The Last Batch

Some people who worked at the cinema were film aficionados. Maybe they considered themselves to be critics, or they loved the scent of popcorn, the big screen, or the magic of film history and projection. I was not one of them. 

I liked movies well enough. The movie theater vibe was kind of cool. Free movies were a nice perk if you overlooked the low pay. It was a job that I felt I could be good at while taking nothing that happened personally. A necessary skill in a customer service role. The charming, smallish town I'd relocated to for the pleasure of attending a tiny liberal arts college; that’s what I loved. Enough to stay for a master’s. I was a scholar and a masochist. 

The opportunities for summer jobs in town were limited, though fortunately, not competitive. The school had closed for the summer, but rent for my apartment was still due, even without the small stipend I received during the school year. I appreciated the job and the fact that they kept me on year after year as a summer seasonal. It was pretty slow. 

A family-run cinema that had narrowly avoided a franchise takeover by getting declared a heritage site. Some society or another had even come out with a plaque that now graced an outside wall near the front entrance. Management requested that workers who smoked not take their breaks in front of the plaque. 

Over the years the smell of popcorn had lost its appeal and vacuuming it out of carpet was a personal nightmare. Today especially, I was most grateful for the cool, dark, theater which provided a modicum of relief for the splitting headache that plagued me. I’d slipped away under the guise of “theater checks” after the day shift, which consisted of Darnell and Mallory, had left. Darnell couldn’t resist his customary reminders as he buttoned his jacket to leave, patting his pockets for keys, wallet, and lighter. 

“Don’t forget the closing tasks, especially the last batch. Just focus on the checklist!” He strapped on his helmet and picked up his longboard. The helmet made his locs stick out a little. I’d given him a limp salute in acknowledgement, wincing from the pain of a thousand knives stabbing into my temple. 

Luckily closing with Finnley was easy. She was sympathetic and based off of the strong waft of weed and stronger perfume I’d received when she gave my shoulder a soft squeeze, she’d be content to pretend to sweep the spotless lobby floor, looking busy when a customer came in. All too soon we were closed and trying to muster a final push of effort to tick off the closing tasks. 

With minimal disturbance we were down to the last items. Popping popcorn for the last batch of the night. When I began training, I thought it was weird to leave food out overnight. But having opened before to no popcorn in the machine I figured some lucky afterhours janitor got to supplement their paycheck with a car full of popcorn every week. Darnell said it was to pay respects to “Pops”. Some great-great uncle of the cinema owner who had, according to rumor, died at the theater he loved and ran with his sister and nephew. Offering or not, I dutifully made the last batch anytime I closed. 

Tonight the familiar popping was slowly edged out by a ringing that became a high screaming accompanied by what felt like a blow to my head. Distantly I could feel Finnley gripping my arms. She was checking me over, touching my face. We appeared to be sinking as everything went black. 

…

I came to in front of the popcorn machine. Finnley was gone, as was the pain in my head. I turned and an older man was standing by the register. He was familiar and also not. I looked around for Finnley while trying to place him. My eye caught on a few of the movie posters. They were different from the current and coming soon posters I’d helped put up myself. I approached the man, confused. I drew closer and it clicked. The man was familiar because I’d seen him once before. 

In a grainy, sepia-toned photo on a desk in the projection booth. “Jerome ‘Pops’ Burnell (1963)” was the handwritten inscription. Pops, the one who had supposedly died at the theater. Unless I was dreaming, I died. At work of all places. Poor Finnley. Poor me, I guess. 

“Catching a movie, miss?” His voice and calming demeanor put me at ease.

“I just got off work, what’s playing?” I asked. An understatement.

“Well, we’ve got a bit of everything,” I looked up at the showings and the titles seemed to stretch on, changing every little while. “We’ve got pictures from all the decades. If you’re looking for something new, we can select a different region and language.” Pops said.

“Take your time to decide, you can also come back any time. My name is Jerome, but everyone calls me Pops, and the popcorn comes with free refills.” Looking up at the concessions menu, I chuckled. The price under all the items said free, but the popcorn still advertised free refills. The popcorn machine did in fact have a fresh batch. 

I suppose this was the batch I’d made. I was dead and had been unknowingly supplying popcorn for the ghostly night shift. Was I going to be stuck at work for all eternity? I scanned the movie titles looking for something I’d recognize, even if it wasn’t recent. An old, guilty pleasure romance I’d watched time and again with my mom as a child caught my eye. 

“I’ll catch that one, if that’s alright?” I gestured to the title screen though it had already changed. Pops didn't even look back, just printed me a ticket.

“Any concessions? Hard to watch a movie without popcorn and a drink at least.” He was grinning, determined to provide the theater experience even to an employee. Ex-employee?

I got the popcorn and a drink. A flavor I’d never seen before that required a bottle opener. 

“Enjoy!” Pops called after me having provided minimal directions towards the theaters. It was hardly confusing.  

I started down the hallway and there appeared to be many theaters with different films showing, but at the same time there was only one doorway for me to enter. The dimly lit theater was more or less the same. I found a middle seat in an upper row and settled in. The trailers began as I imagine they would have when the movie first came out. I looked around the theater and realized, somewhat gladly, that there were a few other people seated and a couple more trickled in as I surveyed the darkening room. 

The movie started and despite my heightened sense for theater disruption, I relaxed into the movie. I was even enjoying the taste of popcorn again. The soda was weird, but not necessarily in a bad way. As the movie unfolded predictably, I was no less gripped. By the end, I realized I was crying. The tears streamed silently, blurring the credits, but the sorrow felt almost exterior to me. Like I was crying for my mother, more than myself. The trash from my snacks had disappeared at some point and I blearily made my way back to the lobby. The others who had been in the theater with me were gone, but Pops was there. 

“If you’re not ready to head out just yet, I can show you what the day shift looks like. The employee tour, if you’re interested?” He offered. I was interested. 

“The people-watching is just as good as the new films.” He elaborated, “Though, it might be best if you come back another time. The theater will likely be closed after all.” Right… I’d died. I hope they closed for at least a day.

“So I can leave?” I homed in on the pertinent question.

“Sure! This is just where it ended, so it’s where you begin. You can go wherever you want to next. See the sights, finish some business, perhaps a preferred afterlife?” His answer made me contemplate the doors. I wasn’t trapped here, but there were still decisions to be made it seemed. Death had cured me of everything but my indecisiveness. 

“You can always stay for a double feature.” Pops suggested, graciously. 

“What would you suggest?” Indecisive again. I didn’t even look at the options.

“I think I’ve got a film for ya.” He printed another ticket. 

Once again, I walked through the short, endless hallway into a theater. I can admit, I have no idea what the movie was. The soundless stream of tears returned. Again, it felt like crying about myself rather than for myself. Eventually the movie ended. I wiped my face and made my way out to the lobby. Avoiding the doors, I gravitated back to Pops.

“Do you ever leave?” The words came out with little tact.

“I never wanted to before. I hated that I had to. Honestly, keeping this place open was my life’s work. I could do it for eternity.” He patted the counter before him affectionately. “If you didn’t find that in life, go out and do it now, or just start by going out.” He said. Out. I wondered if the small town would be out those doors, or some other ghostly locale.

“Thanks for the movies.” I started towards the doors.

“Remember, you can always come see a movie. I’ll be here!” Pops called after me.

“I’ll hold you to that tour next time.” I responded. He chuckled and nodded as I reached for the door handle. 

And pushed.