Sour Cream, Lettuce, and False Termination

A little over a year ago I achieved employment in Denton after spending the past two years almost completely without a job. The month and a half I spent puttering around Best Buy, messing up sales with secret sellers doesn’t really count. Upon my arrival of Cinemark 14 in Denton, I was fairly well received by others, and tepidly impressive as I knew a lot of the goings on behind the scenes at a movie theater. Also I wasn’t some whiney school kid, so that’s always a plus. I remember the first two people I met while working in my first few days, Mr. San Antonio, my constantly galled manager, and Laura; a clever young lass who drives a beige colored car.

With the exception of Mr. Cole who hired me, San Antonio was the first manager I worked under. I gingerly walked into the scullery on my first day to see that he was already barking at the other two new hires, Mark and Gracie. Despite his sometimes cross outward appearance, San Antonio is actually quite the cool dude, understanding my references to Dragonball Z, Rimmer salute, and an occasional hardy “Rowsdower!”
San Antonio’s catch phrase is something that he has apparently wanted to say truthfully since he became a manager, those two words of termination: “You’re Fired.” Perhaps following in Donald Trump’s footsteps, but not his hairstyle Jacob struts about pulling people aside to break the false news to them, then giving them a stern nod and walking away. Once performing this action, the victim is usually set into a vegetative trance to which they lay for a few moments, during which the spider is able to encase them in a cocoon for ingestion later. And it is likely that he will comment this phrase once reading this particular entry.

During my second shift I was placed under the watchful eye of Laura, who from what I can remember wasn’t very impressed with me at first (who would be?). She took my past experience in movie theaters to be unsound, and passed me off as some stupid kid, but I proved her! Despite her indifference to me, I did find some common ground when I suddenly panicked and shouted out the words “Doctor Who!” With this vocal spasm I learned she also liked the show, and we developed an instant rapport. Then I lost it after going overboard with my nerdiness of both the classic and modern series, as opposed to just the new series with the Ninth Doctor forwards.
Yet, after time she allowed me to talk to her again, but only with a permission slip signed by the Australian Transport Safety Bureau’s chief executive. Thankfully Mr. Martin Dolan is an old friend of mine, and got it out of the way for me. Seeing as she was out and about upstairs starting movies, while I was downstairs wanting customers to go away and stop giving me brain trauma. And now I can safely say that I have moved to no. 97 on her list favorite people, right next to Mickey Rooney, and the guy from the Zararain’s commercials, which isn’t a bad spot if I do say so myself.
Well there is some year old nostalgia from me. Perhaps you can write something more interesting, or whittle some dancing clogs.