Orientation Chapter 8

"Can I see your ID?"

"Yeah right."

"No, seriously. Can I see your ID?"

"I'm 30 fucking years old, kid. Why do you need my ID?"

"My boss says I'm supposed to check ID's for anyone who looks under 18."

"You think I look like a teenager?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Ha. No wonder you work at the theater. Couldn't get a job anywhere else huh?"

"I work here because it's the only place in town that'd hire a 16 year old."

"Don't get smart with me young man."

"Can I just see your ID?"

"NO. You know what. Yeah. Um Hmm. Get me your supervisor."

I left my post at the entrance of the theater and told Oliver to check ID's. Oliver was autistic and somehow knew the dates any given day would fall on a hundred years into the future. I'd get bored and quiz him.

"May first, two thousand and seventy-seven... No wait, seventy-nine."

He'd continue to tear tickets and suck on his bottom lip. A minute or so would go by and I'd begin to wonder if he was broken. Maybe he didn't hear me?

"Oliver?"

He'd shake his head as if I were bothering him. He'd return to tearing tickets. "Theater 5 will be up the escalator and to your left. Please enjoy your movie. We have refreshments and candy available for purchase on the second floor. Please enjoy your movie."

When the moviegoer had retrieved their stub and headed off in the proper direction, Oliver would look to his feet and answer. "Monday. May first, two thousand and seventy-nine will be a Monday."

I'd start on another question but before I could finish he'd be rattling off birthdays.

"Monday May first, two thousand and seventy-nine will be Jake Fratken's birthday and Ronald Sizemore's birthday and Alicia Gould's birthday and Kimberly Weisenberg's birthday and it will also be a solar eclipse."

I'd laugh and tell him to give me a high five and treat him like he was nine even though he was thirty-four.

"When's my birthday Oliver?"

"January 14, 1984. That's too easy. Don't you have any harder questions?" He'd smile and look at his shoes and scratch the back of his neck. We'd go back to working in silence save for the occasional pop quiz and directions to the restroom.

Oliver took my post, checking ID's, and as I walked away I could hear him repeating people's birthdays to them and I knew he'd remember them all. I had to go to the third floor to get Christy, my supervisor. Nothing was up there except for offices and storage. The hallways were eggshell with a navy blue line painted in gloss acrylic down the center. Black scuffmarks rested below the line and above were pinned corporate slogans, minimum wage laws, workers compensation information and pamphlets about sexual harassment. As I walked down the hallway towards Christy's office my slacks kept rubbing just below my belt buckle. It made me think about my girlfriend. And so I walked a little faster and it felt pretty good. By the time I reached the office I had excited myself quite a bit and had to untuck my shirt to cover it up. I walked in and found Christy bent over the desk standing on her tiptoes. Her thin black pants stretched over her wide ass and her panty lines protruded down the side of her cheeks, outlining her buttocks like a bubble letter. She was looking into the security cameras, spying on the cashiers. I heard Darnell from behind the propped open door say, "Remember when we were cashiers? Man, we pocketed so much cash. Didn’t have no cameras like now. Shiet, I think I was making more back then, than I do now as a supervisor."

"Shiet," Christy said. "I'm still gettin mine."

It made me feel awkward when she spoke that way. Something about her transition lenses and elastic-less socks. I cleared my throat.

"Mmm mmm. Hey, uh, Christy?"

I heard Darnell shuffle around behind the door. I heard a zipper, and the sound of a can dropping, and the lid to the trashcan get kicked open and then plop close. Without looking back, Christy lowered herself onto her heels and like a dancer twisted towards the door with a smile.

"Yes... Matt, right?"

"Yeah. Matt. Um, some lady down stairs asked to see my supervisor. Would that be you?"

She smirked, then looked at Darnell and smiled and then looked at her shoes like Oliver and said, "Well first off, we don't call our guests, Some Lady." She made quotation mark gestures with her fingers above her head and wiggled her hips when she said this. "Now do we?"

"No. Sorry. One of our guests asked to see my supervisor. Is that you?"

"Who else would it be? And why is your shirt untucked?"

"Well I know you, Darnell, and Sergio are supervisors, I just wasn't sure who was in charge of what section tonight."

"I, am ALWAYS your supervisor. Got that?"

"Ok."

"Now what's the problem?"

"I asked to see this ladies ID."

" You mean, you asked to see our guests ID, right?"

"Yeah. I asked to see her ID and she wouldn't show me. I explained to her I had to check anyone's ID who looked under 18. She told me she was 30. I asked again. And then she asked to speak with you."

"Matt, how old do you think I look?"

I guessed cautiously and said, "Thirty-five."

"Ooooooh boy. No he didn't," Darnell said.

Christy bit the inside of her lip, the varicose veins in her cheeks were pronounced and purple, and through puckered lips grunted, "Uh uh. Now I can see why he have a problem. This boy right here acting like a 24 year old be lookin like his granny." It was at this very moment I began fearing age. If you looked like that at 24, then I didn't even want to see 17.

"Well let's go assist our guest and straighten this whole thing out. Do me a favor Matt, just stay quiet."

I didn't answer, but just walked silently behind her. Darnell came out behind me and I could feel him dreaming about beating me. We walked down the cement stairs and our work shoes echoed squeaks through the stairwell. Christy pushed open the door that lead into the second floor kitchen and walked us through boxes of popcorn kernels, soda syrup and candy. They were neatly segregated into silver wire shelving units. See-through hoses wound underneath them and connected to large C02 canisters, which then connected to more see-through hoses that penetrated the wall into the concession stand. I followed them with my eyes and as Christy pushed open the door that lead from the kitchen into the second floor lobby, I caught a glimpse of the hoses connected with plastic star nuts to the Icee machine and soda fountain. I looked beyond Christy and across the lobby saw Oliver checking the ID's of group of late comers. They were making a fuss, distracting Oliver, and from the rear of the group 3 young kids, maybe 12, ran into the theater unnoticed. Standing off to the side with a bag of popcorn in one hand and a perspiring drink in the other was the 30 year old who looked 15.

"Well Matt, where is she?"

I pointed at her and as I did she looked directly at us. I felt awkward pointing her out, like I was identifying a criminal from the back of a cop car. "There she is. In the pink shirt and jean shorts." Christy, still walking towards her, turned her head and shot a glance over me and to Darnell. I knew she thought it was funny. This lady really did look 15.

"Hi miss." Christy stuck out her hand to shake the lady's. The lady clamped down onto the bag of popcorn with the underside of her chin and held it against her breast in order to free up a hand. I couldn't believe the importance that was being put on corporate formalities. They shook hands and the lady rearranged her overpriced purchases and began to make her case while looking over Christy's shoulder, directly at me.

"Your employee called me a liar."

"No I didn't."

Christy turned around to look at me and said, "Excuse me. Excuse me..." She turned back around and faced the lady.

"After he called me a liar, he tried to grab my wallet from me. I'm guessing to check my ID for himself, but who knows? Could have been after something else."

Christy turned and looked at me again. Didn't say anything, just looked at me through her semi-purple lenses. My face was burning and I could tell it was red. A crowd of employees had gather around the corner and they were watching it all unfold. Oliver was still at the door tearing tickets and reciting birthdays.

"Ma'am, I am so sorry. His behavior was unacceptable and I can assure you he will be disciplined. Ma'am, for your troubles, please enjoy this movie complementary of AMC Promenade 16. Just bring your ticket stub to the customer service desk on the first floor on your way out. Once again I am sorry and I hope you enjoy the film."

Without asking for her ID, or even my side of the story, Christy held the theater door open for the lady and waved her through. The door swung close, the staff scattered back to their positions and Christy said, "Come with me."

She said it sternly enough to conjure up images of kindergarten and Ms. Pam and how I had sworn to fight back if I were to ever come across a situation like that again. We rewound our path through the concession stand, through the kitchen, up the stairs and down the hallway littered with corporate bullshit. We went back into her office and she shut the door behind us. I thought it was about to go down. I thought she was going to push me and berate me and call me a liar. I was ready to fight her. I didn't care if she was a girl, she was ugly enough to be a man.

She sat down in her swivel chair and it made a fart sound. With force she pulled open her desk's top drawer and removed a booklet of white paper, backed with pink carbon paper, backed with yellow paper. Bold letters across the top read: DISCIPLINARY WRITE-UP. She violently filled in the blanks, X’s here, initials there, checking twice to make sure the letters were being copied onto the colored pages below. After a minute of eternal silence she handed me the booklet and said, "Sign at the bottom."

"What is this?"

"I'm writing you up for being Insubordinate."

"What does insubordinate mean?"

"It means you don't listen."

"Don't listen to what?"

"See, you're back-talking me. Insubordination."

I signed the paper, confused and frustrated, crumbled it up and stuffed it in my pocket.

"You can return to your post now."

I walked out and as I opened the door saw Darnell standing there. He shook his head at me and pushed spit through the spaces in his teeth. The light shined off the grease in his curled hair and made it look plastic. I hated him. I hated Christy and I hated this damn job. I took my car key out of my pocket and ran it along the wall as I walked down the hallway. I was hoping for blood but got drywall dust instead.