Winders! Part 2: Partners

Roughly every half hour, an announcement would come over the PA. Sometimes it would be a pre-recorded segment, but mostly it was one of the managers reading from a script. Regardless, the volume was up so loud that any message would be mangled into a warbly pidgin wherein you could make out words like "meat" or "sale" but were otherwise at a loss. Every announcement began "Attention Members and Guests" for sales or "Attention Members and Partners" for... I don't know, safety maybe? For neophytes:
Members: People who pay to shop at Sam's Club. And I do mean shop, because you can't get into the store without a membership (even if you're not buying anything).
Guests: People who mooch off of paying members. Cannot buy anything, but I presume can put things on their friend's ticket.
Partners: Underpaid troglodytes who trudge the floor looking for ways to irritate demo representatives.


Once I was asked if I would like to write an announcement to go over the PA. An excitable gentleman got me to write out a short script, which I did happily (you'll recall I was quite bored). I had seen him many times before, and he even humored me in getting an explanation of my job. He returned periodically to check on my progress, then rushed my finished copy to the higher-ups. Not only did I never hear the announcement, the gentleman disappeared along with it. I can only assume he went on to publish my copy as his own and is now living comfortably off the royalties.

Now the first Partner I met was not even human. I mistakenly assumed that Robot Rick would greet me every time entered the store that summer... but he was only there that first day. I guess he was on tour? It was this creepy-ass thing on tank treads that would scoot around scaring the shit out of little kids asking if they knew about the sale on 4 gallon tubs of ice cream. The dude that controlled RR wasn't even remotely hidden... you could see him next to the front staging at a control panel and mic. In fact, you could hear him better than the robot. I have to admit the little bastard gave me a hint of glee that first day, that one of my coworkers might wig out and start tearing the arms off of 8 year olds, but that dream was denied me.

With that exception, I typically only saw the Partners for two reasons: rounding up for a meeting in the back, no doubt rustling cattle for the big meat department sale, or shuffling about ignoring customers. I can say categorically that a Member would only be greeted by staff when they already knew what they were looking for. In other cases they would come to me and ask for assistance. The gall! 90% of my conversations with Members went as follows:
Me: Hello, how are you? Do you have any home improvements coming up? [note the lack of pause after the first question]
Hoser: Where the tools?
Me: Sorry, I wouldn't know, I don't work for Sam's Club.
Hoser: [putters off]
Okay my response was an obvious lie... I did, after all, catalog everything to stave off boredom. I knew better than the Partners where shit was in that store, but you see misanthropy has a cruel price. In some instances I would just look at the object in question, as it was inevitably in my immediate proximity. As when there was a 6'x6' display of Tide behind my booth,
Me: [my deal]
Hoser: Where the laundry soap?
Me: [steps aside to reveal enormous display]
Hoser: All you got's Tide?
Me: [shrugs]
No one ever called me out for misinformation, though a Partner would occasionally ask if I could help customers find things. I told them I couldn't leave my booth. That was a lie.

I engaged in a losing war with the Partners which haunts me to this day. They had this underground network of tunnels and trap doors so they could pop up and annoy me on a whim. Seriously these guys would come out of nowhere, and many times I couldn't put a face on my tormentor. I happened to be stationed near the electronics. Nearest was a television set to repeat a commercial for Lysol toilet cleaner. They were running this series with "facts," and I have to say their primary sources were dubious. At one point I had the whole segment memorized since I had to hear it so many goddamn times. It began, "Fact: a bathroom that gets constant traffic needs constant freshening." Even still the word "freshening" makes me cringe... My tactic was to sneak over to the television and mute it, and theirs was to crank it back up to max. Of course I never did this while I could be seen (presumably), but I think one of the managers knew it was me who was turning it down. Similarly, the aisle had these portable televisions and DVD players. Every person who walked by, and I mean Partners and Members, would jack each one all the way up in turn. Why, I ask you? Why? These things all had shitty built-in speakers and shitty reception, so end the end you had your own personal Merzbow concert. That was easy enough to fix, but for awhile they had this backpack thing high up on one of the endcaps. See the idea was you buy this $600 portable television-in-a-bag, hang it over one of the front seats, and PRESTO your spawn are busied drooling over Spongebob instead of yelling at each other not to look out "my window." The bag had a video player of some sort in it, and they had this ancient Olson twins music video playing in a loop. This was, I assume, from the height of their Full House popularity, and they couldn't have been older than ten. The shitty speakers at full volume did nothing to improve the off-key renditions of "Wheels on the Bus" and "Old MacDonald." After enduring this affront for several days, I lost my better judgment & scaled the display to mute the bitches. Fortunately, none of the Partners spotted me or had the minerals to get up there to turn it back up.

Up next... Part three: Terrifyingly Beautiful

Winders! Part One: The Hours

Back a while ago I made some terrible images to accompany my tale of woe with Lundberg Windows and Siding. This was during my "humorously bad Photoshop phase," from which I have not fully recovered. I will, as my high school German teacher would say, salt and pepper them throughout this retelling.

First, let's set the stage. A 19 year old boy returns from his first summer at university jobless. He puts in applications at all the usual spots - Starbucks, uh... actually I think that was the only one. But he picks up applications for all sorts of crazy places. Oh yeah and Target. His friend got a job there but he applied too late or something. Right, so he naturally starts scouring the paper and finds that Cutco hires all the goddamn time, but this guy's no sucker. Okay he's not that kind of sucker. He finds one that sounds promising... "Demo representative" for $10/hr plus commission. He thinks "demo" will be the sort of thing where he tells people about a product & shows them how it works. He is wrong. Oh so wrong. He shows up for an interview dressed in his best Sunday slacks and polo within a Sam's Club, where he is not a member. He is not so much given the job as he is immediately asked to man the booth for the next four hours. He politely declines. He meets the man again (for the penultimate time) at a K-Mart... and the odyssey begins. He receives no vest, I repeat, no goddamn vest. Then he stops using the third person present tense because, frankly, it's getting irritating.

The K-Mart gig was actually not so bad. See my job was to stand at this booth for four hours. It was this little rolly thing, like a big box, with a sign and a sample window on it. At first I tried to glean what sort of information I was to be giving the customers, but I eventually determined that the answer was a tidy amount of none. In fact, it almost seemed like I was being aggressively denied information about the product... but I'll get to that later. Anyway I was beginning to wonder what exactly "demo" stood for, since the only demonstrating I could do was open and close the window display. "Tilts open for easy cleaning!" The beauty of the K-Mart gig was that there were people there, you know, buying things and walking by. I was also right by the front door with a girl selling cell phone plans (never buy from these people - it's a big ol' ripoff), so you better believe you were gonna get harassed when you walked in. Just by the sheer number of people I got a decent number of leads. And by the way, what the fuck is a lead? I just ask everybody "Do you have any home improvements coming up?" and, if so, take their name for a "Free in-home consultation!" That's a lead in the home improvement biz. Call me a traditionalist, but it seems to me a lead involves some kind of inside information, not just bluntly asking people. So I guess that's why it was called something other than "salesman," because I didn't actually do any selling. And oh, while we're there, let's talk about pricing. That's right I still don't know how much anything cost. Not even a ballpark figure. Sure, I can't go quoting prices to people without seeing their house or whatever, but cost was 9 times out of 10 the first thing people asked about. And when denied any kind of range, most just walked away. I mean I had that line about the free consultation, but you have to figure most people don't just go replacing their gutters on a whim. I'll talk more about the customers later though.

K-Mart only lasted about a week when Lundberg's contract with them expired, so I was relocated to a Sam's Club in Matthews that was being remodeled. From the outside it looked closed for remodeling, but there was a sign up that they were still open around the side. There were... not so many customers. I was positioned near the back in one of the main aisles. Let me please tell you that I can still recall how it smelled. Like a warehouse floor... with sawdust. I saw, by my best guess, about one person every half hour. Within my four hour shift, let me also tell you that the frequency (with those 8 people) that were in the market for home improvements was tragically low. Originally I claimed that I would be interested in working 8 hour shifts... I needed the money after all. But let me tell you further that a single 8 hour shift at this job would render one in a similar state to that kid who saw his whole family murdered with a croquet set (only $14.99!) - irreparably mute with a thin lock of white hair. So boring. Here is a list of some things I did to keep myself occupied:
1) Recovered the combination to the lock on the box by trial and error. It was 776. I started at 000.
2) Not reading. It was so boring that anything further relaxing would have put me in a coma.
3) Not writing. With the exception of a letter I wrote once, the experience was so mind-numbing I couldn't come up with anything. Imagine, if you will, trying to get a group of 10 year olds excited about balancing a checkbook, and you will catch a rare glimpse into my brain at that time.
4) Cataloged the things I could see. A list, I mean, of the various products and their prices within my proximity.
5) Engaged in a cold war with the Sam's Club staff (you'll have to wait until installment 2 for that!).
6) Created dialog for customers in the distance. I think somebody only heard me once, and they didn't say anything about it.
7) Sung to myself quietly.
8) Scanned the pamphlets in the box, only a handful of which were for products Lundberg carried. I was never told which handful those were.
9) Walked to the bathroom or for water, about once an hour.
10) Worked out increments for how long I had remaining on my shift. For instance, "I am 3/10 of the way finished."

Every one of these tasks was like a little reward I would give myself to stay sane. I might, say, scold myself for going to the bathroom too soon or pat myself on the back for not looking at the clock in five minutes. Actually the last time I saw my supervisor was when I had been in the bathroom, but he didn't seem to mind. Still, I lived in fear that he might show up when I wasn't there or something, so I always arrived and left exactly on time. I even accounted for the time it would take me to roll the box into and out of the aisle from the front.

Alright I'll wrap this segment up. Next I'll talk a little about the Sam's Club staff.

So I have a crush on you...

A GUIDE FOR WHAT TO DO IF I HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU

ACCEPTANCE
1. Congratulations!
2. Although I may appear uninterested, it's a ruse.
3. You may become confused or frightened at first. Don't worry, that's normal! I can be pretty intimidating. Fear not though, I'm harmless. I've never even been in a fight! Well, except that one time that another kid threw a book bag at my head and I tackled him. But you know I didn't have a crush on him & I was 12.
4. Seriously if you're still thinking about #3 you shouldn't. Look at these arms! They're like noodles. Sexy noodles?
5. Chances are the only time we've conversed is when I asked you what size you wanted for your drink. In rare cases we may have exchanged names. This is also normal.
6. You may be wondering, "What's in it for me?" Wonder no more (but don't worry, wondering is normal!). See all this coffee? I'm authorized to give you a discount of up to 10%, yo. Okay I have to make up the difference but that's like paying for a date, right? So like if I give you that discount a few dozen times that's almost as much as dinner I think. At Elmo's maybe? First date! Without leaving the shop!
7. Now you may be worried about how things work out mathematically in #6. Like if you're expecting a firm hug or possibly a peck on the cheek by date 3, we should probably discuss that first. Especially if we are working with fractions of dates. I know most girls think it's a bit weird when you take a calculator out on a date (I think), so maybe we should work out a rounding system.
8. Apparently in high school I was known as a druggie. Like that guy in the drive thru at Taco Bell asked me what school I went to and if I "smoked tree." As I paused to figure out what "tree" referred to, he asked me again and I sped off without collecting my change. So anyway I'm really just a sleepy guy. I like naps. Is that so wrong? It's okay if you're into that sort of thing (drugs I mean). Who hasn't smoked the proverbial "tree," right? Am I right? You're right, I don't know.
9. Maybe I went a little too far with #8? Let's just stick with a "say no to drugs" policy. I don't want to wind up in one of those conversations with all those confusing slang words. I have a general rule that if I can't identify something I don't put it in my mouth. Unless it smells like curry. I am a curry fiend! Please don't put drugs in my curry.

UNDERSTANDING
1. You may not be aware of the crush. This is normal.
2. I will not tell you directly about the crush, and I may refrain from looking you in the eyes. This is because I am afraid of you. Not because you're a scary person! I'm just sensitive.
3. My job doesn't really allow me to tell people I have crushes on them. We wouldn't want the other customers to get jealous! Soon everybody will be wanting a crush. And then come the 10% discounts... and my calculator only has one memory slot! So let's just keep it to ourselves. Or I guess I'll just keep it to ourselves since you're not aware of it yet.
4. If we run into each other spontaneously, I will pretend I have never met you. This is a common defense mechanism for humans I promise because I read it on the internet (it was a forum or maybe wikipedia!). I may then curl into a ball and weep softly. This is a common defense mechanism for puppies. Everybody loves puppies!
5. My friends may try to tell you about the crush to ease the the strain of my infinite sorrow. Ignore their lies! I have no friends. You are witnessing a doppelganger!

Hopefully that clears up a few things. Now if you'll excuse me I have a couple of results in my area from Nerve.com. I have it on good authority that they have what I'm looking for in Durham.

Nevermind, they didn't seem very nice. Casual dating indeed! That's why I carry my Grandmother's engagement ring with me all the time. Wouldn't want to let one slip through! Of course I have to give it back to her once she figures out it's gone, so act fast.

Damned if you don't

EDIT: This is a joke. So clearly not for serious. Chances are you aren't an offender of any of these rules. Even if you are, my guess would be if you're reading this that you at least sort of give a damn. People break these "rules" all the time, but it's all about attitude. There's the occasional person, and you can tell when they walk in, who are going to be difficult. That's who the rules are for... they're the same people who don't signal to change lanes or jump to a newly opened register even though they weren't next in line. I'm sorry if my sarcasm wasn't clear, but for the record I didn't think anyone would read it. Then again, that got the Nintendo woman in trouble didn't it?

It's been said that I tend to expect things of people based on a rule set they have no way of knowing in advance. Like showing up to gym and finding out you're playing dodge ball by means of a ball to the face. That has a distinct sound, by the way.
Well, to all you naysayers, here it is:
BARISTA'S LIST OF (formerly) UNSPOKEN RULES OF CONDUCT
1. Your responsibility, as a customer, is to figure out what you want & pay for it. While I may appear jovial, a request of "surprise me" will most likely net you a mocha. Unless you're hot, in which case you'll get a pretty heart on your mocha. For yes or no decisions such as "Would you like a copy of the receipt?" don't panic. If it's too much for you, pick one and run with it. I doubt you'll be disappointed.
2. Unless you're a logic professor (and a dick), don't answer "or" questions with yes or no. And anyway, any logician worth his weight in tautologies will tell you that the English language sets up "or" clauses as mutually exclusive. Working in the other direction, you'd have to set up a much more complicated English sentence to express the natural conditions of "or" in a logical statement. SO THERE.
3. Hey, don't whistle at me asshole. This only happened once.
4. Take your cell phone outside. How important are you? Are you the dauphin of New fucking Winnersville? Take that phallic hunk of plastic off your ear and act like a normal goddamn human. Expecting a call at any time? Congratulations on your new child! But if you try to order while talking on the phone, I'll ask you a torrent of needless questions. Did you want soy? You'll start to think I'm just trying to interrupt you. I am. Sorry Doctor McAwesome to cut in on your surgery-by-phone. Here's your half-caf au lait.
5. Brevity is the soul of placing your order. What's a double half-caf skinny tall mochaccino no whip? A fucking small skim mocha. See, I got fewer syllables even while calling you a dick.
6. Look at the goddamn menu. The sizes and names for things tend to be reasonable. This isn't Applebee's. We don't have a mochajita con sizzle. I'm not going to make you sound like an asshole just by reading something off the menu. This extends further into "cup of java." I don't give a shit if you know fifty names for coffee, you can send it in the next mass forward e-mail with your incomparable list of names for female genitalia.
7. Keep your mouth closed. Why is it that when people gaze upwards their maw has to gape? Did you lose control over your jaw? Will the pins fall out if you strain your mouth against the ravages of Earth gravity? If I wanted to see inside your mouth, I'd check your 24-hour webcam "Stu watches TV and irradiates his testicles with countless harmful photons." Let me know how that experiment works out.
8. Take a penny. When I watch your grubby hand flip the pennies out onto the counter, it makes me want to slap your hand like a scolding grandma. Don't want to break that fiver? Watch pocket welling up with change and ready to burst? Take it to Coinstar. Yes, you can run out to your car to get some more money. I'll wait.
9. Put your money in my hand. Lorde Featherdick can't exert the strain it takes to outreach his hand the extra 12 inches it takes to be a gentleman. Countess de Fingersniff places her credit cards next to her purse & eyes me suspiciously when I reach across the counter to take it. I know each coin makes a satisfying "snap" as you press it to the counter, but please count it out beforehand. Do you wash your hands after going to the bathroom? I do. Thank you Mr. Aviator.
10. Don't tell me your problems or give me advice. Just because I'm trapped behind the counter doesn't mean I'm here for you. Unless "My girlfriend died in a tragic Tweetsie Railroad crash" is your way of indiscreetly telling me you only need one latte today, keep it to yourself. Think I look sleepy today? Got the urge to say, "Looks like you need your coffee!"? Clever. Keep it to yourself. Got something to sell? Get the fuck out.
11. Clean up after yourself. Do you see a busboy jaunting about topping off your glass of water and clearing dishes? Also, there's a fucking trash can. I don't want to fish your filthy stir stick out of the "dirty spoons" bin. I don't want to unglue the napkins from your plate. And it's so easy to get the sugar in your cup. Don't just toss it about & hope some falls in.
12. Don't bullshit me about coffee. So you heard a couple of fancy terms. I don't need you asking how long my shots are running or what temperature I steam the milk. I don't want you walking around the side of the counter & snuggling up with your head on my shoulder. Just wait and admire it when it's ready; it's fucking awesome, see? Along those lines, don't affect an accent on me. Croissant may look like a funny French word, but it's pretty easy to say. So is espresso, which has no "c" or "x" in it.
13. Don't touch the thermostat. This one's for you, Rich...
14. Don't smell the coffee. Unless a rugged Colombian rides in on a burro & invites you to peek in his bag of coffee wonders, I don't want your nose getting any closer to the beans than it needs to.
15. I hate your kids. I'm not Bill Cosby. I don't have a refreshing attitude towards kids doing asshole things. Keep them away from the bean bins. Don't let them twirl about screaming on the stools like Rhesus monkeys. Don't ask them to place their order themselves unless they're fucking adorable.
16. Tip like it's karmic retribution. Make up for creaming that kid on his bike with your SUV on the way over here.
17. Don't order espresso over ice. When you're smiling to yourself at the cream counter thinking how you cheated that barista out of a couple bucks from your husband's weekly stipend, look back over your shoulder and see me glaring at your iced latte. Unless you've followed #16 aggressively, I will call you out from across the store. Then you'll be getting wicked glances at the Whole Foods and overhearing, "Margie is a cheapskate. I'm not inviting her to bridge this week." Did you see Die Mommy Die? You should; it's pretty funny.
18. Don't complain about the music. Comments of "Is this music?" will be met with an unhealthy dose of derision. I will tell you exactly what you're listening to until you walk away in discomfort.
19. Don't camp. Get an internet connection at home. The $1.14 you spent on that cup of coffee three hours ago isn't going to cut it, cheap ass. And if you squat without buying anything? You'd better believe I'm unplugging the router. Furthermore,
20. I am not technical support. Exception: hotness.

I think that about covers it.

The Chels part 3: awful movies

If a film shows in an art house theater & no one sees it, is it still pretentious? The following are films that I hated before I saw them or even, in some cases, before they were released.

We had a poster up on the women's bathroom door (so you'd see it right when you walked in) that was for Ladies in Lavender. It's a gaudy thing, and you can tell on closer inspection that they've airbrushed the fuck out of each of them. I mean that kid's shirt isn't even real. It went up for a good month before the film actually came out. Let me paint a picture for you.
"Oh is that... it's Dame Judi Dench! I love Dame Judi Dench! Dame Judi Judi Dench Dame Judi Dame Dame damn I love saying her name! I'd watch anything with Dame Judi Dench. If they filmed her popping a squat in Central Park I'd be there. If she smeared shit on paper I'd buy and frame it!"
Whack!
[septuagenarian rendered unconcious by the bathroom door swinging open]
"Are you okay? Wait... is that... it's Dame Judi Dench! I love Dame Judi Dench!"
[repeat]
Once the movie was out, hosers would buy tickets for "the Judi Dench movie." Because I'm an ass, I would claim not to know which one they were talking about. They'd have to back up and scan the titles on the board, or sometimes they'd bug me about which films were playing. It was worth it.

I eventually saw Junebug and thoroughly enjoyed it. The poster was up for a good while prior, and the art (before I recognized the significance of it) was overwhelmingly pretentious to me. More than that though, some of the worst blurbs I've seen.
1. "...distills antagonistic red-state, blue-state attitudes."
What kind of asinine thing is that to say? "I want to make an overgeneralization about the themes in this movie, but I want to make sure I sound like a complete asshole while I'm at it."
2. "effusive girl-child"
I don't even know what to say about this one. I'll admit I had to pop over to dictionary.com before I could accurately judge the terriblosity of this comment. See Stephen? I can make up words too! Well, I'm talking about "girl-child," which is I guess a take on "man-child" or "boy-child" or something? Should it be "woman-child"? How about just "immature"? I think you can figure it out, Stephen. I'm sure your NYT paycheck can get you a pretty hefty thesaurus.
3. "...exploration of the family house conveys a... sense of place."
Yeah it'll do that. If he wanted to be more of a dick, he should've said mise en scène for appreciative nods from snoots nationwide.
4. That second statement... isn't it a little premature to start calling someone an autor after his first feature film? He directed TV shows and shorts, for god's sake.
5. "Amy Adams is a revelation."
Without getting too much into semantics here, this is about the verbal equivalent of "low prices everyday." A fundamental misunderstanding of the function of a word. At any rate, revelation is already bandied about with other pop words like "anal" and "proverbial" and "literally." Is this a chaotic attempt at synecdoche? Are we meant to believe her acting prowess inspires profound realization in viewers? Bullshit.

For a film to reach "worst movie ever made" status, it has to have (in my opinion):
1. A decently large budget (so you know money was wasted). This rules out much of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 crowd.
2. A marketing engine.
3. A chip on its shoulder.
4. A following.
Pretty vague qualifiers there, but I just wanted to put things like Manos: Hands of Fate and Plan 9 from Outer Space out of the running. Anything where you could say "it's so bad it's funny" is still enjoyable to watch (or at least make fun of later).
*WHY I HATE WHAT THE BLEEP DO WE KNOW?*
I couldn't embed the video for some reason. It's for the best.
1. The tagline: "How far into the rabbit hole of mysteriousness do you want to go?" Pseudo-philosophy... GO!
2. People calling themselves "bleepers." Well, just the word "bleep" in the title at all.
3. The main character is deaf... but her other senses are more in tune? I'm choking on the metaphor. It's just so hard to chew.
4. CG. Why are there anthropomorphic blobs dancing on the screen? I think they're determining important stuff like "I want to screw that guy" and "Where did my life go wrong?"
5. One of the interviewees is J. Z. Knight channeling Ramtha. No, really. She thinks someone else is speaking through her. And they interviewed her. For their film.
6. The interviews take place largely in front of green screen. Backgrounds include: blacklight poster swirlies, fireplaces, and a university campus. Like... "Oh, you caught me on the way to a seminar. Do you have any spare change?" or "Oh, you caught me totally getting my fucking mind blown in the middle of this freaky vortex."
7. The closing line. I don't have a direct quote of this, but I saw it quite a few times as I was winding up each showing. The trick is to turn the house lights up as soon as possible so sensible people get the fuck out. I've heard complainers say "Nobody watches the credits anymore!" Yeah if you want to listen to that reprise of the main theme and see who held the boom mic, you'll have to do it while I sweep up the Goobers rolling by your feet. Anyway, here's the line as I remember it:
"People say I sound crazy but... if you study science long enough... and hard enough... and you don't come out sounding crazy... well then you haven't learned anything at all!"
[What the Bleep logo shows up on screen & shatters into tiny CG bits. Yes, the title is censored within the movie as well. How cheeky.]
If you want to be skullfucked by stupidity & 90's screensaver graphics, go ahead & rent this guy. The "Down the Rabbit Hole" version is available too, where you can choose the course of action the film takes, thereby putting the mind blowing into your own sweaty little palms. There's also this. You're welcome.

I thought I was done talking about WtBDWK, but shit just keeps flooding back. The movie ran for a long time. A couple of gems:
-Assholes from "The church of Ramtha" or some shit tried to hand out fliers to people as they left the movie. These are people who get mocked by Unitarians.
-This one woman cried because I wouldn't sell her a ticket. See it was well after 10, the movie was half over, and the box office had been closed out. I could have taken the money & put it on the next day's box but... well... I already said I'm an ass. She started weeping at me, and through the sobs I could make out something like "meant a lot to me" and "told all my friends about it" and "changed my life." That's right. She'd already seen it. I let her in.

The Chels Part 2: projectioniesting

The title is in reference to a notice we got with one of the films, I think about which preview to include (?), that was littered with typos. We would also sometimes get press releases about upcoming films from the distributor. These are always a larf, reading like an amazon.com commenter page. Sometimes it seemed like the writer had only seen a poster for the film & was just guessing around; I doubt they had access to screening copies.

I started as "manager" or projectionist at the Chelsea after about a year. At that point I started three shifts a week with one as box office only (see previous post). A few funnies that are frequent:
-"The projector is on fire!"
If the motor stops and the lamp is still running, its heat literally burns through a frame of the film. It's easily fixed & usually happens on worthless headers or footers. Still, it looks pretty dramatic on screen, almost like the whole screen is burning through from behind.
-"We were late, can you rewind the film?"
No. The motor only goes in one direction. Also, the platter system is such that, once you've started the film, it has to be completely run before it can be wound up. Otherwise, imagine pulling all the tape out of a videocassette & trying to feed it through your VCR. Sounds like an exaggeration, but until you see an entire film tangled up on the floor...
-"Isn't anyone in the booth!?"
No. The days of having to change reels every 20 mins are over - the whole film is spliced together. I've had people sit through 15 mins of a movie with no sound... like 20 people... assuming that someone was "working on it." Same with a stopped film.
-"Is X coming back?"
I have no idea. Do you ask the burger flipper at McDonald's if the McRib is coming back soon?
-"I've heard about X... will you be getting that movie?" Maybe [I check the schedule]. "What's that movie about?"
I'm tempted at this point to make something up based on the title.
-"Can I speak to the owner?" He's not here. "When will he be in?" He's in most weekday mornings. "No afternoons or evenings." Periodically. "Okay..."
It's great when the truth is more confusing to the solicitor than a lie.
-"Can I speak to the manager?"
Surprise!

We had this guy come in pretty regularly, an older guy in his 60s. He'd get two senior tickets & wait for this other woman to show up... not sure why that was. He would ask to speak to the projectionist. To this point I had only met with him indirectly, and I'd learned to lie to him that the projectionist was upstairs. He'd tell me to "Ask him to do a good job tonight." Now typically I'd sit near the box office so I could see what was going on & to get my chat on. This particular night Mallory was working & it was moderately busy. He came inside to buy his tickets (which I've mentioned I hate, especially if other customers are lining up outside in a normal queue) & asked who was projecting tonight. Mallory had to help another customer, so she basically just pointed at me & turned back to the window. I was cornered there on the bench. He came up to me & stood not 2 feet away, like if I'd stood up I'd be all up in his nose hairs.
Hoser: You projecting tonight?
Me [pretending to be paying attention to the box office so as not to have to make eye contact]: Yup.
H: You going to do a good job tonight?
M: I'm sorry?
H: I said, "Are you going to do a good job tonight?"
M: Sure, yeah... same as always [forced smile].
H: No not "same as always," I mean are you going to do a good job tonight? I've been here when projectionists just didn't seem to care about their jobs.
M: Okay...
H: So I want you to go up there & make sure the focus is right after the feature starts and that the sound is at the right level.
M: Actually from upstairs you can't monitor the level of the sound as-
H: Yes you can! And that's what you'll do! Then you'll come back downstairs & sell some Coke!
M: I'm sorry, you can't speak to me that way.
H: What?
M: I said "I'm sorry," [standing up] "You can't speak to me that way."
H: I'm just telling you to do-
M: No. You can't speak to me that way.
H: Well... maybe I should just tell Mr. Bruce Stone that he has a rude projectionist!
M: Actually I'll tell him myself if you like.
[He starts to walk away, in a huff]
M: Or I could give you your money back right now...
[He turns around and starts to say something I don't remember]
M: And you can leave.
H [turning back around]: This is ridiculous...
Fearing the ever popular angry letter, I related this story to Mr. Stone (the owner) within the week. He appeared skeptical until I got to the part where hoser used his name, when he interrupted me with "Who is this guy!?"

As the manager, one of my jobs was to empty the trash at the end of the night. I think this is what drove me to insanity... not the physical act of removing the bags, but cleaning out the theaters. To anyone who is about to start a sentence "But it's your job to..." let me cut you off by saying you should have learned when you were 3 to clean up after your own fucking self. Is it a restaurant? Do you see any busboys? Do we give you a fucking basket of peanuts to shell onto the floor? Okay, I understand it's dark & you might finish what you brought in well before the end of the movie & forget your trash, but the following things do not fit that category:
1. Dozens of pistachio shells.
2. Handfuls of napkins, used and unused. Not only is this wasteful, but shoving a handful of used napkins into the cup holder is fucking disgraceful. After awhile I stopped picking up napkins at all. If people are too lazy & want to wade around in their own shit, more power to 'em.
3. Half-eaten container of sushi from Harris Teeter, overturned. The whole theater smelled like soy sauce. Each of the 10 or so packets was ripped open & partially used. A thin stream of sauce meandered its way down the aisles into a puddle at the front of the theater.
4. Six empty bottles of Tequiza.
5. Half-eaten Subway sandwich, discarded unwrapped onto the floor. Henceforth I stopped anyone I saw with a Subway bag.
6. Half a dozen wrappers for nicotine gum. This was happening regularly, and I eventually figured out who was doing it. This went on the entire time I was working there so... I guess quitting wasn't working out for him.
7. Two empty tall boys in paper bags.
8. In the Women's bathroom, tampons. On the floor, clearly used. Seriously? There are little trash bins to put them in. Even then most people wrap them in toilet paper first. What kind of person pulls a bloody cloth from her vagina and just drops it there on the floor? No really, tell me. I will find her.
9. Tobacco spit cups.
10. Ticket stubs. To be fair, these little buggers can get away from you pretty easily. However, that doesn't mean you're off the hook if I watch you drop it on the way into the theater.
11. Heath (I think it was) found a used catheter on the floor of the men's bathroom.

Also I forgot about this one interaction I had at the concession counter.
Woman: A Coke and a popcorn.
Me: Which size would you like [pointing at the bags over the popper]?
W: Umm... do you have like a...
She starts making this motion with her hands & forms a circle about the size of a basketball. Anticipating the next words that would come out of her mouth & trying to spare her a little embarrassment, I start shaking my head.
W: Like a... bucket?
M [still shaking my head]: I'm sorry we don't.
W: The large then.
M: With butter?
W: Please.

Wee update

I remembered another weird drink order.

cust: One el dobio companion.
Only it wasn't quite "companion." It was sort of like... co-pañien.
me: I'm sorry?
cust: [repeats, slower]
me: [mulling it over] What's in this drink? Maybe that will help me figure out what you're looking for.
cust: It's like... just expresso. With whipped cream on top. I think it's Cuban or something.
me: Oh... espresso con panna?
cust: Yes, el dobio compañion.
me: Well, you don't need the "el." Just doppio [double] con panna.
cust: dobio compañion.
me: It's two words... con... panna?
cust: com... paño?
me: Con, it means "with."
cust: Con.
me: and panna, meaning cream, or whipped cream in this case.
cust: paña [man did she want to roll that letter]
me: So "con panna." "Doppio con panna."
cust: El doppio con paña.
I gave up and made the drink.