When I see a family heading for the entrance with children who could be 12 or 14, my heart sinks.
The dad will always insist the kids are old enough to see a ‘15’ movie, and, most of the time, I just give in.
I only refuse if it’s a horror film and the child is clearly too young, then I just think: ‘Why do you want to traumatise your child?’ I call the manager over at that point.
The worst customers are mums who bring their babies — the sound in cinemas is so loud. I always say: ‘Have you got earplugs for them?’
But they’re usually mums on an afternoon jolly and insist their babies will sleep through the film. They don’t. They howl, and the other customers rightly complain.
The mess people leave is astonishing. I saw one well-dressed mother kick an unfinished box of popcorn under the seat so it spilled everywhere, and she just walked off.
They’re also the type who try to smuggle Prosecco in. If I hear the clink of bottles during a quiet bit, I’m up there with the torch.
Once there was a physical fight over a ‘premier’ seat. Someone who hadn’t booked was sitting in it, the children were upset and the dad who’d booked ended up punching the other guy. We had to call the police. The film wasn’t even that good.