie was determined to finish her e-mail before the woman approached her window. It wasn’t an important e-mail but the snooty air radiating from the woman enhanced the ever present fluttering of butterfly wings in her stomach that she felt whilst at work. She needed a few moments to muster an appearance of confidence; woman like these could eat her for breakfast: they could smell fear. She made a point of exaggerating her typing motions in the vain hope that the woman would have the decency to wait until she was called forward, or at least acknowledge that she was in the middle of a task. Not a chance.

She came to a halt in front of Janie's window and began clicking her fingers, ‘You there, how much are tickets?’ Janie knew that she was bound to be irritated by this customer but she hadn’t expected that she would need to restrain from telling her to piss off right from hello. Not that the old bint had even said hello.

She took a deep breath. ‘It depends which show you’re talking about.’ The woman eyeballed her with a look of utter despair then boomed, ‘absolutely bloody typical.’She banged her hands on the counter and sighed loudly. Janie fought the urge to gag: there was no need to ask if she'd had her Shittabix.

The woman twirled around and paraded back across the foyer, muttering to herself whilst barging through the unsuspecting couple who were browsing through the season brochure. She threw the door open with brutal force, leaving Janie yelling ‘careful!’ in her wake. She marched up and down the front of the building, jerking her head this way and that, finally settling at the large poster in the display box. She fumbled through her gigantic patent leather handbag and fished out a plastic wallet containing a leaflet of the same show that was displayed in the poster. As she held the leaflet an inch away from her face she let out a short howl of frustration and threw the leaflet on the ground like a child discarding an unwanted toy. She plunged back into her bag. After two minutes or so of rustling and several expletives, she pulled out a pair of rimless specs and placed them on the end of her aquiline nose. For some reason, this put the image of a Woodpecker into Janie's head and she had to suppress a snort as the laugh of Woody the Woodpecker began to play in her head: Heh huh heh huh huh. Heh huh heh huh huh.

All sorts of random songs and film quotes would run through Janie's head as she dealt with customers throughout her working day. She referred to it as her Coupon Jukebox. It was both a blessing and a curse: keeping her entertained yet increasing her chances of getting chibbed. Two weeks ago, Coupon Jukebox had caused her to absent mindedly quote the Wicked Witch of the West when an old lady complained to her that the first act of the Chekov play was too long: 'You call that long? Why you've only just begun!'

Outside, Woody continued her dramatics, making a huge display of attempting to pick up the leaflet: she had a bad back and was the type to relish the opportunity to ham up her discomfort particularly when there were people within her vicinity. She then started jerking her disproportionately small head from the leaflet to the poster then back again to the leaflet. A little piece of Janie’s soul let out a pathetic wail then proceeded to curl up and die a painful death as Woody made a u-turn and marched back into the foyer. She braced herself.

‘I am in the right place, am I not?’ Janie could not think of anything to say to this. She felt her heart beat faster and seethed at herself for feeling intimidated. Woody moved in closer and barked ‘do you have a hearing deficiency?’
‘Yes. I, I mean no. I.... Sorry’ She gave Janie a look of utter contempt.
‘This is the Old Empire, is it not?’
‘Yes.’
‘And am I correct in thinking that you are currently showing Brecht?’
‘Yes.’
‘And am I correct in thinking that that you are an employee within this establishment?
Woody punctuated her sentences with a tap of her finger nail on the seating plan in front of Janie’s window. Carry on like this, thought Janie, and you’ll be farting teeth for a week.

‘Well?’ asked Woody. Janie was livid. She remained silent. 'Well?' repeated Woody.
Ah well-a well-a well-a huh!
Coupon Jukebox could never resist a cheeky wee Grease number given half the chance.
'Excuse me?’ said Janie, finally.
‘Are you or are you not an employee of this establishment?’ A little bit of spit flew out of Woody’s tight, mean mouth onto the glass separating her from Janie. Up close, she could see that Woody was wearing a shade of lipstick that resembled the peel of a three week old Satsuma. Her lips were just as shriveled.
‘I am’
‘In that case, I would assume that you would be the man to ask about ticket prices?’

It took every fiber in Janie’s being to stop herself from taking her large ‘Sorry, we are closed’ sign, smashing the glass, grabbing Woody by the lapels of her Barbour Jacket and planting a massive head butt on her stupid, pointy puss.

Her face grew a blistering shade of puce. She waited for Coupon Jukebox to kick in with something to ease the pain. Instead it faded in Sinitta’s So Macho. Fuckin’ thanks, she thought.

‘Hello? Are you able to understand me?’ asked Woody as if addressing a child.
‘Loud and clear’ muttered Janie, trying to compose herself. She wasn’t going to give the jumped up cow an inch.
‘Well done! Good man!’
‘I’m not a man!’
Janie felt pleased for finally speaking up for herself. Her shrink would be proud. ‘Oh, good Lord!’ exclaimed Woody, eyeing her up and down. This went on for an uncomfortable amount of time. Janie’s confidence dwindled then Coupon Jukebox came to the rescue:
And we can build this thing together, stand in stone forever, nothings gonna stop us now. Janie loved when CJ pepped up with an embarrassing 80’s classic to boost her spirits. She still felt mortified, though.

When Woody finally finished her bug-eyed gender inspection she said: ‘I want tickets for Brecht and I want the front of the Balcony.’
‘You could have just said that right from the start.’ She couldn’t believe her own audacity.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Janie cowered a little. She resented the way these snotty women never displayed an ounce of self doubt.
‘I’m sorry, it’s just. Well, I, em…’ Woody raised her eyebrows and Janie could swear she saw a glint of pleasure in her eyes. She paused and composed herself, trying with all her might not to rap along with Coupon Jukebox to Beastie Boys’ Hey Fuck You.
‘I just think you could have said that right from the start instead of asking how much tickets were. We have lots of shows in our season not just Brecht, so you will appreciate that ticket prices vary depending on which show you want to book.'

Woody puffed her chest out and let out a short gasp: Janie was tempted to offer her some chewing gum.
‘I asked a simple enough question and expected a simple enough answer.’
‘But I gave you a simple answer!’
Janie felt slightly childish pressing the point but she would have rather gone swimming in the sewer than back down which was slightly ironic because every time Woody sighed it felt a bit like she was drowning in shit: her nose had nearly melted. Maybe she should cut her losses.

Woody wasn’t backing down either. ‘No. I think you’ll find you said it depends which show I want to see.’ Janie pressed her clenched fist to her mouth.
‘Yes, I did and that is a simple, logical answ...’
'This is absurd!'
'Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Never mind. It doesn’t matter…’
'This is absolutely ridiculous!'
As she wiped her hand down her face in frustration, Janie realised that she was sweating. ‘If you could please give me the date that you would like to see the show, I’ll have a look and see if we have seats availa...'

Woody hoisted her handbag up and crashed it on to the counter, making Janie jump a little. She rummaged through her bag and brought out the same flyer as she had outside and started reading aloud, ‘Ticket prices range from ten to thirty five pounds.’ Woody regarded her with a smug smile. Janie was perplexed; she knew that she shouldn’t cajole the woman but she had to ask:
‘Why did you ask me for the ticket prices if you knew already?’ Woody let out a high pitched cry which Janie assumed was a mirthless laugh. Or maybe it was the noise that Woodpeckers make when going into battle.

'Nowhere on this leaflet does it specify which part of the auditorium the ten pound tickets are so I think I am well within my rights to ask how much tickets are and quite frankly, I find you to be most disobliging. I have been coming to this theatre for fifteen years.’
Well in that case, you should know that there are many shows that you can book for and you should also know that it is not in my job specification to be a mind-reader.'
'At what point did I give the impression that I thought you were a mind reader?'
'When you asked how much tickets were.'

Janie really hadn't meant to shout, it had just happened. The rational part of her brain was kicking back with Coupon Jukebox, singing Danger Zone from Top Gun.

Woody took her bag off the counter and slowly placed it on the ground. Apparently her back was fine now as there was no struggle in getting down. Oh Christ, thought Janie, she’s going to take out an Axe. Woody stood back up and cleared her throat. Or maybe she’s going to huff and puff, and blow my poor schnoze in. She did neither.

‘Could you tell me which part of the auditorium I can purchase ten pound tickets in, please?’ Janie nearly fell of her perch. Woody had gone from Stalin to Saint. What a nut job! Well, thought Janie, if that’s your game, sweetheart I’ll see your psycho and I’ll raise you: no one could kill anyone with kindness quite like Janie. Coupon Jukebox played Bobbi Brown’s Two Can Play That Game at full blast. She used her pen as a pointing device on the seating plan, put on her best sweetness and light voice and ensured that her tone was saturated in sarcasm.
‘Certainly, if I could just turn your attention to the Upper Circle area, which can be seen on this part of the plan. The ten pound tickets are situated in the neighboring corners of the Upper Circle.’ Janie tapped the said seats on the seating plan whilst wishing her pen would explode in Woody’s face.

‘The Upper Circle’ shouted Woody. Janie winced. Christ on a bike, she thought, she’s switched back to goose stepping.
‘Yes, the Upper Circle.’ Woody shook her head and closed her eyes.
‘But I don’t like the Upper Circle.’
‘Well, I’m afraid that’s where the ten pound tickets are.’
‘But I want the front of the Balcony.’
It was like reasoning with a spoilt child.
‘The front of the Balcony will be thirty five pounds.’ Woody’s jaw dropped allowing Janie to see her uvula. She felt queasy.
‘Thirty five pounds?’ She paused after each word for dramatic effect. Janie felt the threatening sting of tears. She took a few deep breaths and tried to calm herself before the ensuing onslaught began.
‘That is correct.’
‘That is an out and out abomination, thirty five pounds for a ticket?’
‘Look, I’m afraid that’s the price of the balcony. If you’re not willing to pay thirty five pounds for the seat then you’ll hav…’
Woody butted in and Janie’s hands began to shake as her blood boiled in her veins.
‘That means that I would have to pay seventy pounds, doesn’t it?’ Janie stared at her, absolutely baffled.
Woody was exacerbated. 'Thirty five plus thirty five is seventy!’ She felt her left eye twitching.
‘What?’ Woody looked at her as if she had just pissed on her kids at Christmas.
‘I’ll need one for myself and one for my husband. Can’t you count?’

That was it. The arse was well and truly ripped out of it. Janie flung her pen down and threw her head into the cradle of her arms accidentally banging her head on the desk and biting her tongue in the process. If she was angry before, steam was coming out of her ears now. She peered up from out of her arms then she banged her hands on her counter and pushed back her swivel chair. Her rebellion was in full force and she felt invincible. Then her chair banged into the wall behind her. Piss flaps, she thought. She looked up at Woody, whose face was completely blank. Not knowing what to do next and feeling slightly awkward, she stood up. Janie’s mind had gone blank. She tentatively gave Coupon Jukebox a wee nudge. Nothing. Woody opened her mouth to speak but Janie beat her to it.

'You unimaginable bastard.'

Very slowly, Woody raised her hand up to her brow and removed her specs. Her eyes squinted into little slits. 'What did you call me?' Janie hung her head in shame, unable to speak. She didn't know what she was more embarrassed about, calling Woody a bastard or the fact that she'd quoted Kate Winslet in Titanic. Of all the biting insults in the history of film and Coupon Jukebox selects from possibly one of the worst scripts ever written. Janie panicked as the realisation of the consequences began to dawn on her: she would be sacked for sure. Women, if you could call her that, like these complained for a living. She went to sit, thought better of it and stood up to her full height again and fidgeted with her hands. She forced herself to make eye contact with Woody and wished she hadn’t. Coupon Jukebox piped up with Elvis’ An American Trilogy:
Look awaaay. Look away. Look awa...
Shut your puss, Coupon Jukebox, thought Janie, it had done enough damage. She sat down and waited for hell to break loose.

Woody leaned in towards the counter. ‘You just called me a bastard, didn’t you?’

As she visualized the look on her parents face when she told them that she had been fired again, she felt dizzy. She prayed that Woody would start her monologue about what a useless, thick, ignorant, masculine munter she was, just so she didn’t have to say anything. She was at an utter loss.

True to form, tapping away on the seating plan, Woody began her rant.

‘I have never, never been more insulted or degraded in my life. Do you know who I am? I have given this theatre a serious, serious amount of money throughout the years. I have put up with a lot of inconveniences in that time, and yet, I did not complain when you charged five pounds …’
Glory, glory, hallelujah , continued Coupon Jukebox.
Not now, thought Janie.
‘… for brochures, I did not complain when ice cream prices went through the roof, I did not complain when I was not allowed in after being only five minutes late. I did not complain…’
Glory, glory halleluuuujah.
You have to stop, pleaded Janie, internally.
‘… when that woman would not turn off her breathing - apparatus when none of my party could hear what the blazes was being said on stage. But I tell you this, Missy’ Woody gave Janie the same once over as she did during her earlier gender scrutiny and mimed speech marks when she said the word, missy. ‘…I am going to complain about this, you just mark my wor…’
Glory, Glory, halleluuuuuuuuujah. Janie snapped, ‘Shut the fuck up.’

The moment hung in the air like knickers on a washing line that still had visible stains on the gusset. For a wild second, Janie thought that she might burst into hysterical peals of laughter. Oh sweet Jesus, please, no, she thought but it was game over when she saw the look of sheer horror on Woody’s face.

Her manic laughter echoed through the foyer. She had never laughed so hard in her life. Tears streamed down her face and her belly ached as she noted that she sounded like a Pantomime villain on crack. As her laughter became increasingly self conscious, it gradually ebbed away and she noticed that she was standing up. She looked at Woody who was gawping at her like she was a caged animal at the Zoo. She quickly sat down and the horror of what had just happened washed over her. Her stomach lurched and she thought that she might throw up. She wracked her brains for something, anything to say. She had to act fast before Woody piped up and Coupon Jukebox made her sing that Shut Your Fucking Face Uncle Fucker song from South Park.

‘I wasn’t talking to you!’ Janie cringed at her words. She didn't have a leg to stand on now; telling a punter to shut the fuck up was one thing but trying to explain to her about Coupon Jukebox would get her locked up in a padded cell for sure.

It was Woody’s turn to be speechless. Slowly, she started shaking her head then started spewing out high pitched sounds, mingled with the occasional few words. ‘Uuugh… uuugh… I’ve never… I’m… uuugh… oh, well….I……. Uuuugh’
Oh yeah, right there, uuuugh. Yes…. Yes… YES. UUUUGH.

Although Woody couldn’t have been further from sexual arousal, Janie could not blame Coupon Jukebox for playing the famous orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally.

‘I want to speak to your manager, now.’
Woody banged her fist on the counter, and sheets of spittle hit the glass. Janie swallowed a few times:
‘He’s not actually in today.’
Woody’s nostrils flared up like a pigs and spoke in a low, threatening tone, ‘I want to speak to a senior member of management.’ Janie struggled to keep her voice steady.
‘None of them are in today. They’re all at a managers meeting.’
Woody’s eyes bulged, ‘You mean to tell me that you…’ she pointed at Janie, ‘…have been left to man the fort?’ She hung her head and nodded. ‘What time will he be in tomorrow?’
‘9am’
‘Fine, I will be here promptly at nine. This is not over', and with that she spun around and stormed out of the foyer, leaving the door open.

The bitter draught swirled around the foyer. Janie sat in silence for a few moments chewing on a ragged bit of skin on her lower lip until it bled. She stared vacantly into the distance: her mind was completely lucid. Eventually, she cleared her throat and said in an inaudible voice 'the Box office doesn’t open until 10am.' Coupon Jukebox faded in Aerosmith’s Janie’s got a Gun.