The Occasional Seat – Ushering

There is a sinking feeling that hits every time the auditorium door opens. With each person that steps through the threshold into the lobby, it grows more intense. It is only alleviated when that one person looks at you and smiles before promptly discarding their popcorn tub filled with their Junior Mints and Twizzlers into the giant trashcan that seems attached to your right arm. Yes, they are the godsends, the angels. However, that one bright spot is but a wave in a sea of gloom. For, as soon as the theater has emptied, it is your responsibility to venture into the abyss that is waiting just beyond the railing.

After inserting the light key, the first thing that hits you is the sheer volume of cups. They are everywhere. That familiar orange, large cup highlights the break between each seat, and you are left wondering: how much effort does it take to carry your cup down the stairs to the trashcan below? No, most seem to be too busy discussing the wonderful way James McAvoy’s hair hits his forehead or quoting the funniest lines from “27 Dresses”. No, you as the usher, are to learn how to stack at least 7 cups on your arms, balanced between your elbows, shoulder blades, forehead, or whatever appendage happens to be present and capable. When you have been working for a few months, you become really talented.

Of course, the cups are only a small part of the liter flooding your once pristine auditorium. Wedged between the seat and the armrest, lying on the stairs, and balanced on the hand railings are kids packs, Airheads, and that most villainous of candy: Sour Patch Kids. These multicolored gobs of sugary goo are sure to stick everywhere. First, they are lodged between the cupholder and the chair attached to it. Then, they make their way onto the floor as you vigorously swing your broom at the evil lump. This can now go one of two ways. Either the Sour Patch Kid will end up decorating your uniform or it will become a permanent broom accessory. Consequently, when you have been employed as an usher for a few months, you will be asked to sign a petition asking for the replacement of Sour Patch Kids with something a bit easier to clean.

Ah yes, now that the cups are cleared and the candy disguised within the broom bristles it is time to move onto the primary purpose of your job. It is time for you to run to the back of the theater and slowing make your way down, zig-zagging between rows as you go. Now, you are sweeping the endless mounds of popcorn. It seems odd to me that a theater filled with mostly grown adults would know how to transport one handful of popcorn to their faces without dumping it all over themselves and the surrounding area.  Yet, this clumsiness does not account for the large piles of popcorn that appear every three or four rows. Perhaps these pockets of filth are left by a dissatisfied customer. Perhaps, an audience member was so scared in their horror film that they accidentally threw their tub in the air. Perhaps, two feuding siblings decided to tug and pull at the tub of popcorn, instead of sharing, and the container exploded.

At the end of the day, it might surprise you that suburban adults can be so irresponsibly messy. However, as your shift comes to an end at 10:30 PM,  you must realize that this is what you are paid to do. There is no logic behind it, and if we haven’t figured out how to stop the perpetual filth by now we most likely will never solve that problem. Rather, I suggest you enjoy your $5.75 an hour. You have surely earned it, my friend!