By Joel Schneier
March 2, 2003
The place where I work is a movie theatre. Not
one of those small two theatre places, but a Cineplex. We attract the
big business and the wealthy customers.
I work at concessions. You know, the popcorn
and candy stands. Concessions is the worst because you have to be a
salesman.
Some big guy with his girlfriend approach my
register. Their movie started ten minutes ago. This is where I have
to be a salesman:
"Hi, how may I help you today?"
"Give me a soda."
"What size would you like, sir?"
"Ummm, I don't care. Small."
"Would you like to have a medium soda for
a quarter more, sir?"
"Ummm, yeah sure whatever."
"Well, you could have a large for only another
quarter more."
"Fine, fine. I don't care, just give it
to me."
"Sir, are you aware that if you purchase
another medium or large soda and then a large or extra large popcorn
you can receive a free candy?"
"Wait, no. I don't want that."
"Are you sure? It's a great deal, sir.
You are hungry aren't you?"
"No, I'm not hungry. I just want a soda."
"Okay, sir."
"Thank you."
"What about a hot dog? They're only $3.75."
"NO! GOD DAMNITT! I DON'T WANT A HOT DOG
OR A POPCORN OR A CANDY OR A SECOND SODA OR WHATEVER ELSE YOU HAVE BEHIND
THAT COUNTER! NEVER MIND! I DON'T WANT ANYTHING!"
The guy and his girlfriend run to their movie.
My boss who is at the register next to me says, "What's his problem?"
When I first started working here this is what
they told me to do: Up-sell. Up-sell. Up-sell. Up-sell. Up-sell.
My goal is to extract as much money as possible from the pockets of
rich white suburbanites. A small soda that holds 22 ounces is $3.00. You
can get a medium soda that holds 32 ounces for only a quarter more. Or
you can get a large soda that holds 44 ounces for only a quarter more
than medium, two quarters more than the large. The ideology behind this
is that to rich white people, money that is worth only decimals does
not matter. If they are already breaking a five or a ten or a twenty
dollar bill, what's another quarter?
But then the movie theatre company gets greedy.
They up the prices. Now the money that used to get you a medium drink
gets you small. The money that used to get you a large drink gets you
a medium. And now a large is a quarter more than it used to be. But
what's another quarter?
If I get shot down up-selling, I'm supposed to
try in another area. The difference in each popcorn size is $0.75,
though. Nevertheless, I try and try and try and try until I am positive
there is no more cash left in that customer's fat juicy wallet.
Most middle-aged to elderly women tell me that
they can't eat that much food or drink that much soda. I have to say
in response, "Are you sure? Why don't you just get it just in
case? You never know." This works for those who can never make
a decision. If this tactic doesn't work I tell them they can give whatever
they have extra to homeless people. This works for those ladies with
a kind hearted soul but are astoundingly stupid. They don't realize
that there are no homeless people in white suburbia. If the lady is
evil, then I am told to give them a dollar short of change. If they
catch me I'm supposed to say, "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're
talking about." If I ever get into a heated argument with anyone
or they try to jump the counter to attack me I carry a stunner. This
is all procedural stuff . . . believe me.
Another tactic is to confuse the customer into
buying more. If they ask for popcorn I ask them what kind of drink
they want. If they don't want a drink then they have to come up with
a reason for not wanting a drink. A lot of people are lazy and will
give in, but for those who are resilient I have to explain how salty
the popcorn is or warn them of the dangers of dehydration (I think that's
kind of ironic considering that soda makes you even thirstier). If they
are still resilient I impose other products upon them, which we have
a lot, until they cave in. And if they don't cave in . . . well, it
will go on for a while.
Many people, especially elderly people, are bitter
at how much of a rip-off everything is. I won't disagree with them.
Most people who come to concessions will end up paying more for the
food than for the movie.
I completely agree that it is a rip off. Since
we buy soda in such large quantities, we end up paying $0.03 for each
gallon of soda. A medium soda is 32 ounces, or half a gallon. Thus,
a medium soda costs $0.015 plus the amount for the actual cup which
is about $0.005 plus the lid and the straw which I believe are close
to free individually. So basically you pay $3.50 for a medium soda.
The expenses for that soda are $0.02. Thus, the theatre makes $3.48
for every medium soda sold. That is somewhere in the neighborhood of
5,700 percent profit. Keep in mind that my numbers might not be entirely
accurate, but they are close.
Of course you do have to keep a few factors in
mind. First, the movie theatre only makes money off of concessions. Two,
there are a large number of employees who have to be given checks every
two weeks. Three, the bills for the utilities of a Cineplex of this
size are huge. Four . . . okay, I don't know any more but I'm sure there's
a lot of other expenses. Ultimately I have no idea how much profit the
movie theatre makes per year, but I know it all adds up to a nice sweaty
wad of cash.
I have been working at this godforsaken place
for about eight months. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I'm sick
of selling disgusting food to people. They don't need this food. All
the food that we sell is fatty and grossly unhealthy. I have never
eaten even a single kernel of popcorn while I've worked here. I never
drink the soda, I drink water from a bottle from my house. I never
eat the candy or the hot dogs or pretzels. Why? Because it's disgusting
food that I don't need.
Going to the movie theatre has lately become
a privilege. People end up spending at least ten dollars to stare at
some movie for two-hours and be droned to the advertisements within
the movie itself. It's all consumerism. And I hate it.
I know people have to earn a living. I know
that if you work hard for your money you should deserve to something
more. I'm not a communist or a socialist. But I'm also not a capitalist.
I am simply discouraged at modern businesses. The businesses are there
to serve the customer. But somewhere along the way they got the idea
that the customer is there to serve the businesses.
It's become harder and harder for me to not
shout out at every single customer that they don't need this fat-laiden
shit.
I can't stand the fact that people are wasting
their money to see the works of fake artists, people who don't share
their gift with the world but sell it.
I can't stand the fact that people are then in
turn wasting their money on shitty foods that only cause them to become
addicted to sugar or sweetness.
I fucking hate it.
So I've decided to sabotage the theatre.
I walk in the main entrance to the theatre.
It's a Saturday night and it's busy. I had put in my two week notice
already, and I'm here to pick up my last check. I'm carrying a back-pack
with me. It contains the equipment for the sabotage. After getting
my check and thanking my boss I go into the men's bathroom. In a lonely
stall I unzip my bag filled with frozen chipmunks. I silently deposit
one chipmunk in each toilet in the facility and leave. I still have
half a bag of frozen chipmunks left. (Hmmm, that sounds like an icee
flavor we used to serve.) I then go into the employee room to talk with
some of my former co-workers.
When I hear the loud screaming and everyone rushes
out of the room to see what happened I sneak behind the counter and
bury five or so chipmunks in the great pile of popcorn. Amidst the chaos
I run into one of the movies and hide out for awhile.
While I'm hiding my former boss runs into the
bathroom and quickly removes every frozen chipmunk from each toilet.
Even the ones that hadn't been flushed. He throws them in the trash
can.Next he walks out of the facility and tells everyone that everything
is just fine and they should go back to purchasing food and watching
their movies. And they do. My former boss then takes a deep breath
and runs outside twitching and screaming and his arms flailing after
remembering what he had just touched with his bare hands. He goes home
to take a bath (He lives right next to the theatre) and is back upstairs
in time to witness the next wave of hilarity.
Some lady who was served a small popcorn when
she could have purchased a medium popcorn for only $0.75 more is eating
her popcorn innocently when her fingertips touch something hard and
cold. It isn't a popcorn kernel. She digs this mystery out of her
popcorn bag to discover it's a frozen chipmunk. As one can assume, she
screams. She screams very very loudly and then faints. A large number
of people rush over to her aid. They notice the chipmunk. Now these
new witnesses scream loudly.
My former boss who doesn't want to go through
this kind of shit stuns all of these people with his stunner and then
gets a few concessionists to help him drag the bodies outside. He then
gathers an emergency meeting with the employees. He says, "We
are going to find who has done this. And we will make him pay!"
The employees split up into three search and
destroy parties armed with stunners and water guns filled with scorching
hot fake canola oil butter. Meanwhile, my former boss is digging through
the popcorn looking for any other frozen chipmunks. After digging out
my final chipmunk he discovers a note is tied to one of the chipmunks'
neck. The note is from me. It says:
"Sorry, but I had to. If you want to know
who's responsible for this mess then you'll have to find the note on
the yellow chipmunk."
My former boss rips up the note. He throws the
chipmunk hard on the ground and it spatters all over the floor.
I just want to tell you that the only chipmunk
fatality was this one. Just because I froze the chipmunks doesn't mean
they were dead.
At this time I'm hiding in the theatre. The
remaining chipmunks in my bag are beginning to defrost so I release
them on the ground and they slowly begin to scurry around the theatre.
All except for one little chipmunk. The yellow one. I comfort him
in my hand and pet him gently. He's the special one.
I hear the theatre door slam open and there are
ten of my former co-workers. The movie stops playing and the lights
go on. They carefully inspect every one in the theatre except for me
who has snuck out from the opposite exit. The yellow chipmunk is in
my pocket.
They grope every theatre patron until they notice
the large number of chipmunks scurrying around the floor. They foolishly
attempt to catch or squash the chipmunks, but my fury little friends
are much to fast. The little critters scamper through the rest of the
cineplex. It's madness. Pure madness.
I calmly walk out of the theatre. I leave behind
me a hilarious display of my former boss and co-workers frantically
chasing around super fast chipmunks with my former boss yelling to find
the yellow one.
In the parking lot I approach my former boss'
car. It's a very very very expensive BMW. I open the door with a stolen
set of keys I picked from his pocket and I place the yellow chipmunk
gently on the driver's seat with the note attached to its neck.
I smile and walk away for ever.
A few hours later my exhausted former boss comes
to his fancy car to find that a yellow chipmunk is sitting in his seat
and has whizzed several times by now. He grabs it and tears off the
letter and reads it. The letter says:
The person who is responsible for this is you.
You did this to yourself by charging high prices for fatty foods that
you keep people addicted to. This was your own punishment for being
greedy. You will, however, change. You will begin to cherish life
and any being that holds life. Start with this yellow chipmunk. I'm
not kidding. You will take good care of this chipmunk. If you hurt
it in any way you will be punished again. But this time with kangaroos.
I will be watching you. I have my ways. Furthermore, use your money
for something useful, and not for cars. If you are going to steal people's
money than do something that isn't selfish. While you might have earned
your money through hard work if it weren't for all of your customers
you'd have nothing. They're not drones. So just remember to take care
of this chipmunk. Or else . . .
After reading this my former boss picks up the
chipmunk and walks home. Whatever happens to him after that, I don't
really know or care.
