The Fun Side of Work

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In the 1980s I worked for a large international magazine company in London, England. When I started there, I couldn't understand why our graphic designer was always so busy that we had to use a freelance graphic artist for some of the magazine work. The really odd thing was that he also had a full-time job with the same group in the same building, just on a different publication. As his magazine was one of the big sellers for the company, I would have thought he was too busy to do extra work.

Eventually I discovered the answer to this puzzle. It was really quite simple - all the magazine graphic designers did freelance work for other magazines in the same company which meant they didn't have enough time to do all their work for their own publication. That meant all the magazines had to use freelancers. The really funny part is that freelance work was invoiced by the designers and paid quite separately to their salaries.

Over Worked, Under Paid
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In 1978, for just a few months, I worked in a the box office of a West End London theatre, (the theatre district a bit like Broadway in New York).

The show was a big hit and sold out most nights and always at weekends. Selling tickets in a box office doesn't sound like a hard job, but it could be. There were always long queues (lines) of people waiting to buy tickets and it could be so stressful, the manager only allowed anyone to stay on the sales windows for an hour. After that, you were relieved and did some of the clerical work instead.

We would get asked stupid questions like, "Is there a pillar in front of those seats?" This theatre had no pillars and anyway, box office staff always warn the buyer if the only available tickets have poor views. There was always a great temptation to say, "No sir, (or madam) did you want one?" Occasionally you would hear somebody succumb to temptation.

The moment of sick humor I remember best occurred one Saturday evening. As usual the show was a sell-out and so we were selling standing-only tickets for one (British) pound each (about $3 at the time, I think). The impresario (producer and money man for the show) bounced into the box office. He seemed to believe we all loved him but, actually, we sincerely hated him. We were badly paid and worked long hours.

This particular evening the impresario said, "I've just been talking to two girls in the queue for standing tickets. They've seen the show ten times. I must do something for them."
The box office manager said, "We've just had two tickets returned ten pounds each."
The impresario seemed to have developed deafness because everybody else heard this but he didn't appear to have heard because he said, "Yes, I must do something for them." He paused and we all expected him to say he'd take the two returned tickets.
"Yes," he said again, "I must do something for them... I know, give me two standing tickets." With that, he handed over two pounds.

To say we were all disgusted is an understatement. After he left, we all exploded with scorn at how mean he was, particularly as he was a very rich man.

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The opening hours of a gift store in Seahouses, Northumberland, England, UK
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