Looking back, I guess I didn’t expect much from this job. Like most, if not all people, I wanted to get free movies and relax all summer while my mom whored herself out to the church and left me alone. Now, stuck in the present behind a register that is currently freezing intermittently every other exchange, I had to force myself to remain neutral on the issue of gun control. Every customer has asked me if we have any water bottles, and my response has been to politely gesture at the big ass sign we have taped tot he wall behind concession. In fact, we have multiple signs up. Apparently, that does not matter to the average southern California consumer. Right now, I am attempting to help a woman who clearly is used to higher standards of customer service.
“I want to speak to a manager, this is ridiculous.” She snarled, folding her arms and staring around, like a manager would teleport out of thin air at her request. I was genuinely surprised because, well, I had not said a word to her except ,”Hello.”
“Ma’am, what’s wrong?” I asked. She gave me a rigid glare and continued looking around, ignoring the line of seven people behind her who were also beginning to exhibit hostile tendencies. I glanced past her at box office and could see the top of Ellie’s head poking above the glass wall around box. If she is standing up, she is very busy. No box person sits down when things are going smoothly. I wondered for a split second if a projector was down.
“I’m sorry, but I think our manager is upstairs starting movies-”
“I’m not talking to you. Where is your manager?” She blurted, her voice so sharp it could cut a diamond.
Behind me, I heard the familiar sonic pop of the first kernel of popcorn exploding. Right now, in between trying to help this annoying bitch and the increasing tide of machine gun fire behind me, I felt that all too familiar spring begin to tighten in my skull. Just because I sell you popcorn doesn’t mean I can summon a genie out of my ass for your amusement. You aren’t in a palace, you royal pain in my ass. I inhale deeply, and give the woman a sincerely fake smile.
“Madam, the manager will be down shortly. You can wait for him by box office.”
Then, I may have done the dumbest thing yet. I gestured at the man behind the woman, and nodded for him to come forward. He shrugged, stepped around the woman to the counter. She looked at me, eyes going red with rage. I pretended not to notice, but I felt my testicles shrink under her gaze. Shiver me testicles. The man ordered a simple meal, and leaned in to me after I had begun to ring him up.
“She’s a bitch. I feel for you.”
I gave him a wink and handed over his change. He flipped me the peace sign and headed out. The woman was standing at box office right now, and Kelvin was doing his best to remain straight-faced. Turns out, her husband was late and she was taking it out on me. Of course, she never would admit to that but that is what Kelvin told me later.
After an hour, the rush was over and the tide had ebbed. We sat in box office, relaxing. Well, Rat and Ellie did. Kelvin had run out to get a burrito from El Polo Loco.
“Hey. Go do theater checks.” Rat ordered, moving closer to his girlfriend. He gave me a sly wink and rubbed her lower back. I got the hint and practically tripped over my own feet trying to get away.
“Daddy has a king-size whopper for you…” I heard him croon. I was too far away to see what went on, but something tells me that is was no less explicit than your average four dollar Hustler. But, knowing Rat’s luck and ever-sized ego, the most action he would get this shift was from himself. And, he even bragged about that too. The night dwindled on, and I went on break at 8:27. I had a mandatory 35 minute dinner break, and I spent it sitting outside smoking. I went through half a pack sitting there, and that was the first time my hands actually shook on the job. No amount of nicotine would calm me. With six minutes left on my break, Rat came outside and joined me. He bummed a smoke off me and sat down a few feet away. A couple awkward seconds passed.
“What was up with that women?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed, flicking the ash off the tip.
“Maybe she was on the rag.” Rat muttered. He leaned over and slugged me on the arm. It didn’t hurt as much.
“You did good dude. You did fucking good.”

I did good.

I will never understand people.

The burn in my chest subsided easily that night. My mom ripped me a new orifice and told me all about how her mother had died because of lung cancer. Looking back, I didn’t find it to be all that different. Getting my lungs wet, at the time, felt like a breath of fresh air, minus the puke and burning sensations it left in my tonsils. I should’ve known that smoking would leave a stink. She made me wash out my mouth with Listerine and brush my teeth twice. She even watched me do so.

I guess this is the part where I flood the page with needless expository details about my upbringing so I can garner your sympathy. Well, I have to do it. My mom was a missionary to China with the Baptist church. She wasn’t a Baptist by any regard, instead sticking to her traditional Catholic upbringing in secret. Once in China, she had little success, converting only a little girl who was taken from her parent’s home in the middle of the night by the government. They never saw her again. Dismayed and discouraged, my mom packed her belongings up and left China and returned to the states. My father was the polar opposite. Drinking, smoking, ex-military. He died when I was eleven. From what I remember, he didn’t fit the stereotype of shell-shocked veterans, instead being a relatively decent father considering the unfortunate circumstances. He had a mental disorder that I never was quite able to grasp. He would forget where he was, and start asking strange questions. When he passed away, my mom remarried my stepdad John. To call John an asshole would be a disservice to assholes everywhere. Around my mother, he was a good Catholic, faithful husband and ample provider. In his den, he was addicted to gay pornography and gambled like a fish swam. He had a girl he was seeing on the side who worked as an exotic dancer. I met her once. She introduced herself as Cherry. I started laughing, and I didn’t understand why. John hit me so hard, it left a welt. I didn’t care, I pissed him off.
“Show some goddamn respect.” He kept saying. Had I had a fuller grasp of the situation, I would’ve swung back with a pithy response that no doubt would’ve rewarded more welts. So, I kept my mouth shut and just remembered. Oh course, now I have a very pithy response for him, but I don’t want to sully his good name, or Cherry’s life choice.

All of this came to me while I smoked for the second time with Rat. Smoking tends to bring out the introspective side of me. Odd. We were sitting in the same spot on the fountain, about a week later. Traces of vomit were still there. I had gotten good at smoking, having not puked yet. It was about three minutes until my shift started. I was working a closing shift, 6 to 1130. I was going to be behind concession, learning how to sell shit and make shit. Rat was going to be teaching me, something which he wasn’t actually too pissed about. He liked me. I listened to his bullshit sex stories. Stuff about hitting it in the middle of a kid’s movie seemed just a bit over the top, but nonetheless I could somehow picture it. The images sent a chill down my back.
“I guess the first thing you have to remember is that customers are all dicks. The women, dicks. The children, dicks. The men…”
“Dicks?” I interjected. Rat nodded, pointing his cigarette at me.
“All of them. Fat dicks full of cash. They complain about the prices, but they still pay it. Its goddamn highway robbery, but they’ve got the cash to waste.”
My religious upbringing had already indoctrinated me into a a violently pessimistic worldview, so this wasn’t too far a stretch. Actually, the church was more pessimistic. My mom to her credit, was one of the most hopeful people I had ever met. With bills piling up and John off cheating, she was confident that her life was going to get better. I hoped so, for her sake.
“So, we just give them the shit they don’t even need because we need what they have?”
“Its capitalism, bro. You a capitalist?”
“I guess so.”
“You gonna vote?:
I shook my head.
“I’m too young.” I coughed.
“Good. You aren’t missing anything. Now let’s get inside and fuck with anyone dumb enough to spend 6 bucks on a bucket of shitty popcorn.” He tossed his cigarette in the fountain after taking one last drag, and stood up. I flicked my cigarette on the ground and stepped on it with my heel. Rat stopped and breathed. Kelvin was walking into the theater, that characteristic bounce in his step, dressed like Michael Jackson.
“Damn.” He growled. He fumbled around for another cigarette, hands already beginning to shake. From what I’ve heard, Rat’s homophobia and Kelvin’s penchant for snobby liberal politics were at odds like oil and water. Of course, Kelvin made it known that he was a Democrat, wearing jewelry and shirts that professed an assortment of political ideas. He was 18, and made it very clear he was voting for whoever was on the blue ticket. Rat wasn’t conservative by means, but he was positively anti-Kelvin.
“Go swipe in. I need a minute.” He hissed, lighting up his new cigarette. he inhaled half the cigarette and expelled a cloud that size of a beach ball. To top it off, Kelvin had instituted a new rule: no smoking while he is around. If you violate it, you receive a write-up, which is akin to getting smacked on the wrist with a piece of paper. If you are a smoker, tough shit. He doesn’t want your second-hand smoke getting in the way of his health. Theater nazi.
Time to fuck with people. I just hoped that the shift would go smoothly. Ha. Boy, was I ever bullshitting myself.

As I waited for my mom to pick me up, I sat on the edge of the stone fountain. The fountain was large. Structured like the Roman arena, metal struts formed a ceiling above the water, allowing for a mini-epic feel. I imagined tiny gladiators, swimming around in the water, fighting denizens of the deep. Looking up, I saw Rat emerge from the theater, smoking already as usual. He noticed me and moved on over, pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket. He sat down a few feet away from me, and expertly jiggled a cigarette out for me. After a second, I took it. He tossed me a cheap green lighter and I lit up. To my surprise, I didn’t cough or have a spaz attack. Rat noticed as he pocketed the pack.
“I can be an asshole.” He said, stopping and looking away. I think that was his attempt at an apology.
“No worries, dude. I can be a bit of a prude sometimes.” I muttered, smiling. Rat turned and looked at me.
“So you’ve never gotten your tip wet?”
I shook my head.
“Well, if you ever want some help, call me. I’ll hook you up with a rubber and a big ol’ slut. She won’t have any of that STD shit. If I fucked her, you can fuck her.”
I almost dropped the cigarette. To keep from laughing in his face, I took a deep puff. Rat turned and faced me, smiling.
“This your first cigarette?”
I nodded, and finally I started coughing. I felt like my lungs were frozen and I couldn’t breath. Rat burst out laughing, slapping his knee with glee.
“Just got your lungs wet. Fuck yeah, dude.”
He slapped me on the back, and that didn’t help my coughing fit. I coughed for several minutes, stopping once or twice to inhale and breathe. During that time, Rat related some interesting details about his personal life. I think he felt sorry for de-virginizing my lung and making fun of my lack of wetness. Stuff about how he regretted losing it to a girl he can’t remember, and how he got dumped by his girlfriend he had remained faithful to for over a year. A year of faithfulness, he said it was the most difficult thing he had ever done. He was now dating a cute concessionist named Ellie. He told me that he would save the more juicy stories of their relationship for a time when more people were around. I thanked him for that. Nino sat in box office, and gave us a wave before helping a customer. The night was chill despite the early afternoon heat that has me sweating rivers. Rat, as a point of pride, pointed out his ride to me. A sleek, yellow ford mustang parked a hundred feet away. He offered me a ride, but I declined. My mom was supposed to be here eleven minutes ago.
“Your loss.” He muttered, starting on his second cigarette.
During this time, I’m sucking down nicotine and carcinogens, trying to numb my chest and keep the bile in my stomach. At this moment, I didn’t toally hate my job or the people that worked there. At this point, all I felt was numb.
“You go to church?” I heard him say from far away. I nodded gently, feeling dizzy.
“Do you like it?”
“No. Not really. People are fake at church, especially when they think God is watching.” I responded, feeling the bile claw it’s way up my throat. I heard Rat respond, but the bile finally had enough, and pitched it’s way out of my mouth and nose, hosing down the area in front of me. Rat leaped back, dropping his cigarette.
“Holy fuck!” He shouted. Realizing what he had dropped, he quickly snatched up the smoke and took a puff. Still good. I heard my mom drive up, and the horn honk. Fuck my life.

“I remember first meeting the GM of this place.” Nino said, shoving the trash can against the wall outside of the usher’s closet. I opened the door and placed my broom and butler inside and listened.
“I went in, I had one month before graduating, and I was strapped for cash. As usual. I met the GM, whose name was Clarence, and he smoked. I mean this motherfucker smoked at least two packs every shift, I swear the guy had shit for lungs.”
Nino took a second to breath, and stifle a chuckle at the fond memory. I leaned against the wall and listened.
“Anyway, he took me outside and we walked around this building, and he smoked four cigarettes. He told me smoking was a shit habit to have, and explained that he could’ve bought a fuckin’ Ferrari with all the money he spent on this habit.”
I smiled. Rat stomped up, butler in fist, his head lowered in a glare. He flipped Nino the bird, which Nino deftly returned to him, and moved on. Nino continued speaking, as if nothing had happened.
“So, he told me that I would be working concession, as he had a trio of concessionists get busted huffing glue in the back room. Do you huff glue?”
I shook my head.
“Not yet.”
Nino nodded, and continued. He was getting excited telling this story, and his eyes brightened with every sentence.
“So a spot had opened up because some dumb ass got caught. I took on the job. Toy Story 2 was the first theater I cleaned.”
I whistled in amazement and sympathy. Nino nodded in equal parts amazement and disgust.
“That theater was a shit storm. Fucking puke and everything. I found a full dirty diaper in a corner. I had to lift it with the edge of my broom and carry it to the trash can outside, as we couldnt just leave it in here.”
He paused.
“Good times.”
I smiled and nodded. I liked Nino. Laid-back and cool, he seemed like a dude I would hang out and get fucked up with. That is, if I were into getting fucked up.
“So, what is this thing about you still being a virgin?”
“What the fuck?”
Nino held up a hand, diffusing my anger.
“Shit travels fast around here. Faster around here than church, at least. People talk about new people like they are the stink of the shit. So you a virgin?”
Again, I had never had my sexual prowess questioned. Especially by someone I had only just met. Never, nada, zilch. What is it with guys asking other guys about their sexuality? Is it curiosity or a twisted sense of empathy? Do we really give a shit about whether or not the guy in question has had sex, or are we simply programmed with an instinctual desire to know who bangs who? Is this all a game of one upmanship as well as a twisted way of feeling responsible in that they are to be both a co-worker and sexual educator? I am positive that all of these questions would soon be answered, and my jawbreakers are jumping with sarcastic joy at that little thought.

As I swept shit into a butler, I watched as Rat found an open pack of gummy bears and began munching away. He sat down in a chair, kicked up his feet and chewed away at the soft sugar-coated plastic we passed off as candy. Nino ignored him and walked down to the bottom of the theater, bulking. Bilking is picking up anything we can’t sweep into out butlers. Popcorn bags and tubs, as well as drink and kid meal trays. Surprisingly, to all of our amazement, most of the mess was confined to the first half of the theater. Everything else was spotless for the most part. The kids did good. Nino, fed up and possibly still holding a grudge against Kelvin, walked back up and smacked Rat on the shoulder.
“Get off your ass, man. Time to do work.”
Rat ignored him and continued eating. Nino gave me a look and grinned. I knew something bad was going to happen, so I pretended not to notice and kept sweeping even though my spot was already spotless. Nino grabbed a half empty popcorn bag, turned and tip-toed back towards Rat. With a sudden motion, he lifted the bag and stuffed it down over Rat’s head. Rat screamed bloody murder and thrashed around, ripping the bag off, sending showers of popcorn everywhere. Sputtering obscenities, he turned to face Nino, who was this close to laughing in his face.
“Dude what the fuck-”
“Time to do work.” Nino barked with authority, a playful grin on his face. Rat snapped up his broom and stormed to clean up the spilled popcorn. Nino threw me a wink and continued to bulk the theater. I allowed myself a small chuckle.
“So, who hired you?” Nino asked, tossing in a stack of kid’s trays. I emptied my butler in the trash and thought about that. It was like it happened yesterday.

“Why do you want to work in a movie theater?” Eugene asked, his buzzed head pointed at my application. I sat across from his manicured desk, hands in my lap, nervously trying to keep my voice from cracking.
“Because I like movies.” I responded, my voice within a comfortable range. Eugene looked at me from over the top of the application, his gray eyes narrowing.
“What are your flaws? What are things you need to work on?” He said with an edge. I responded, very stupidly, without thinking.
“Sometimes, I’m slightly forgetful.”
I felt my stomach bounce and my intestines tighten like a spring. Eugene looked like he was trying to hide either a sudden burst of violent laughter or the urge of vomit. I prayed that it was the former, not the latter. After a second of heavy breathing, Eugene nodded slightly and lowered my application, which was filled with my chicken scratch handwriting. I caught a glance at his own penmanship; loopy and cursive, very readable in comparison to mine. I also took notice that his jacket was ironed and not a single piece of dirt or hair was in sight. His cuff links were polished and his beard trimmed. I realized that I was wearing jeans with holes in the knees, and a short sleeved t-shirt with a Christian cross painted directly in the center of my chest. I felt like fucking Theodore “Beaver” Cleaver after a big tent revival.
“Good. Honest. I meant something a bit more…viable, but that works. Slightly forgetful.”
I nodded, feeling my cheeks and ears get hot. Eugene chuckled and jotted that down on the application.
“Anything else? You get sleep deprived? Have racial preferences?” He asked, a smile barely hidden. I shook my head, as serious as I could be.
“No sir.”
“You sure? You haven’t forgotten anything?”
I shook my head again. Eugene nodded and leaned back in his chair.
“So, really, why do you want this job?”
This time, I took my time and formulated a semi-intelligent response.
“Because I need money, you need workers, and I need job experience to move up the ladder.”
That got me an arched eyebrow and a slight lean forward. He liked that response.

“Eugene hired me.” I stated, looking around the finished theater. Nino didn’t really respond to that, instead shutting the trash can lid and moving towards the exit. I scampered after him, trying to keep up. Rat was still at the base of the seats, sweeping and cleaning, still cursing. I allowed myself an audible laugh and ran out as I heard Rat shout something after me.
“Fuck you guys!”
That’s right. Leave the sweeping to the Beaver.

Ingredients of movie theater butter: soybean oil, artificial butter flavoring, TBHQ and citric acid added to retard oxidation [colored with beta carotene.]

Looking back at that fateful first day, I’m amazed how simple it was. Everything back then seemed difficult and bottled up, but beyond the random asshole customer, things have settled into their places. I’ve been at the theater for over a week, and I’ve even begun to make friends with co-workers. Ronny and I haven’t talked since. Word is he took a week off to get fucked up at his ex’s, or his ex before his last ex. During this time I’ve met an assorted cast of characters whose name’s I am still struggling to remember. The most consistent character I have been working with has been Rat. Rat and I have been hanging out almost every shift with Nino, who was still coming to terms with being upgraded to his assistant manager position. Turns out Nino and Rat went to the same high school which is about five minutes down the road. Rat, whose real name is Curtis, graduated the same day as Nino and they were hired together at the theater in the same month. Nino went on part-time to a local community college to pursue a cooking associate degree, but as work intensified, his need for cash and hours overcame his desire for knowledge so he soon dropped out of college to work full-time at the theater. He never talks about it, mostly because I haven’t asked him much about it, however I get the impression he deeply regrets it.

At this time, the desire to see Spider-Man 2 has passed and most people are now storming in to see Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy. Mostly teenagers and young adults, they often leave the theater in a worse state than senior citizens. Mostly because kids don’t really give a shit about the condition of a place if they don’t have to clean it. If we forced all those little bastards to clean up after themselves after every movie, I would not be surprised if the place remained in a pristine condition for the duration of the motion picture. Waiting outside the open doors with Rat and Nino, we can smell the teen sweat wafting out from the closed room. Rat, as per usual, is chugging at an energy drink. He usually goes through six or seven every shift. On top of that, he smokes half a pack as well. In fact, nearly everyone smokes at the theater, whether it be for social reasons or addictive. I am one of the few that doesn’t care for the stain of nicotine. Nino doesn’t smoke either; or cigarettes, at least.
“So, you gonna graduate soon?” Rat asked, unleashing a characteristic belch.
“I don’t know.” I responded, holding a broom handle in my hand. Nino yawned, resting the back of his head against the wall. Rat gave me a tilted head stare.
“You don’t know? What the fuck are you talking about? Don’t you go to Dana Plains?” Rat asked, leaning forward. I shook my head.
“So where do you go?” Here goes nothing.
“I’m home schooled.” I stated, matter-of-factly. An awkward silence settled around the hallway, like I had just announced my physical attraction to Rat, who was also somewhat homophobic. At least in that he considered it gay to receive, but not to give. Nino also gave me a look, but his interest was more subdued.
“Home schooled? Like…those weirdo fucking Christian extremists?” Rat asked, reaching instinctively for a cigarette. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I figured why not go for broke.
“Not to that extent. My folks are Christians, but they haven’t bombed any buildings. They are leaving that to my sister and me.”
Nino chuckled. Rat didn’t. He kept on talking.
“But you are Christian or some shit, right?”
My religious had already been scrutinized by Ronny, who was apathetic about anything spiritual. At this point, I wasn’t entirely sure about my spiritual outlook. Having been raised by, like I said, two conservative Christian parents, I had been brought up to believe certain things about certain ideas. Salvation, redemption and sin were always a topic of conversation in our household. Granted, my parents always resisted being arrogant or judgmental with me or my younger sister; for that I was grateful. I wasn’t, however grateful for the situations I had missed out on. Going on dates, drinking, smoking. I wasn’t against it for any real moral reason, I just hadn’t tried it yet. The same thing applied to my virginity. Or some shit.
“I’m…not sure.” I sighed, biting my lower lip. I was pretty conservative in most things political, but when it came to my spiritual state I was a man in a dark room being spun around while blindfolded. I had a multitude of questions and only one answer: the bible. In those letters were the answers to life’s great questions. Or, so I had been brought up to believe. I hadn’t cracked open that book’s dusty pages in over a year. I probably should open it and get back into the habit, but it seemed futile in comparison in the grand scheme of affairs.
Rat opened his mouth to say something, but shrugged it off.
“I’m an agnostic.” He said, like he were giving an answer to a math question. I nodded, not really giving a rat’s ass. Then, both Rat and I glanced down at Nino, who was texting away on his phone. He finished and looked at both of us, like he had just missed out on the conversation.
“You religious?” Rat asked, finishing off the drink and throwing the can in the trash. Nino shook his head blithly.
“Not religious. I believe in God, though.”
Rat sniffed and I nodded. I think I believe in God. Or a God. It would take a long time to explain fully what I think about this higher power. Jarring me out of thought, the loudspeakers in the auditorium blared a TV commercial using paper bags as spokesmen for Fandango. I had a mini-revelation. Well, more like a song popped into my head that had been dormant for a couple weeks. Sing For The Moment by Eminem. Particularly the lyrics:
“We’re nothing to you, but we’re the fuckin’ shit in their eyes
That’s why we seize the moment, and try to freeze it and own it
Squeeze it and hold it, ‘cos we consider these minutes golden
And maybe they’ll admit it when we’re gone
Just let our spirits live on, through out lyrics that you hear in our songs”
At this point, I have some reason to believe in gravity, as long as it keeps me from floating away into a black hole. The last of the customers strolled from the theater, and the house lights came on. Time to clean. As I gathered my broom and butler, I chuckled and wondered what my mom would do if she knew I had an Eminem cd stuffed beneath my bed. probably beat me with it. She might be more comfortable with me having a nudie mag under there instead, which incidentally, guilty, I have that under there as well.
The last thing I wanted was to freeze this moment because, quite simply, I don’t give a good goddamn what God thinks of me. He’s either too busy to care, or I’m not important enough to register on his radar.

Let me just say this: I have nothing against mentally handicapped people. That said, working with them may be one of the most difficult tasks I have ever had to endure. Anthony was a part-time usher who suffered from autism. Besides his penchant for ignoring everything you said, he was actually a good usher. He could clean a theater by himself usually in several minutes. It was just working with him was a beast because, well, I had never worked with a person quite like him. Of course, Ronny and Rat weren’t helpful in that regard. They told me to Anthony about his mom, so I did. turns out Anthony had never met her and he flew into a tizzy, shouting for several minutes. I wanted to throttle those two as they sat back and laughed.  I hate this job.

The theater was so bad that even the managers had to get involved to help stabilize the situation. That is when I first met Nino Brown. No, not the Nino Brown from New Jack City. This was Nino Brown, a large black guy who moved with an easy flow that seemed to mellow out whatever tensions were in the room. Today, however, tensions were simply too high and even he was a bit on edge.
“Come on, man.” He muttered at me, throwing several large plastic cups in the trash. I nodded and gripped the slippery mop handle and tried to continue mopping up the mess. Nino had grabbed a trashbag and a couple rags and was attempting to clean off the seat cushion. He was not successful. The smell was making me nauseous and I had to grit my teeth to keep from making a new mess. Realizing his attempted clean up was futile, Nino covered the seat in multiple trash bags, hopefully enough to keep people from the smell.
I held it together and slide the mop bin aside and moved down to join Rat and Ronny, who were taking their sweet time at the bottom, each toting a broom like a cheerleader twirls a baton. I passed by Nino, who stopped me and looked me over.
“They been like that since he got on shift?” He asked. I paused, not sure if this was part of some sort of initiation to see if I was a snitch or not.
‘Not sure. I’ve been cleaning up puke for the most part.” I shrugged, reaching for a soggy napkin on the floor. Nino sighed and threw the couple a dark glare. He was tall, taller than me. In his early twenties, he was perhaps over 300 pounds. Right now, he had a strange smile on his face and I realized that I had been staring at his stomach the entire time.
“My eyes are up here.” He said with a smile, giving me a friendly shove. I had never met him before, though I had seen him around the theater before I was unlucky enough to find work here. I snapped out of it, smiled nervously and continued walking down the sidewalk to the bottom where I saw a pool of soapy water beneath three or four seats. I looked at Ronny and Rat, who were still talking. Something about coming and going.
“Hey. Might want to get that shit.” Rat said, nodding at the puddle. I smiled and shook my head.
“That’s all you, sir.”
Rat frowned.
“The fuck you talking about? I’m not doing that.”
“I’m not either.” I shot back, standing my ground. I took a step back and heard and felt a splash. Without looking, I muttered a curse under my breath. Rat snickered and tossed his empty energy drink in the puddle and punched me in the shoulder. I felt knuckle on bone.
“Fuck it dude. The movie is starting. Let’s bounce.”
Rat dodged around me and scampered up the sidewalk to the main exit. Ronny followed, twirling the broom around while he whistled. I shrugged it off and followed me, though not too closely.
“Hold it. You really clean this one?” I looked up and in strolled a man wearing a striped suit with heavily styled hair and a bounce in his gait. His bronze name tag, polished of course, reflected an air of arrogance and conceit. I tried to read it, but he stormed past me, nearly shouldering me out of his way. He walked down the theater, looking down every aisle, checking to make sure it was clean. I felt Ronny roll his eyes as he watched the assistant manager do his post-anal check up.
“His name is Kelvin Sims. Resident asshole with a twist of prick on the side. Thinks he runs shit around here.”
“Does he?” I asked. Ronny sniffed, watching Kelvin stop and stare at a couple loose popcorn bits.
“Hey. Hey, you!” I heard his voice say. Turning, I saw him gesture at me like a prideful king summons a joker. He pointed at the popcorn on the ground and made a sweeping motion. I sighed, grabbed my butler and walked down.
“Make sure you grab your ankles tightly. He likes them tight and tiny.” Ronny whispered as he slipped out. I ignored his remark and swept up the popcorn as Kelvin stood there, a foot away, observing my every move. I decided to be proactive and stuck out my hand.
“Hi. I’m Linus.” I said, trying to smile.
“I know.” He said quickly, not even looking at me. The thought of breaking my broom off in one of his orifices crossed my mind for a second. I didn’t even entertain it, I couldn’t afford to.
“This theater looks like defecation.”
“Sorry. Its my first day.” I said, actually sounding sorry. I had never cleaned anything to this degree before. Kelvin smacked his lips and strutted around me and towards the exit. At least he didn’t see the puddle we had to leave at the bottom of the theater. Nino walked in, a peice of paper in his hand. He ignored me and approached Kelvin.
“Did you change the schedule around on me again?” He asked hotly, his voice tense. Kelvin slowed down, looking Nino up and down. He was about the same height at Nino, but fit and tanned to an almost borderline gay extent.
“Yeah. I talked to Eugene and he said I could work booth tonight.” He said, an air of victory in his voice. Nino remained caml, but I could see his eyebrows narrow.
“You can’t keep doing this to me. I had a routine set.”
“Tough. You don’t like it, work more and get on Eugene’s good side. Not my problem you don’t show any enthusiasm for this job.” Kelvin said, walking toward Nino. I felt like I was a toddler witnessing his mommy and daddy argue. I stood there, broom in my hand, wishing I could disappear. Nino inhaled and stepped aside, allowing Kelvin room to move by. Kelvin moved on out of the theater, an extra skip in his step.
“Kind of hard to show enthusiasm for the job when you are being a dick.” With a heavy sigh, Nino turned to me, annoyance spreading across his face.
“Linus, right?”
I nodded. Nino stuck out his hand. I paused, then took it. His grip was tight.
“I’m Nino Brown. You can call me the H.N.I.C.”
Right on.