Cool air strikes your face as you push the cold, metal door open and step out into the night. The yellow glow of the bulbs above your head temporarily blind you in contrast to the stark dark of the sky. Hordes of people filter out of the doors behind you, gently brushing past as you attempt to work your way over to the side of the building near the marquee. You listen to the hum of the customers’ excited conversations as you pluck the over-used numbers from the light board, replacing them with the correct showings for the following day.
As the movie-goers disperse into the parking lot, you take a few steps away from the lights to take in the stars in the sky that night. They appear dim in comparison to the brightness behind you, but you can still make out the northern star. Times like this make you want to turn in your old, grease-stained uniform and battered nametag to set off into the night for uninhibited adventure. You close your eyes as another gust of wind comes and rustles your hair.
However, your moment of serenity is interrupted by your insufferable manager, Steven. You can hear the distinctive scuffle of his worn-down shoes and the subtle aroma of cheap aftershave as he approaches. You turn to see him come to a dramatic halt before you, hands on his hips as if he has caught you stealing straight from the till.
“Are you on break right now?” he asks in a way that implies he already knows the answer.
“No, just finishing up outside,” you answer simply, hoping to avoid another one of his time theft rants.
“Well we don’t pay you to hang around, get back to work,” he says as he pushes his smudged, wire-rimmed glasses further up on his oily face, “bathrooms need to be cleaned and theaters need to be swept. I don’t want to be here all night, do you?”
He has already turned abruptly on his heel and made his way back into the box office, clearly emphasizing that the question was rhetorical. You roll your eyes and push your way back into the lobby. The familiar aroma of sweet chocolate and buttery popcorn fills your nose. The arcade games to your left sit abandoned, their bright, flashing lights blinking eagerly in an attempt to coerce children to feed them quarters. You trudge over to the supply closet and open the battered, wooden door. A caddy full of bathroom cleaners sits haphazardly on the floor with the dusty broom slanted and leaning against the wall overhead.
As the movie-goers disperse into the parking lot, you take a few steps away from the lights to take in the stars in the sky that night. They appear dim in comparison to the brightness behind you, but you can still make out the northern star. Times like this make you want to turn in your old, grease-stained uniform and battered nametag to set off into the night for uninhibited adventure. You close your eyes as another gust of wind comes and rustles your hair.
However, your moment of serenity is interrupted by your insufferable manager, Steven. You can hear the distinctive scuffle of his worn-down shoes and the subtle aroma of cheap aftershave as he approaches. You turn to see him come to a dramatic halt before you, hands on his hips as if he has caught you stealing straight from the till.
“Are you on break right now?” he asks in a way that implies he already knows the answer.
“No, just finishing up outside,” you answer simply, hoping to avoid another one of his time theft rants.
“Well we don’t pay you to hang around, get back to work,” he says as he pushes his smudged, wire-rimmed glasses further up on his oily face, “bathrooms need to be cleaned and theaters need to be swept. I don’t want to be here all night, do you?”
He has already turned abruptly on his heel and made his way back into the box office, clearly emphasizing that the question was rhetorical. You roll your eyes and push your way back into the lobby. The familiar aroma of sweet chocolate and buttery popcorn fills your nose. The arcade games to your left sit abandoned, their bright, flashing lights blinking eagerly in an attempt to coerce children to feed them quarters. You trudge over to the supply closet and open the battered, wooden door. A caddy full of bathroom cleaners sits haphazardly on the floor with the dusty broom slanted and leaning against the wall overhead.