The lady in front of me at the box-office was unhappy at the ticket price. She said she had no idea it was so expensive, as her husband usually pays. She told the cashier that it was a ludicrous price to pay, especially since it was only around 5pm, which she considered to be off-peak. She became impassioned and said that it was no wonder that people chose to watch pirated DVDs instead of going to the cinema, and rose to a crescendo, protesting that she certainly would not be paying that much for a ticket, and would be surprised if many people would.
The assistant looked at her without sympathy or antipathy, just blankly.
A second passed. A look flashed across the lady's face. It wasn't defeat, because no battle had been engaged in. It was mild embarrassment at having spoken up in the first place. She let out an 'Okay... bye' that didn't know if it was supposed to be apologetic or staunchly unapologetic.
She left.
I agreed with everything she had said. Maybe if more customers spoke out like she had, our voices would submerge into a choir singing a protest song too loud and impassioned to be ignored.
'One ticket for 'Semi-Pro' please.'
With my facial expression, stance and tone, I screamed;
'Don't worry! I'm nothing out of the ordinary. You won't get any trouble from me. Why can't these people just follow the script? Weirdos. Please like me!'
'£9.60 please'
'Here you go'.
I gave the assistant a friendly, knowing smile as I handed the ten pound note across.
The assistant looked at me blankly.
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