Coming into college, I had never been employed. I tried, but I never succeeded in securing a job — not until the day I walked up to the Pollak Theatre table at Monmouth University’s job fair. I was hired right on the spot so, naturally, I started celebrating. I called my mom to relay the great news; her little girl had her first job. I was finally going to be able to earn my own money and be more independent. For me, this was one step closer to being in the real world.

When my friends ask me what I do at my job, it’s a fairly simple answer. I help people to their seats, scan tickets, sell tickets and take care of the VIP room in the back for live performances. That’s all I say, but there’s way more that comes with being a theatre employee than I let on. Let me walk you through one of my shifts.

When a show starts at a given time, my shift starts an hour earlier. The first half hour, while it is meant for getting ourselves organized, is basically all of the student employees standing around the cramped box office going on our phones and looking up dumb videos to show each other. We also gossip about crazy things that happened to us throughout the day or, my personal favorite, debate which emoji is the best one (it’s obviously the crying laughing face). Getting ourselves put together — assigning jobs for the day, grabbing our walkie-talkies and earpieces, gathering the programs and securing either a flashlight or a ticket scanner depending on the job assigned to you — is crammed into the last five minutes of our prep time. Then it’s out to the lobby.

Half an hour before the show starts, we open the doors for people to start filing in. However, we first have to be given the OK by the sound check people just to make sure that everything is ready. This means that nine times out of ten, a line begins to form in the lobby. Why this takes place is beyond me, as we never made it a requirement for our patrons to do so. It’s also pretty nerve-wracking, especially if it’s not a general admission show, to see the amount of people that you’re being assigned to watch while the show is going on.

General admission shows are a dream. When people come in, all you have to do is give them programs and let them find their way over to whatever seat they desire to sit in (just as long as it isn’t the one in the back corner — that one’s unofficially mine). There are always screenings, so there’s absolutely no clean up involved. The only downside to general admission is probably what shows are being played. You have your pick of a four-hour Sunday afternoon opera, a ballet of varying times, or National Theatre Live, which is my personal favorite. Call me crazy, but I’m not really a fan of people singing in a different language or people dancing with no language being spoken at all (thank you internet summaries for helping me follow along).

General admission definitely makes our jobs a lot easier, but concert series or live performances of any type spice things up a bit. When I find out that a show isn’t general admission, I always hope I’m a ticket scanner. The job is the same every single show no matter what admission and the title in itself is self explanatory — you scan tickets. Not too difficult except for when the scanners act up, but you’re able to scan the ticket. Eventually. If you have the unfortunate luck of being an usher for these shows, however, prepare for a long shift. You have to help people to their seats, which I’m not going to lie can be pretty rewarding at times. Most people I’ve helped are senior citizens who most times are extremely sweet and thankful for you just doing yourjob. But then there’s also the added factor of being a speed walker who’s helping a slow mover. “Where in the world is the person I was — oh, there they are.”

People are also late to most performances. So the flashlight has to come out and I have to try and keep track of the person I’m guiding and see past the elbows of people already sitting just so I can see the lettering on the armrests. I have to speak loud enough for the person to hear me but quiet enough so as not to disturb the other audience members, walk slow enough for them to keep up but fast enough to get out of everyone’s way and shine the light enough to see but not enough that it’s in everyone else’s eyes. You need to find a balance, but sadly there isn’t one. Someone’s going to end up unhappy. Here come the complaints.

Handling complaints is actually ridiculously stressful for someone as spastic as I am. I always want to go by the age-old motto, “The customer is always right,” but most times they’re not. I hate to say it, but a good 95% of complaints I’ve received are out of my hands and honestly extremely ridiculous. The ballet isn’t live? Maybe the “Live from Moscow” right on the flyer you’re showing me wasn’t clear to you, but there’s just nothing I can do. I am so incredibly sorry (not really).

When the show is all done, the lingering people couldn’t get out of the theatre any faster. After hours on your feet (with breaks sitting in the back of the theatre) all you want to do is go back to your dorm and go to sleep. All in all, my experience at Pollak has been challenging, but I’ve made a lot of friends, and I know that I’m learning a lot of life skills that will help me in the future in the workplace. Until then, I’m proud to call myself a Pollak employee.