My first real job was at the newly opened movie theater in town.
Before that, I did frequent stints as neighborhood babysitter. The best babysitting gigs were with the Carters. They paid me $8 an hour to watch Fern Gully with their two mild-mannered kids while the parents went out for date nights. After the kids went to sleep, I’d recline on their leather couch to read Michael Crichton novels.
The local newspaper announced job openings for the movie theater, and my friend Sarah and I decided to apply together. We were high schoolers, and assumed safety in numbers. The interview process involved about 75 people being seated in the theater. I surveyed the competition as people filed into the room. A suave-looking manager stood in front of the crimson velvet curtain, and bragged about his qualifications and spouted off miscellaneous facts about the movie theater industry. I had dreams of becoming a film director, and figured this job was at least a tiny step for a Maui girl to get herself to Hollywood. There were several open positions - theater crew (a glorified title for ushers and janitorial staff), ticket office, and concession. Lured by the prospect of interacting with customers, Sarah and I decided to work in the concession stand. “Very good with people” was the generic phrase we wrote on our applications.
Our job as concession staff was to work hard and fast, and make sure the customer was always satisfied. We mastered the art of the up-sell. “Would you like to make that drink an extra large? Do you want the Family-Size Combo for just $3.99 more?” We turned on our friendliest smiles to the customers who were annoyed at waiting several minutes for their hot dogs to warm up. When they weren’t looking, we’d roll our eyes at each other. People get really grumpy at you when you charge them seven dollars for popcorn. By the end of the day, our aloha shirts and polyester pants reeked of fake butter sauce and nachos. We could claim any leftover popcorn (and there were garbage bags full), but that perk quickly lost its charm. If you befriended the projector operator, you could score movie paraphernalia like posters and film reels. The real highlight of the job was getting to watch movies for free on our time off. Technically employees were allowed to bring one friend to watch movies, but we all snuck entire groups in while the managers turned a blind eye.
The day we received our first paychecks was like hitting the jackpot. It didn’t matter that we were making minimum wage, or that taking orders at the cash register wasn’t exactly glamorous. When I opened the envelope and pulled out a printed check with my name on it, I was elated. I was a working girl with a real job.
Before that, I did frequent stints as neighborhood babysitter. The best babysitting gigs were with the Carters. They paid me $8 an hour to watch Fern Gully with their two mild-mannered kids while the parents went out for date nights. After the kids went to sleep, I’d recline on their leather couch to read Michael Crichton novels.
The local newspaper announced job openings for the movie theater, and my friend Sarah and I decided to apply together. We were high schoolers, and assumed safety in numbers. The interview process involved about 75 people being seated in the theater. I surveyed the competition as people filed into the room. A suave-looking manager stood in front of the crimson velvet curtain, and bragged about his qualifications and spouted off miscellaneous facts about the movie theater industry. I had dreams of becoming a film director, and figured this job was at least a tiny step for a Maui girl to get herself to Hollywood. There were several open positions - theater crew (a glorified title for ushers and janitorial staff), ticket office, and concession. Lured by the prospect of interacting with customers, Sarah and I decided to work in the concession stand. “Very good with people” was the generic phrase we wrote on our applications.
Our job as concession staff was to work hard and fast, and make sure the customer was always satisfied. We mastered the art of the up-sell. “Would you like to make that drink an extra large? Do you want the Family-Size Combo for just $3.99 more?” We turned on our friendliest smiles to the customers who were annoyed at waiting several minutes for their hot dogs to warm up. When they weren’t looking, we’d roll our eyes at each other. People get really grumpy at you when you charge them seven dollars for popcorn. By the end of the day, our aloha shirts and polyester pants reeked of fake butter sauce and nachos. We could claim any leftover popcorn (and there were garbage bags full), but that perk quickly lost its charm. If you befriended the projector operator, you could score movie paraphernalia like posters and film reels. The real highlight of the job was getting to watch movies for free on our time off. Technically employees were allowed to bring one friend to watch movies, but we all snuck entire groups in while the managers turned a blind eye.
The day we received our first paychecks was like hitting the jackpot. It didn’t matter that we were making minimum wage, or that taking orders at the cash register wasn’t exactly glamorous. When I opened the envelope and pulled out a printed check with my name on it, I was elated. I was a working girl with a real job.
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