Back in grade nine, I started working at my hometown's one and only movie theatre. Being naturally skilled at popcorn scooping, I quickly advanced in the ranks to a box office position and, three years later, attained the highest accolade achievable by mortal cinema staff: projectionist. Throughout those four tender adolescent years my every emotion was molded by that theatre. Anger, joy, jealousy, arousal, and utter contempt. Mood swings came and went with the movies -- comedies brought joy, dramas induced sadness, and anything Halle Berry raised embarassing questions. A strong part of my personality that formed was patience. People may not know it, but theatre workers are extremely tenacious. Let me elaborate with a recent example.
SCENE:
The theatre lobby is bustling with crowds rushing to see the latest Beyonce thriller, "Obsessed". An OLD BALDING BASTARD approaches the concession counter.
OLD BALDING BASTARD: Gimme four cokes and popcorns! And a kids thing with blue sucker and slushie whatsit.
CIVILIZED DEVON: Which sizes of popcorns, sir? And I'm sorry, but we don't have blue suckers. I'd be happy to give your child a green one and complement it with a tasty raspberry slush, though.
The Old Balding Bastard doesn't even respond. Civilized Devon does the order without losing his cool. The man pays and leaves.
END SCENE
Everyone knows that popcorn sizes and sucker flavors aren't the end of the world, right? I've learned to not get worked up over these ignorant, obnoxious people. But, how would the scene have gone if I let my real emotions show through?
SCENE:
The lobby is bustling with crowds rushing to see the latest Beyonce thriller, "Obsessed". An OLD BALDING BASTARD approaches the concession counter.
OLD BALDING BASTARD: Gimme four cokes and popcorns! And a kids thing with blue sucker and slushie whatsit.
BLOG DEVON: What sizes of popcorns?
OLD BALDING BASTARD: I dunno. Medium. Make it large. No, medium.
BLOG DEVON (getting angrier): Did you want butter?
The Old Balding Bastard starts cracking jokes with his buddies, completely ignoring Blog Devon.
BLOG DEVON: Butter?!
Still no answer.
BLOG DEVON: Hey Assole! You want some butter?
The entire lobby freezes, turning to see the commotion.
OLD BALDING BASTARD: Uhh sure, whatever.
BLOG DEVON: No! It's not whatever. It's my job, alright? I ask if you want butter and you say, since you weigh 400lbs, "yes, fourteen layers please". And while we're at it, it's not called a 'slush whatsit'. It's a slush puppy, bitch. Get it through your fat meat head -- we have blue slush puppies, not blue suckers. And speaking of drinks, we sell Pepsi. Not Coke. Honestly, douche, what masterpiece movie are you in such a rush to see that you can't give me these tiny details?
OLD BALDING BASTARD (gulp): Obsessed.
BLOG DEVON: Obsessed? Obsessed?! With Beyonce??? Alright, all the single ladies put your hands up!
All of the single women in the lobby tentatively raise their hands, confused.
BLOG DEVON: GOD! GET REAL BLOODY LIVES!!
Blog Devon jumps on the counter and starts spitting at the single ladies with his weird drool-jet tongue squirts. He kicks over the popcorn equipment (crushing three children) and yanks the butter machine out of the wall, pounding the knob and firing streams of hot scalding butter into the panicking crowds.
BLOG DEVON: YOU WANT BUTTER WITH THAT? HUH?! MORE BUTTER???
SCENE.
Moral of the story: If you have trouble remaining calm around idiots, remember that they aren't worth an ounce of your time or energy. Seek professional help before attempting anything drastic. And if you can't afford therapy, try writing blogs.
