I usually collect ridiculous stories from work, waiting several days at least before sharing them with you all on this marvelous blog. But tonight was definitely crazy enough to warrant a post of its own. Never a dull day at work, but today takes the cake.
The first story is about a man named Zeb Atlas. For those of you who don't know Zeb:
This is him. A gay-for-pay pornstar. A freakily muscled ex-body builder. Has a girlfriend named Devon Michaels (also a pornstar). So what do these two people have to do with me, you ask? Well, my friends, I shall tell you.
He and his lady-friend came to the theater tonight to watch "Michael Jackson's This is It." And guess who happened to take their tickets? Moi. I of course immediately recognized him but not his girlfriend. She's not exactly in high demand in gay porn. Anyway, Zeb is even more gigantic in person than he seems on TV. Rather frighteningly so, actually. So I didn't say anything, especially since he was with his girlfriend. And that was my first porn star sighting.
The second story from tonight also involves teh gays. A young, 20-something couple of the non-caucasian persuasion came to see MJ tonight, but at a different time than Zeb. About thirty minutes into the film, I heard a commotion in the downstairs theater lobby and looked to see what was up. The two young (and extremely attractive, I might add) men were arguing with an older man and my manager between them. Apparently, the younger men had been somewhat noisy in the theater, although the details are uncorroborated. The old white guy asked them to keep it down. Somehow from that point it escalated to him leaving the movie and asking the nearest employee to call the cops. Luckily, we're not stupid so no one called the cops. All three left the premises at my manager's request. As the couple came by, I played the "family" card and asked if everything was OK. They just responded that some old white guy was being a jerk. A few minutes later, the aforementioned jerk came and stood near me, waiting for the couple to leave so he didn't have to see them. He just stood there, huffing and puffing angrily and texting someone on his phone. Dramatic.
My final story for tonight is about balls. Well, one ball really. A glass sphere ( hah, see what I did there?). Some guy walked into the theater with a glass sphere on his head, just chilling there. I asked him what's with the balancing act, and he replied by saying he was a contact juggler. If you don't know what contact juggling is, google it. Really cool stuff. You take a large-ish glass ball and roll it around your hands, arms, chest, etc. in fluid motions without letting it lose contact with your body (thus the name).
The man was Australian (I'm a total sucker for accents) and very attractive. I'm not sure how reciprocal it was, but I definitely turned on the charm and flirted. We talked for a few minutes about juggling and balls, but only after he left did it occur to me to say "can you show me how to handle your balls?" or some other equally lame line. Damn. What a waste.