This is the first part of a many part saga that will tell the infamous and notorious tale of my nine years of incarceration with Century Theatres. I'll try to keep to the lowlights of this journey. For purposes of avoiding defamation, I will change the names of the principles involved - though I'm sure those of you who've known me long enough already know the names. As a side note, and to be fair, I was a bit of an idealistic youth during this time period. Getting away from the corporate world and being able to look at the big picture, I began to understand a little more why things were done a certain way. However, that being said, the company never showed a willingness to change their practices and were the sole beneficiaries of everything gained by certain cost cutting measures. Idealistic or no, I am much happier where I am now.
PROLOGUE
It was the fall of 1997 and not a few weeks earlier I had stood on the deck of a Princess Cruises liner heading to Alaska. Now, the wind and the rain was pelting my face. The view was wonderful. To the east, was the San Francisco Bay spreading away from me quietly, as if buttoned up against the storm that was to come. To the north, I could see the planes from San Francisco International Airport taxiing into position for take-off. To the west, freeway and the rolling mountains that separated me from the coast, storm clouds crossing their peaks. To the south, the dark confines of Coyote Point with the endless line of fuel-short airplanes gliding into position for a landing. I could have almost enjoyed it.
Below me, all hell was breaking loose in the Hyatt Cinema. Understaffed and undertrained, my crew rushed about their duties as best they could trying to get through the rush of Saturday night. It was all they could do to stay afloat. The assistant managers, who had a combined one year of experience between the five of them, struggled to maintain order while keeping the films running.
I stood on the roof, getting wet, quietly angry and getting more angry and frustrated by the moment. I had been manager for a mere 72 hours. My training had lasted about half of Saturday morning. During that training, I had been shown the building, I had reviewed the staff information, and had all the banking information switched over to my name. And then I had been shown the roof - through the Round Table Pizza place next door, up the back ladder, through the abandoned bath house, up another ladder to the roof and across a series of precarious structurally flawed sections to the heating/air conditioning unit. I was shown the unit, told how it supplied heat to the main auditorium, and given the phone number to call if it ever broke.
It conked out that first night I was manager. I called for repairs. Nobody came. I called all day Saturday and actually talked to a live person who was very annoyed at being tricked into answering the phone. Vague promises turned to nothing. I called my boss. I called my old boss. I called anyone I could think of. By Sunday evening, as I stood in the rain ready to take a mallet to the clunky piece of machinery, and angry enough to turn green and smash a few Army tanks, I suddenly realized that even if I didn't know what I wanted to do or be in life, I knew that I didn't want to be a Movie Theater Manager.
It had only taken me six years to reach this point. It would only take me another three years to finally get away from Century Theatres.
This is my tale of woe.
No comments:
Post a Comment