They made the previous year’s total sales for that day in a mere hour and a half. The back of Maria’s neck was sweaty, and her feet hurt like crazy.
Ted barked orders at her. She filled them.
An old woman with a flowery purse as big as her torso came up and ordered a medium caramel popcorn. "All right, ma'am," Maria said, "that'll be six dollars, please – " But Ted brushed past Maria, rushing to take the lady’s money. The woman gave him a ten dollar bill with a shaking, arthritic hand.
Maria watched him closely.
“All right, thank you, ma’am,” Ted said after the woman paid. The line at the Popcorn Palace had thinned. The lunch rush was over. Maria stood by the register and held out her hand for the money. She sometimes rang the orders out while Ted, or whomever she was working with, filled the bags of popcorn. It was easier that way. Except, Ted didn’t hand her the money. He went to the cash register and rang it out himself.
The lady stood at the counter, looking on in confusion. Maria felt bad for her. Suddenly, she never wanted to get old, never wanted to have to sing songs in made-up languages, or limp around the mall with arthritis-riddled knees.
“You’re all set, ma’am. Have a nice day!” Ted said, punching the order into the touch screen register.
“Thank you,” the old lady replied somewhat hesitantly. She turned and waddled away with her popcorn sticking out of her purse.
Maria scowled. “Uh, Ted?”
“What?”
“You totally ripped that old lady off.”
“What?” He sounded surprised.
“She gave you ten bucks and she only got a medium.”
Ted looked down at the bill, then up at Maria. He knew he’d been caught. The only way to get out of the situation was to lie about it.
“Oh, my mistake. Thought she gave me—”
“What, a six-dollar bill? They don’t make those, Ted. You know that, and I know that.” She leaned over Ted, bumping him out of the way, and took four singles from the register. A medium bag of caramel corn was six bucks. “For all you know, that old woman could be on a budget, and you just took her bus fare and pocketed it.”
“Don’t lecture me, Maria. It was an honest mistake.”
“Yeah, and pigs fly.”
She closed the register and gave Ted her best evil eye. It felt good to stand up to her boss, even though the possibility of losing her job was in the back of her mind. She left the kiosk and followed the old lady. Luckily she hadn’t gotten very far—only to the water fountain in the middle of the mall, between a JCPenney and the entrance to the food court.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Maria ventured when she got close.
The old lady turned around. She smiled once she recognized Maria’s uniform.
“You forgot your change,” Maria said. “Four dollars.” She handed it to the woman, who looked grateful.
“I thought I was due change, but that man…he just seemed so mean.”
“Between you and me, he is.” Maria gave her a wink.
“Here, young lady,” the old woman said. “For being honest.” She gave Maria two dollars. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
“No, I can’t accept that. Doing the right thing is just how I was raised.”
“Then you were raised very well, indeed.”
Maria pictured her grandpa and grinned. “Yes, yes, I was.”
“Well, thank you, dear. I’ll make sure to come back and get some popcorn when Pete and I finish this bag. Tonight’s movie night!” There was honest excitement on her face.
“Enjoy it. I’ll see you next time,” Maria said.
When she got back to the kiosk, Ted was frowning, and his arms were crossed over his flabby chest.
“You better watch yourself, Apple. I can fire you, you know.”
Maria nodded.
“Let that be a warning. For now, you’re on popping duty.”
“Ugh, c’mon, it’s my birthday!”
Ted shook his head. “You reached into the register without permission. You’re really lucky I don’t report you to corporate for theft.”
“Theft? You gotta be kidding me! You were the one—” Maria caught herself. An odd prickling feeling raced up her arms, causing her chest to burn with fire. She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
Then she turned around and went down the few steps that led to the Popcorn Palace’s bottom floor, where the magic happened. If she kept running her mouth, she had no doubt Ted would fire her. Getting fired was never a good thing, but getting fired on your birthday was damn near embarrassing.
The workers of the Popcorn Palace called the bottom room, which doubled as a stock room and kitchen, ‘the Last Level of Hell,’ because once the kettle got cooking, the temperatures sweltered. Maria was already sweating.
“So hot,” she huffed to herself, wiping her forehead. “And screw you, Ted. Trying to rip off an old woman. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
How people could do such terrible things was beyond Maria. She wondered how Ted was able to fall asleep at night. Probably hanging upside down—or maybe in a coffin, the fucking bloodsucker, she thought.
The booming business rush had left the store low on buttery popcorn, the regular movie theater kind. Working the kettle meant she’d smell like hot butter and oil for the rest of the night. The odor would get trapped in her hair and be near impossible to get out, unless she shampooed and conditioned at least two times. Maria had plans after work; she really didn’t want to smell like a movie theater’s dumpster while she was playing putt-putt with her friends.
“Beats being up there with Ted,” she murmured. “But I wonder how many senior citizens he’s ripped off since I’ve been gone. That poor woman.”
Maria turned the kettle on. It would take about five minutes for it to warm up, and for the kernels to start popping. She laughed as she read the name of the kettle. ‘Cornelius, the Cornado.’ Clever, very clever, and
