Someone once asked me when I was going to quit front of house and get a “real job”. It may not be the most complex or highly skilled form of employment on the planet, but being a part of ensuring the safety, well-being, and enjoyable experience for up to 1900 people in a room eight times a week is a real job. And one that I absolutely love.

I have worked in front of house, on and off, for over a decade. I’ve been an usher in Sydney, London, and New York. I’ve worked in tiny black box theatres, an opera house (not the Sydney one, though I have sung there with various choirs), and commercial theatres with up to 1900 seats. It’s a job that was my staple through two degrees, and been my constant while I try and get a job on the stage. Australian performer Paul Capsis started out as an usher. As did Caroline O’Connor.

Becoming an usher occurred thanks to a fortuitous happenstance. I was at university in Sydney, and one day was babysitting a cousin in the city. My aunt and I agreed to meet at the MLC Center. I was a little early and saw a sign for the Theatre Royal. I was on the look out for a new job, and decided to go in and ask if they were hiring. I met the delightful Trish Charan, who remains to this day one of the best bosses and human beings on the planet. I interviewed, got the job, and officially left seven years later when I moved to London.

I love getting paid to watch theatre. I love being on a long run and being able to see the same show 8 times a week. On a good show, it’s like being paid to take a masterclass. On a weaker show, it’s a masterclass in how not to do theatre. Terrible shows are when the front of house team really bands together.

On a long run, the show itself (usually) remains the same, but understudies, new cast members, and the audience itself, can make every night new.

The house has a different feel for each show. School groups, groups of pensioners, matinees, Friday nights, shows on or around significant holidays, all impact the feel of the room and the smoothness of an evening.

It’s not always wonderful. Constantly telling people to turn their goddamn phones off and explaining for the umpteenth time, that “No, silent mode is not off. The screen is glowing, therefore it is on. Please. Turn. It. Off.”

Constantly reminding people they cannot take photos or film the show. You weren’t taking a photo of your child. You weren’t just checking a message. WE CAN SEE YOU. STOP DOING IT.

Explaining late seating. Explaining that yes, your 3 month old baby does require a ticket.

Dealing with drunk patrons. Dealing with screaming babies. Dealing with the couple who decided they would just pop forward to the empty seats in the middle of the front row once the lights went down and refusing to move when the latecomers arrive for those seats.

I’ve watched a couple pick each others noses. I’ve heard plenty of stories of frisky couples who just couldn’t wait to get home and thought they couldn’t be seen in the dark (you can be seen, and, yes, we’re watching you). I’ve seen a few people faint. I’ve seen a drunk woman run onto the stage at curtain call. I've helped deal with patrons whose tickets were stolen. I've seen people turn up on the wrong night. I've seen people show up at the finale asking to be let in.

It’s the live immediacy that I love. Hearing the collective gasp of an audience. Seeing an audience erupt with waves of appreciation and joy at the curtain call. Talking with patrons at intermission and hearing their stories. The thrill that courses through the front of house team when there’s a celebrity in. It's not every day you get to sell a program to the Queen of Spain.

The people I’ve had the pleasure of working with make is what makes front of house one of the best jobs. Most are “resting” actors, performers in-between gigs (or still waiting for gigs). There are also researchers, medical students, artists, writers, and retirees. People from all walks of life, all different backgrounds who share a love of theatre. You become close working together 8 shows a week for months on end.

It’s not the most glamorous or well-paid (especially in the U.S.) job, but I love it. If I’m lucky, one day I’ll be one of the white-haired treasures who've been ushering for a thousand years.

Until my job is being on the stage, I'll happily take your tickets, show you to your seat, and join you in celebrating the joy of participating in live theatre. It's one of the most unreal jobs in the world.