A tall, thin, mousy-haired girl with a chrome pleated skirt and magenta stockings on comes up to the ticket checker and says in that everything-ends-in-a-question way, "Um, hi? We have complimentary tickets? Our friends? They like, got us in?"
Dale and I snickered at each other, but soon realized that the fun didn't end there. "oh, she's only eighteen" the fashion-plate told her friend, "but she's got a skirt on, so nobody's going to card her". She and her friend passed gems such as these back and forth to each other for a few minutes, then got confused when the ticket girl announced that the non-VIP people could go into the lobby and followed her.
Dale and I snickered on, proposing other thoughts that may be going through this girl's head. From behind us we hear, "you guys have no idea." We turn around to see the picture-perfect example of an emo chick smiling at us. "I used to work with her at Tower Records. She lasted like 3 weeks. We kept her off the floor most of the time because all she'd talk about was clubs and urinary tract infections and it scared the customers. Finally one day she comes in the back room and says 'I know why none of you talk to me. It's because I'm prettier than all of you and you're jealous' and she left that day and never came back."
For all we knew, this waste of hair could have been a nice misunderstood sweet girl. I'm eternally indebted to this emo chick for validating our prejudices and reaffirming that Dale and I are good judges of character.