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Dirty Popcorn Bins and Other Movie Theater Sins
The assistant manager of the Squire movie theater never liked me, which was okay, because the feeling was mutual.
Scuttlebutt around the building was that she had something on a vice president of the theater chain, so they kept her employed. “Mrs. P” only worked one day a week, on Wednesdays, at the Great Neck location that had just over 1,000 seats on its three tiny screening rooms.
Mrs. P arranged for her daughter, who had a full-time job in the city, to work in the box office on the Wednesday evening shift. And her mother — a woman in her early 80s — sat on a stool by the candy counter and drew a paycheck as well in this three-generation family affair. The unlucky clerk on Wednesdays was expected to rip tickets, then run behind the counter and sell candy. Heaven forbid if Mrs. P’s elderly mother had to actually get to her feet, except to hobble to the bathroom.
Mrs. P would spend her time at the box office, reviewing the week with her daughter as she punched tickets. Next, she’d wander back to speak with the projectionist. After the first three evening movies started, Mrs. P closed the office door and made a few phone calls. If there were no customers at the candy counter, her daughter would motion for the clerk to refill her soda cup or watch the box office while she used the bathroom.
