My First Job

I sometimes, probably too often, complain about my day job. The hours are too unpredictable, the pay too average, the students, at times, drilling a hole through my ears and directly into my brain with the constant questions, excuses, and regular torments. But I must realize how far I have come from my very first "real" job, which I want to recount in writing, so I remind myself that life is not all that bad right now.

My first job was at a very popular Canadian movie theatre chain. I was ecstatic when I got the job. It was right before Christmas time during my senior year in high school. Back then, I didn't have to worry about paying trivial bills, and didn't mind the concept of "rent," so I planned to use 100% of my earnings on truly important necessities, such as fast fashion and Burger King whopper meals. It was a truly exciting time.

On the first day of training, the boss (who seemed intimidating at the time, but I now realize more resembled a balding business school dropout whose life didn't go according to plan) divided us up into 2 teams: floor and concession. Those who were assigned to concession spent their shift time popping popcorn, filling up Coke cups with sugary liquids, and upselling overpriced combos to moviegoers. Those assigned to "floor," on the other hand, did a variety of amusing tasks: sweeping up the lobby, cleaning the cinemas after the movies ended, standing at a podium and checking tickets as customers walked by, and the most dreaded duty: "washroom checks." 

How the boss decided which pimply-faced teenager went into which category, I don't know, but I think he reserved the more outgoing ones to "concession" and the outcasts to "floor." He took a look at me and my fate was decided: floor it was. For the next 2 years of my life I would, on a part-time basis, walk aimlessly around a crowded movie complex with a broom that resembled one of the Wicked Witch of the West's. The broom always gave me splinters in my palms and was a nuisance to carry, being made of heavy wood. In addition to this humiliation, I was also forced to wear the mandated uniform: an awful blue cap (which turned me off of caps to this day), an oversized, thick, navy polo shirt, black slacks that I got for $10 from Walmart, and jet black Converse All-Star Chuck's, which quickly became seeped through with the smell of burnt popcorn.

After just three miserable months at the theatre, demeaning myself for $9.60 an hour, I became horribly, awfully, excruciatingly bored. Especially during the 6-8 hour shifts. If I were on "washroom duty" the whole time, I would eventually lock myself up in a stall and listen to "Wonderwall" on my iPod on repeat (this song kept me going through the most depressing of times). If the washroom were empty, I would take selfies in the mirror, along with my broom, and post them on Twitter, as these were pre-Snapchat times, with the hashtags #bored #work #broom, as you can see in the photo below.

After a year, a few of my floor workmates got "promoted," at the same pay, to the Yogen Fruz which was in the lobby of the theatre. How I dreamed of working at the Yogen Fruz, tasting samples of vanilla frozen yogurt all day, then standing around chatting with coworkers the rest of the time. I asked my supervisors several times for such a promotion, but for whatever reason, they were intent on making me stay on "floor" claiming that there were not enough women on floor, and they needed someone to check the women's bathrooms. Life was an injustice.

Another source of entertainment at the movie theatre was all the drama. Below are a few snippets of the drama from my time there:

#1: in the staff room, someone left a note saying "FOR THE PERSON WHO STOLE MY SWEATPANTS: I WILL FIND YOU AND CUT YOU"

#2: a scandalous affair between two coworkers ensued, one in a managerial role and one a lowly floor member (ah! forbidden romance!). I was occasionally responsible for passing notes along between the two (I don't know why a) they trusted me or b) they didn't just text) and the few peeks I took revealed a most tragic romance.

#3: I was put on concession duty one day. I burnt literally all the popcorn. Every kernel. (This is why I was never promoted, I presume)

#4: We had private "staff parties" where underage kids would drink copious amount of tequila and kiss each other behind bushes. Then they would show up to work the next day with hickeys peeking out from beneath their navy collars, and they would be punished with washroom duty.

#5: one time, half of the heavy, metallic sign outdoors reading the name of the movie theatre crashed down on the pavement below. Luckily, no person nor animal was injured or killed.

#6: on the premier night of "Magic Mike," a line-up of around 30 middle-aged to senior women lined up outside the cinema, laughing and telling me how excited they were. I smiled. I realized: if this were a line of men lining up to see "Magical Maria" I would be disgusted. What a crazy world.

I could go on, but this sums up my first job experience. I don't regret it, though, and I will make sure my kid goes through the exact same pain. I learned many useful life skills that you don't get in the classroom: how to deal with bosses and coworkers, how to manage your time, how to do tasks that you don't particularly enjoy. But one lesson was more important than the most. Let me give you an example:

On the second day of training, my boss rounded us teenagers up around the concession stand and gave us popcorn training 101. A medium bag of popcorn sold for $5 at the time. He asked us how much it cost to make it. We guessed, $3? $2? Maybe $1.50? You would still get a nifty profit from that margin. No, he said. A medium bag of popcorn costs 5 cents to make, 3 cents for the bag and 2 cents for the kernels. We looked at him in awe. I was appalled at the injustice. These movie-goers...they are all being ripped off! Call the police! Call Better Business Bureau! But then I realized that this was life. Nothing is fair. And that was when I learned my most important lesson of all: everything is bull. This job is bull, that job is bull, what most people say is bull, it is just all bull. 

I now carry on these important lessons into my life as an independent adult, and I am grateful to all my ex coworkers, bosses, and the annoying littering customers I was forced to deal with. Sometimes you just have to breathe in, breathe out, and laugh it off. We're all just fools paying $5 for a 5 cent bag of popcorn.