Ticktock Love

[1] The Downsides of Being a Wallflower

As I stood behind the concession stand, a myriad of popcorn pieces crowning my hair, I questioned my choice of a summer job for the umpteenth time.

How did I end up with popped kernels in my hair, you ask?

Simple. A future baseball pitcher threw a handful at me for denying him candy.

"I want M&M's," the kid whined now, pulling his mother's sleeve. His other arm was barely hugging the bag of popcorn, and I could already envision its contents spilling onto the floor, graciously earning me extra ten minutes of my shift. Even with that dreadful outcome looming over my head, I still felt sorry for the little guy. His mother continued rummaging through her purse while shushing him, obviously annoyed at his presence.

Why she took him to the movies then was beyond me.

"Mooom," he persisted in a screeching tone of a dying baby whale. My sympathy for him quavered.

"Quiet, Lucas. The last thing I need is one of your sugar rushes."

She finally found her wallet and dug out a hundred, sliding it across the counter. When she raised her head and glanced at my newest hairstyle, she scoffed.

"You have popcorn in your hair."

"I am aware of that. Anything else?"

Taken aback by my cheerful dismissal, she narrowed her eyes at my nametag. "Nothing else, 'Liz'."

Even modern-day Caroline Bingley would have said my name with more affection.

"That would be forty dollars and twenty-four cents, ma'am. Do you have any change?"

She rolled her eyes and fished for a quarter, then slammed it on the counter. I had sixty dollars and a penny ready, but she only took the notes and accompanied them with a saccharine smirk.

"Oh no, honey. Keep it."

With snacks and drinks in her hands, she footslogged toward the nearest projection room, her son quietly trailing behind her and dragging his feet. I shook my head in disbelief, and a single piece of popcorn fell into the cash register.

"Crap," I muttered under my breath and attempted to dig it out with as much subtlety as a bull in a china shop. I turned to George, the thirty-something employee manning the other register, and gave him my best pleading smile.

"George? Can you tell me if I still have popcorn in my hair?"

He gave me a thumbs-up without even looking at me, too busy checking out an article on what seemed to be snail farming. I gave up on getting an answer and fished out my phone out of my back pocket, thanking whoever invented the front-facing camera for their gift to the world. Ruffling up my ponytail, I watched for any loose white bits sticking to my French roast strands, but it was hard to find any. Still, I couldn't wait to get home and wash the grease out.

I naively raised my head only to lock eyes with a single line of disgruntled patrons.

"About time," a man in a suit standing at the front complained. "I've been waiting here for ten minutes."

One thing was for sure: George had definitely taken Apparition classes at Hogwarts, because when I helplessly turned to the left, he was nowhere to be found.

⁂

The rest of my shift passed in a blur. It became much easier after the first batch had received the carbtastic remedy for their foul moods – the 'before' and 'after' pictures would have done wonders for the business. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much that I feared I had accidentally dislocated my jaw. As for George, he came back at some point, reeking of smoke and overfried burgers down the street. Since he was technically my superior, I didn't dare to complain, instead resorting to silently doing my job and occasionally giving him the side-eye.