The Popcorn Syndicate

Stacey Bader CurryStacey Bader CurryStacey Bader CurryStacey Bader Curry — The Popcorn Syndicate

When I was 14, my greatest joy in life was my job at CVS. It calmed me to align boxes of Excedrin and to make change in my head. But when I was 16 and I started memorizing SKU numbers for fun, I thought, ​“Maybe it’s time to move on.” So, I interviewed with Mr. Hazel, the manager of the coolest movie theater in town. He was very formal and he wore this natty three-piece suit. He introduced me to Doug, his driver, and I thought, ​“Wow, this movie theater is really nice.” So, I got hired, and I worked behind the candy stand. And right away, this place was very strange. CVS was like a Jane Austen novel. It was very orderly and there was this lovely atmosphere of gloom and isolation. 

The movie theater was like Lord of the Flies. Mr. Hazel was never there. The teenagers were always conspiring and laughing. I was completely left out. But what really bothered me was our popcorn inventory system. It didn’t add up. It was really simple. All we had to do was count the popcorn tubs before our shift, and then count the tubs again after the shift. The difference was what we sold. But the whole shift, I was mentally tallying our sales, and it never added up to what we had on the inventory sheet. The money was correct in the cash drawer, but I knew we were selling more. So, I expressed my concerns to my coworker, Marie. 

And she snapped her gum in my face and said, ​“You better talk to Mike.” Now, Mike was a head usher. He was a little intimidating. And that afternoon, he grabbed me and he said, ​“So, I hear you want in.” 

“What?” 

He said, ​“Listen, kid, what we do here is we sell refurbished popcorn cups.” I had no idea what he was talking about. So, he laid it out for me. ​“What you got to do is you come with me and clean out the theater. You look for popcorn cups in the garbage on the floor, you meet me back in the break room and we wipe them out. And as long as there’s no visible butter stains or tears, you put them back behind the counter and you take the corresponding cash out of the drawer.” So, I was appalled, but a little intrigued. And so, I said, ​“Well, what do you do with the cash?” He just smiled broadly and he said, ​“Well, we all go to dinner every night at Charlie Brown’s. And then, after work, I buy a case of beer.”

Not only did I join their organization, I elevated it. I brought my strong quant skills and my analytical reasoning. I said, ​“Guys, we are not allocating resources properly. We don’t need three people to clean up after dirty dancing. That is all teenage girls, they eat Twizzlers. We need to focus upstairs theater number three, where we were showing The Untouchables.” Now, if you don’t know, this is uncanny. The Untouchables is the true-life story of Eliot Ness’ takedown of Al Capone. You know who came to see The Untouchables in the summer of 1987? Senior citizens. They never put butter on their popcorn. That theater was littered with pristine cups. So, we were flush with cash. We would roll into Charlie Brown’s, like we own the place. 

We’d pass Mr. Hazel at the bar, and he was nursing his eighth scotch. It was like this portal to an alternate reality open for me. It was like this world where people didn’t care about being proper, and they didn’t have the same complicated relationship with money that I had. I grew up in a coupon clipping, generic toilet paper household, and here I am at Charlie Brown’s, a restaurant where they bring you sour cream with your baked potato, and you don’t even have to ask for it. And I’m ordering shrimp cocktail and prime rib. It was exhilarating. 

So, fall came, and we got rid of dirty dancing and we got Fatal Attraction. Everyone and their grandmother wanted to see that bunny in the pot. We were mad busy, and quality control really slipped. One day, I’m serving a small popcorn to a woman. And as I put it in her hand, I see, all too late, a lipstick imprint on the cup. It’s just the bottom lip and it’s underneath the rim, but she took it and she went into theater. And as that door shut, I imagined a life in prison. 

And I realized I like my complicated relationship with money. I find great comfort in that. So, we didn’t get caught, but I quit theater and I started waiting tables. I waited tables all through high school, through four years of college, and I self-financed my own education by waiting tables. 

Thank you. Thank you. I still have a complicated relationship with money, but that’s fine. I’m still thrifty. But I do occasionally go to the movies and I always order popcorn, because they don’t sell it in tubs anymore. They sell it in disposable paper bags now. Thank you.