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I love working the Halloween season. Really, I do. It's the Gothling in me. I love doing the haunted houses and am willing to drive two hours and camp over the weekend, then schlepp back for school, to work at the one that hired me first.
But even the most beloved jobs have their SCs.
The start of it all (as remember from my LJ post)
My first job, and the one I'm returning to, was as crowd control for the cornfield walk. I had already witnessed a furious Loudoun County fire marshall reaming us out for having too many people go at once. So I came up with a character (Agent Sophia Cole of the Bureau of Supernatural Conservation and Law Enforcement), gave a little safety speech, and made sure the groups stayed small and evenly spaced.
We had a family working there, a mother, father, and their two daughters, then nine and six. The littlest one was a cherubic little thing with champagne blond hair, big blue eyes and a near-perpetual smile. Her mother, a Goth-mommy I would have been proud to call mine, put her in her father's flannel shirt, overalls and boots and gave her dead makeup. The child was then placed in the cornfield to do the Children of the Corn routine. Her father was setup nearby with a radio and camo to shake a few cornstalks.
Around 9 pm, I sent a group of frat boys through. A couple are drunk and one made a pass at me, while the other tried desperately to get me to break character with a high five. They were at the back of the line so I had a few minutes to sit and drink my tea.
Goth-mommy comes hurtling down the path in a rage about fifteen minutes later. She blasts past me and into the cornfield, coming out another ten minutes later with the six year old. Her makeup is messed up and there is a large footprint on her chest.
The frat boys had freaked out when they saw her, hit her, knocked her down and ran her over. Miraculously, she was only bruised and shaken. But GM, the boss man, MY mother and I were all furious.
"How DARE you try and quiet a crowd over me!"
The size of group I was allowed to send into the field was six, eight at worst. No strollers, though if you had a wheelchair that could make the turns and take the terrain, that was fine. But I had groups of cheerleaders from the local High Schools that wanted to send in 18 with one chaperone. Then along came one yuppie lady with 12 kids with her.
Me: Guess Who?
YB: Yuppie...woman.
Me: I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't let a group this size go through. You'll have to split up somehow and meet at the other end. It's perfectly safe though!
YB: *eyeroll* FINE.*turns around to work with her kids*
Now, the line was getting louder and I couldn't hear what the lady was saying, much less my own thoughts. As she turned to me and tried to speak, I realized there was only one way the was going to work.
Me: I NEED EVERYONE TO QUIET DOWN PLEASE!
YB: EXCUSE ME!
Me: I'm sorry, ma'am, I--
YB: I am trying to follow your orders.
Me: Yes, ma'am, but I--
YB: What is your problem?
(Cue a two minute stare down)
Me: *Through my teeth* You can send the first group through, ma'am.
YB: THANK you.
There's more horror stories from the Haunted House, but I can't type and keep my back like this. I'll have more tomorrow.
But even the most beloved jobs have their SCs.
The start of it all (as remember from my LJ post)
My first job, and the one I'm returning to, was as crowd control for the cornfield walk. I had already witnessed a furious Loudoun County fire marshall reaming us out for having too many people go at once. So I came up with a character (Agent Sophia Cole of the Bureau of Supernatural Conservation and Law Enforcement), gave a little safety speech, and made sure the groups stayed small and evenly spaced.
We had a family working there, a mother, father, and their two daughters, then nine and six. The littlest one was a cherubic little thing with champagne blond hair, big blue eyes and a near-perpetual smile. Her mother, a Goth-mommy I would have been proud to call mine, put her in her father's flannel shirt, overalls and boots and gave her dead makeup. The child was then placed in the cornfield to do the Children of the Corn routine. Her father was setup nearby with a radio and camo to shake a few cornstalks.
Around 9 pm, I sent a group of frat boys through. A couple are drunk and one made a pass at me, while the other tried desperately to get me to break character with a high five. They were at the back of the line so I had a few minutes to sit and drink my tea.
Goth-mommy comes hurtling down the path in a rage about fifteen minutes later. She blasts past me and into the cornfield, coming out another ten minutes later with the six year old. Her makeup is messed up and there is a large footprint on her chest.
The frat boys had freaked out when they saw her, hit her, knocked her down and ran her over. Miraculously, she was only bruised and shaken. But GM, the boss man, MY mother and I were all furious.
"How DARE you try and quiet a crowd over me!"
The size of group I was allowed to send into the field was six, eight at worst. No strollers, though if you had a wheelchair that could make the turns and take the terrain, that was fine. But I had groups of cheerleaders from the local High Schools that wanted to send in 18 with one chaperone. Then along came one yuppie lady with 12 kids with her.
Me: Guess Who?
YB: Yuppie...woman.
Me: I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't let a group this size go through. You'll have to split up somehow and meet at the other end. It's perfectly safe though!
YB: *eyeroll* FINE.*turns around to work with her kids*
Now, the line was getting louder and I couldn't hear what the lady was saying, much less my own thoughts. As she turned to me and tried to speak, I realized there was only one way the was going to work.
Me: I NEED EVERYONE TO QUIET DOWN PLEASE!
YB: EXCUSE ME!
Me: I'm sorry, ma'am, I--
YB: I am trying to follow your orders.
Me: Yes, ma'am, but I--
YB: What is your problem?
(Cue a two minute stare down)
Me: *Through my teeth* You can send the first group through, ma'am.
YB: THANK you.
There's more horror stories from the Haunted House, but I can't type and keep my back like this. I'll have more tomorrow.
)
Some people really need a serious ass-kicking.
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