Shit. How long has she been standing there?
"Oh my, excuse me, ma'am, did you need something?"
"Yes, I asked three times if you could refill my popcorn and you just stood there, staring."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to keep you, here you go."
"Do you have comment cards, son?"
"Yes... yes, we do, ma'am."
God, I hate my job. I can't even have inner monologue anymore without being interrupted by some stuck-up grandma. I know she's excited that movies have sound now, but she doesn't have to be a bitch about it.
Anyways, where was I?
It's Tuesday. Again. It's Tuesday again and I'm still here, in this town, in this building, in this vest and in this state of mind so that the prospect of possibility becomes less and less... possible. When the hell did that happen? When did it become crazy for me to be an astronaut, or ridiculous to be a spy? When did the world, no, scratch that, why did the world snap it's fingers and make dreams something that you can't even dream about? I tell someone now that I want to be a spy, they laugh, and think I’m retarded. When did certain things stop being possible?
Oh, good, she was able to give my manager her complaint personally. Score.
“Buckman! Here! Now!”
He only calls me by my last name when he’s pissed. He only cares enough to yell when people are watching. He’s Derek, Derek Young; my “manager”. We went to high school together and then we went to college together. He started working here one day before I did. He makes twenty-five cents an hour more than I do. I think this might be the smallest amount of power I’ve ever seen go to someone’s head. Whatever. At least she’s out of my head. Who? That’s not important.
I remember thinking I could be a pirate. Now I work in a movie theater. Irony tastes bitter.
“This is your third negative comment in just as many weeks.
“This time was different, Derek.”
“Care to explain? This woman said that you were staring at her breasts.”
That bitch! I was staring that the pinball machine, and she walked in front of it! No one has stared at her rack since 1986, and even then I can promise it was an accident. Euggh! They sag so much I bet she keeps them in her front pockets just when it gets cold between her booth and the breakfast buffet line.
“Derek, I swear, I wasn’t looking at her rack. I was staring at the pinball machine, spaced out, and then she came up. I promise.”
“The first time I had the flu and you refused to cover for me. The second time some guy spat in my face, and I called him on it, so come on. I get it, the lady thought I was stoned, I’m sorry, I was just spacing out.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Buckman. You’re off of concessions, go to the ticket booth. Keep making me choose between the patrons and you and I don’t think you’ll like where your left. You’re on thin ice, punk.”
I’m three weeks older than him, and he just called me a punk. Here comes a montage: Two teenage boys come in and ask for tickets to the new Pixar flick. Ten bucks says they heard Isla Fischer goes topless in her new movie and are going to sneak in. A grandmother, her daughter, and her granddaughter come in. They see Sisterhood of traveling pants fourteen, or whatever they’re on now. Shocker. Two tickets go to the new Gerard Butler movie, ten friends see the new Seth Rogen, two more for the Pixar, and seven for the aforementioned Fischer-booby-picture. I sell twenty six tickets and then I lose my breath.
“Scott this is Jeff, my fiancé.
“Wow, fiancé? Con-congratulations guys”
“Yeah, I know! Hey, can we get two for the new Seth Rogen movie?
“Of course, Brittany. $14.50.”
That’s the girl who broke my heart. And apparently now she’s marrying a guy who isn’t me.
She’s marrying a guy who isn’t me?
I guess anything really is possible... Fuck, that’s pathetic. I can’t believe she won the break up. Let me fill you in. That was Brittany. You know that girl you grow up with, who knows everything about you and would’ve made the best co-pilot on anything, ever? That was her. We were best friends, and then we realized we were a boy and a girl and just how much fun kissing is. When we were younger though, I was going to be Batman and she was going to be Wonder Woman. We kept that joke and went with until we were about 20. And then she blew some guy who wasn’t me and has been with him ever since. Wonder Woman? More like Wonder... bitch.
I head back to concessions and tell myself I’m not going to think about why this night is terrible. I’m just not going to. Sometimes I swear that this building is where time comes to die, but I can’t think that for very long because people can never get enough milk duds.
“Ummmm, better make that two, yeah, two boxes of milk duds please.”
“Whatever you like sir, anything to drink?
“Ahhhhhhh... Hmmmm... Diet coke?
“Is diet pepsi ok?”
Don’t. Just don’t even think about it. Don’t think about her and certainly don’t think about here. Don’t think how every day your life becomes more and more predictable. You’re here. You’re stuck here. Get over it. She cheated on you. Forget about her.
“Just a regular coke then”
“No, sir, we don’t have coke products.”
“Oh, well, alright, just the milk duds, then.”
“That’ll be $4.50, please.”
“Keep the change!”
I can’t tell if that guy was annoying or not, but I don’t really have time to think about it. I never do. Not here.