Greetings, fellow scribes! (This is lengthy – go get a Gatorade or something…) I won’t be tweaking the overall approach to the day all that much with the exception of a new Friday deadline. Our next champion can feel free to change this; however, I’d like to add more time for people as well as not overshadowing our beloved Haiku Hump Day. Granted, the initial Monday post will be buried further and further down, but as any good writer knows, you always go back and reread stuff, and I hope you all do. I hereby promise to check this post all week long, and select a winner on Friday, giving the heir-apparent a whole weekend to plan for this. (Plus, “Finish It Friday” also has a nice bookend-y ring to it. I will perhaps repost the whole thing late Thursday to remind everyone. And everyone also gets several more days to come up with something…)
I certainly understand the twin challenges of having the necessary time to devote to a story, as well as the necessary creative juices, which I know from experience don’t always flow all the time. So, read it, think about it, and then write your ass off when you can or whenever you get the fire…
I am breaking the seal on the 12-sentence lead-in story. This is a lengthier entry, and I must hope and pray for everyone’s patience and attentiveness, but it is a condensed version of a short story I wrote that is based on a TRUE THING that happened to me when I held this particular job (I think Cat might have read the full version…) I do this in a self-serving way; several of our fellow ‘Thonners might find a glimmer of familiarity in what I’ve written, and I hope to inspire thusly. Which is why it’s so long – hopefully the character is fleshed out enough to inspire some truly springboard finishes!
The only thing I’ll also add is an element of Mad Libs to the final sentence. Fill in those blanks, and continue from there. And we’re off!
Derek was into it. When you came right down to it, it was a pretty sweet job. Rip a ticket now and then; direct the occasional person to the bathroom. Lots of down time. The only real responsibilities were checking the temperature readings in each of the multiplex’s twenty theaters (all easily fabricated; the system was rarely out of whack, which meant that you went in to any movie you wanted to see thirty minutes of and made up twenty reasonably accurate temperature readings), and periodically checking the levels of syrup for the soda fountain. And even IF the syrup levels were down, it was only a matter of telling one of the concession stand people to change the box.
Derek was into it. He took his position behind the four-foot silver canister, the ticket stub repository, the silent sentry of the movie theater, the Mini Metal Monolith that said, “Look, pal, unless you’ve got a tiny piece of paper that was printed out twenty feet over there that I can rip in half, you ain’t getting’ in.” Derek had actually come to relish these moments. The time when HE was the ultimate authority on when the unwashed masses actually got to see the movie they had just paid for. Jacket unbuttoned, yet still formally attired in his primary-blue-blazer-with-purple-and-gold-tie uniform, one hand resting on the top of the canister, the other on his hip, his body casually blocking the entrance to everything the people wanted: With a barely-registering condescending glance at whatever ticket they produced, Derek would rip it in half, in a practiced gesture of half-amusement, half-contempt, punctuating the delivery of the stub with an “Enjoy the Show” calibrated so precisely as to let the people know that their efforts to remove themselves from the drudgery of their everyday lives would be wasted, and that they were absolutely horrible people for having actually ventured outside the house, but never said in such a way as to get himself fired.
“Enjoy the show.”
“Thanks, you too. And, ah, where’s the bathroom?”
This was another of Derek’s special pleasures of the day. If you were a movie patron, and you were approaching the Ticket Ripper Guy, and you had to go to the bathroom, a normal, rational person (as he figured it) would at least walk in and look around for a split second before succumbing to blind ignorance and asking an employee for the whereabouts of the restroom, which is a question that employees of any establishment never get tired of hearing. Clearly, as Derek thought, the multiplex must have bathrooms, this sort of thing should be obvious to every single person that walks in the door; and the multiplex isn’t going to hide them; a facility that caters to this many people would obviously behoove itself to make sure that the areas for defecating and peeing and farting were clearly labeled. You know, just look around.
Behind Derek’s head, on either side, in big laminated fashion, were the words “Men” and “Women” with corresponding arrows and the corresponding “I Can’t Read” universal symbols for Man and Woman. Derek knew exactly where these signs were. He had arranged his placement at his four-foot canister the way an actor prepares for a scene: his marks were precise, so that anyone approaching him would see him framed behind each ear by two giant restroom arrows and their according symbols.
In truth, it was a fascinating bit of mise-en-scene. Alas, his preparation, placement and theories never lead to anywhere satisfying, and he contented himself with knowing that this particular gastropod of a moviegoer would be out of his sight momentarily.
“On your left, right there.”
Derek made his move to return to his spot over by the popcorn counter, where he had been chatting up the fantastic-looking new girl. He always maintained, as a general rule, that if a girl’s ass looks fabulous in black movie theater polyester pants, it’s going to look fabulous no matter what you do with it.
As he put his clipboard down near the straw canister, his gaze was inexplicably drawn out the front windows. There, he looked out and saw three ____. He knew then that ________….?
(Also bear in mind that my initial “short story” was easily double this length and then some. Plus the story itself is true. I’ll post the whole (real) story if people are interested, though it might offend some folks…to be continued?)
28 comments:
1. yay!! love it.
2. i didn't know you were supposed to go to the theater bathroom to fart? oops.
3. hell yeah i want the whole real offensive story and will break the neck of any gastropod that tries to prevent it.
4. (non sequitur alert) i think all this meat eating is making me a tad feisty.
5. this is not my entry.
6. since there is so much time allotted, are multiple entries permitted?
6. Absolutely! Bring it on!
2. I thought that was you.
And as discussed in a previous post, JSP knows no boundaries when it comes to that.
I hope the length isn't overwhelming; if there's one thing I can't do it's edit my own stuff. Like trying to choose among your children...
Actually choosing amongst your children isn't that hard. I'll take the boy...hands down.
WHAT?! Like the girl is going to be able to lift me from bed to the bath in my old age? Please...
Plus the girl is cute, her teen years are going be chock-a-block with slack-jawed yokels...
I like the Friday deadline. It gives us a nice gestation period. My story is brewing... BIG time.
I do recall this story being much more controversial. Wasn't there anal grease in there somewhere?
Like in the K-Way area? That was just Mug Root Beer syrup.
Or maybe in Tim Shayer's office. (Damn! He went there!)
I like the Friday deadline as well since I'm going to be pretty busy all week. I'll have to grill JPX for some inside Showcase Cinema info. I'll get him drunk and make him spill all the inner secrets.
BTW, congrats for winning last week Stan, I didn't get to tell you since I went MIA from the blog for a bit.
I will also followup on the falafel/t-shirt revenge questions at some point. JSP, your idea for the t-shirt is great.
Yeah, Finish if Friday is good. And I definitely want to read the full story.
Miko, you crack me up!
Tim Shayer came out of the closet (no surprise there) and divorced his wife!
Haha, so many good things to write about from Showcase. I was just chatting with JSP last night about it, being a cashier I so much down time that I wrote or drew constantly. I miss that, plus all the creative people that worked there. Though quite a few of you are here. I have obtained a bunch of the coveted top 10 lists that Puff & I used to write, they're hilarious. Though my son works there now I don't believe it will ever be quite the same as it was with the ornery bunch that we were. I miss that job.
This is all well and good, but WHAT did Derek SEE???
(just kidding...take your time. Remember, it can just be a sentence, or just fill in those 2 blanks, and anyone else can pick up the reins!)
I'm working on one, I think.
today i decided what derek saw; now i need to write it up.
Now I'm nervous. Another killer haiku topic today - I hope to see some action here on Thursday! I'll probably do a re-posting of sorts on Thursday morning, just as a reminder, if you'd like to wait and leave your response there.
But of course, submit any ol' time!
As he put his clipboard down near the straw canister, his gaze was inexplicably drawn out the front windows. There, he looked out and saw three Providence police officers. Well, to be more precise, two human officers and one K-9. Same difference. He knew then that this had to be the news he’d been waiting for.
Derek straightened up as the officers and their dog, a beautiful German shepherd, entered the theater and headed toward him. The new girl’s eyes widened, and she backed away from her counter a little.
The male officer was a light-skinned, heavily built African American and the female officer was a tall redhead with freckles. The outfit didn’t do much for her and Derek realized a police uniform was in its way as punishing to the female form as a movie theater uniform. He’d have to mull that over later, when there was more time.
“Derek La Pauvre?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m Officer Kennelly, and this is Officer Dodge. We were doing our annual “take a bite out of crime” program at the high school when we got the call. Your wife Lisa has showed up at the downtown station. She’s just fine. We’ll take you to her.”
Popcorn girl said, “Wife?”
Derek ignored her. He could feel the relief flood through his system and fought the urge for tears. After all this time. “OK, let me just tell the manager.” Derek jogged back toward the manager’s office, shedding the blazer as he did so. He pushed open the door. “Ms. Liddell?”
At first the room appeared empty, then a curly head popped up from behind the desk. “What is it, Derek?” The manager was a lesbian dwarf, hired by the multiplex in an attempt to rectify their atrocious minorities-in-management record, and her sexual identity and height made her a twofer. Of course, they could never fire her. Fortunately she was a competent manager.
Derek explained that police officers were waiting to reunite him with his missing wife. Ms. Liddell told Derek he could leave, but reminded him he was working a double the next day. Derek hardly waited for her to finish the sentence and he was out the door, piling into the back seat of the Providence Police SUV while the patient German shepherd was led around to the “way back” and her own wire-mesh compartment.
The vehicle pulled out of the cinema parking lot, moving fast, but without lights or sirens, picking up I-195 West towards Providence. It would be a short trip to the station at that rate. Derek relaxed into his seat, thinking about his beautiful Lisa. Popcorn girl had nothing on her. Derek flashed back to the night of his honeymoon, and a satisfied smile crept across his features.
A few minutes later, Derek was pulled out of his reverie when he noticed the police car had left the highway and was heading north on Blackstone Boulevard. What the? Another minute later they turned right onto the long, winding road toward Butler Hospital. Aww, shit! It was finished. They had caught him again. Derek started to curse loudly and creatively. Over the stream of profanity Kennelly told Dodge, “Last time we found him blending Awful Awfuls at Newport Creamery, happy as a clam. He fit right in there too. Poor kid, couldn’t handle it when his wife left him, and something just snapped. They were newlyweds, you know, childhood sweethearts. He’s been at Butler ever since, ‘cept when he goes AWOL and tries out a new identity. The shrinks think he’s trying to create a simpler reality for himself.”
Derek realized Lisa hadn’t come back, after all; Kennelly’s tale at the cinema was just a ploy to get him to come along quietly, prevent the kind of scene he’d caused at Newport Creamery. Couple of people had gotten hurt that time. He kind of had to admire Kennelly and Dodge, pulling a fast one on him. Maybe it was just as well that Lisa hadn’t turned up, though it was a little surprising too. Brickyard Pond was murky, but it wasn’t all that deep.
As he put his clipboard down near the straw canister, his gaze was inexplicably drawn out the front windows. There, he looked out and saw three buffoons wearing MC Hammer pants and escorting the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He knew then that he had to save her from their vile clutches. She was much too exceptional to be in the company of such imbeciles. Enraptured by her fairness, he failed to notice the new concessionist follow his gaze, huff angrily and stomp off to the other side of the food stand. Fact is he wouldn’t have cared either, he was entranced. As popcorn-toting patrons approached he sidled back over to his post. Derek admired her exquisiteness as he began ripping tickets instinctively without dropping his gaze. He was mesmerized; amazed by the sheer genetic artistry that was now entering the theater at this very moment. She was utter perfection, full pouting lips, flawless porcelain skin, voluptuous but in a subtle way not vulgar like a porn star or a stripper. Her eyes were misty and seductive, they were the color of storm clouds rolling in at dusk. He heard one of the dimwits call out to her, “Gretchen, you get the tickets and we’ll get in the snack line, aigh’t.”
Gretchen, the Goddess had a name. Oh why was she here with these cretins? They weren’t worthy of her companionship. The sight of them laughing and smacking each other around like a cheap knockoff of the three stooges made his temper boil. He could see the annoyed looks that the other patrons were shooting at them, utter morons! He loathed them and envied them all at once. Oh lovely Gretchen, why? He looked back at his beloved. She was up at the ticket counter speaking with Jean the heavyset cashier. He could only imagine the sweet sound of her voice, he wished he was the cashier. The contrast of her beauty and Jean’s wretchedness was almost painful to the eyes. One, a delicate fairy and the other a heinous troll. She handed money to the cashier in exchange for tickets. Those bastards! They even made her pay for them. She headed over to the concession stand where the nitwits were now irritating the new girl. Tormenting her with quirky flirtatiousness, she didn’t seem to be amused. He had to come up with a plan to get Gretchen alone. He had to explain that fate had brought her here at this very moment and that they were destined to be together for eternity or at the very least to convince her to give him her phone number. Perhaps the three boneheads would need to take a whiz before the film and leave her waiting. That was just too much to hope for. He needed a plan and he needed it fast, they would be approaching him any second now.
Derek could see them leaving the concession stand with popcorn and drinks in hand. He was hoping the arcade would lure them in giving him more time to construct his plan, but they weren’t interested. The four of them were heading his way. Immediately to their left was a clumsy looking oaf struggling to hold onto a large popcorn, jujubes, twizzlers and a super sized drink. He was lapping up kernels of popcorn with his tongue, spilling a good bit of it onto the floor while walking toward the ticket post. Suddenly it struck Derek, like a giant light bulb being switched on in his brain. He knew just what to do. He turned around quickly snatching the butler and sweeping broom and made a quick sprint to the hungry oaf. He dropped the butler and began sweeping up the popcorn. As he predicted, the oaf tripped over the butler. Derek would forever remember following sequence of events as if watching a slow motion replay, it was beautiful. The contents of the oaf’s mother load went flying; his arms pinwheeling and hands grabbing at the air as he crashed to the ground. The box of jujubes smacked down on the head of a little kid who spontaneously erupted into loud wailing followed by a flood of tears. His mother, shot the stink eye toward the fallen oaf whilst attempting to comfort her screaming child. As the twizzlers were sailing off to the right, a teenage boy came bolting out from nowhere and snatched them from the air. He darted off toward the arcade with his treasure like a quarterback going for the winning touchdown. The popcorn scattered in every direction raining down on the patrons like buttery hail. Derek’s eyes followed the super sized drink; he held his breath in anticipation. For a moment he thought it was going to hit his beloved Gretchen. However, with the agility of a Jedi she ducked just in time and broke off to the side avoiding any contact with the liquid filled missile. The morons accompanying her were not so lucky. Their faces warped as if they were synchronized. First the look of surprise, then recognition, then despair. They tried to run, the halfwit on the left went right, the halfwit on the right went left and both of them were abruptly halted when they slammed into the halfwit in the middle. The drink bomb struck the right shoulder of halfwit left, the cover popped off on impact and the trio was drenched in a cold liquid explosion. They stood horrified, dripping sticky soda onto the carpet. Halfwit right’s face turned red with anger, he charged over to the oaf on the floor meaning to kick him but slipped on some slimy wet popcorn and landed square on his ass, hard. He roared with fury and began clubbing his legs and slamming his fists on the ground in a full-blown temper tantrum. Tim, a flamboyant manager, now fully alerted to the situation was heading their way. One of the halfwits spotted him and presumably in fear of being thrown out they quickly grabbed their buddy and dragged him off to the men’s room.
At last, Gretchen was alone. Derek, ignoring Tim’s beckoning, approached his fair lady. He asked if she was okay. In a voice that was solely reserved for angels she told him that she was. He knew he only had precious few seconds to make his big move so he put all reservation aside and went in for the kill.
Derek drew in a deep breath and blurted out, “I have to tell you that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Would it be too forward of me to ask you for your phone number?”
He held his breath. She looked at him stunned, in disbelief. Just then her eyes diverted looking past him. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Yo, Frankie this theater geek just hit on me,“ she cried.
Derek felt a hand on his shoulder, he was involuntarily spun around and before his eyes could focus on his assailant he felt the blunt force of a fist making contact with his jaw. His head got all swimmy and he felt himself falling. He didn’t remember hitting the floor but when he came to he was looking up at the ceiling through a circle of curious onlookers. Tim, amongst the group was asking him if he was alright, his voice was distorted. Derek shook off the delirium and nodded affirmatively. He was lifted to his feet, jaw aching and feeling slightly nauseous. Gretchen and her crew were nowhere to be found. He went to the men’s room and splashed his face. He thought about what had just occurred and a smile graced his lips. Sure, he’d had his heart broken but was there ever a sweeter plan carried out so perfectly in the history of the Showcase Cinema. He didn’t think so. He straightened his tie and stood up a little taller that night for he knew that by revealing his plan he would become a legacy in this theater and his name would be held sacred by ushers for years to come.
AC~I love how the concessionist gets ignored in both of our stories, too funny.
poor girl! she could have been a key character, too.... maybe someone else will hook her up with a bigger role?
The concessionists were the lowest rung on the ladder. It went,
Management
Ushers
Cashiers
Overnight cleaning staff
Concessionists
There, he looked out and saw three buses pull up with the words Riverside Senior Community displayed in letters so big that only the hopelessly blind could miss them. He knew then that his shift, and probably his entire week was on the verge of becoming a veritable Hell on earth. Derek watched, frozen in horror as one senior after another very slowly but surely plopped down from the buses and made their way into the theater - his theater. Surely there must have been a few hundred of them, each one older than the last. Some looked excited (though a bit confused) to be out on what they likely considered an adventure of a lifetime. Others, such as the bald man with the glasses, heavy wool blazer, and binoculars (?), appeared nervous and suspicious. Others still appeared displeased or indignant for presumably being forced out of their comfort zone and into this foreign land filled with “youngens” and “whippersnappers”. One thing was painfully clear – every last one of them was a headache waiting to happen.
It’s not that Derek despised the elderly the same way he did say, mechanics or handicapped athletes. No, no - old bastards or "cottonheads" were different beasts altogether. They terrified him in a way that nothing else could. “They simply can’t be reasoned with”, he stated on a number of occasions. His breathing became noticeably loud and a growing panic sprang from within.
"Ok, calm down" he reassured himself. "Take a deep breath and..." but before that thought could reach a satisfying conclusion the first one was already upon him, ticket in hand, staring with expectations.
"Wheeeeeeeere's the restroom!" demanded Old Man #1 with a smile that would haunt Derek in his sleep for years. Luckily he recognized that this seemingly innocuous question could easily spiral out of control if not handled with the precision of a bomb disposal expert. Appropriate eye contact was made, a smile that would be acceptable in most social situations was accepted, and #1 was successfully directed to the restroom. So far, so good. But number five was a different story...
"Sheldon here! Two seniors for 'An Agreeable Conversation' please!" challenged a man who was clearly a hundred and ten if he was a day. Derek clenched his teeth.
"Down and to the right."
"B-b-b-but the sign says Theater #6..," Sheldon replied, a little worried.
"It's playing in two theaters", Derek explained. "The 3:30 showing is in Theater 6. The 4:45 is down and to the right". Sheldon furrowed his brow in a way that made him appear both wholly baffled and deeply wounded, as if he were being mugged by his own child.
"Two? But...?" While the man fell deeper into despair, Derek took a quick assessment of the rest of the lobby. The oldies just kept on coming. He'd never seen anything like it in his life. "An Agreeable Conversation..." Sheldon continued. "The sign says it's in Theater 6 and if you ask me, that means..."
beads of sweat formed on Derek's forehead and dizziness struck hard. Suddenly, from behind, a new force to be reckoned with appeared in the form of a cranky woman sporting a cane. Her bluish gray hair surprisingly matched her skin and clothing.
“The film is offensive and I want my money back!" she cranked.
“You… you can’t possibly be serious. Ma’am, the movie hasn't even started yet!"
“What are you blind!?” she snapped back. “They’re in there talking about nipples and… and…”
“Ma’am, that’s not the movie and they’re not talking about nipples. That’s a commercial for frozen treats called Whipples. You can purchase them at the concession stand. Your movie starts in ten minutes.”
Meanwhile Sheldon soldiered on, determined to show Derek the error of his ways. “See? Theater 6… It says right here on the ticket that (deep breath) An Agreeable Conversation…”
“Wheeeeeeeere’s the restroom!” “I forgot my ticket!” “Speak up!" "I want my money back!" "$6.00 for popcorn? Have you lost your mind?" "What time does the show get out?" “An Agreeable Conversation.” It was all too much. The cacophony of elderly noise overwhelmed him and his body shut down out of self protection. Derek collapsed. His head thudded against the stanchion on his way to the ground.
Derek awoke to the sound of a bitchy, short manager. With a tremendous effort he pulled his feeble body up and managed to stand. The little hair that was left on his shriveled head parted messily, revealing unsightly liver spots.
"Derek! Are you sleeping?!" she barked.
"No Ms. Therrian. Of course not. I was just resting for a moment before the 6:30 gets out.” His bones ached.
“Well we need you to cover Jean while she goes to lunch.” Derek looked at her, puzzled. He was unable to wrap his brain around this request so he changed the subject.
“It’s a mess down there by Theater 6. Don’t worry, I’m on it!” He slowly pushed the Hako down the lobby and collected as much dropped popcorn and straw wrappings as his withered body could handle.
Ms. Therrien didn’t have the time or energy to reprimand him. Because she respected his 55 years of service to the company she let him go. He couldn’t be reasoned with anyway.
I'm still in the middle of reading Catfreeek's but I think it's hilarious that Jean the cashier appeared in both of our yarns!
Hilarious JSP, oh how I remember those dreadful busloads full of seniors.
JSP~I should also note that I find it's quite funny that in both of our stories Derek winds up unconscious.
Catfreeek my favorite part of yours is the teenager making off with the Twizzlers like a quarterback. Such a funny image.
Now I'm reading AC's..
glad to have you back johnny sweatpants.
why do i get the feeling your story, like handsome stan's, is all-too-solidly anchored in reality?
johnny dear,if you're sincere, please change the "shit list" heading here.
but if you're not, are high on pot, or just forgot, ok, we got
it.
Hey gang!
I'm sorry I haven't commented sooner; I had a washing machine explode on me last night and the day has been spent at the laudromat with load after load of towels. What an awesome story, right? Should have made THAT the topic...
Ahem. I must say that I've read through all the entries once, and like any careful judge, I will go back again and sift for the nuggets I missed. And wait for any others to contribute.
All three are absolutely brilliant for their own reasons. The ignoring of the concessionist girl, a double shot of Jean, a very astute choice of Derek's last name (based on careful reading of my Facebook page), "An Agreeable Conversation" - this is going to be tough. I'll post the winner later this evening, allowing for any other entries. But every one of these made me burst out laughing!
And JPX's Showcase Hierarchy is both hilarious and totally true.
Oh, and I love how Derek (i.e., me) is either clinically insane, a total pussy, or a Showcase lifer. Didn't think it would turn out like THAT...
Oh, also, thanks, JPX (I assume) for re-posting this. As stated above, I was very lamely detained all day.
Post a Comment