Hangin' out at Cinemark Theatres

At the Cinemark theater in Allen, the box office is a maroon prison, walled by glass so thick, it resembles plastic. Dirt, dust, and the remnants of ticket stubs and coin wrappers litter the floor. On a worn bar stool, Liam the cashier sits, gazing forward, trance-like, at two stone columns, four light posts, and more than a few trees.

Liam is in his late teens, wiry with short, curly hair. There's enough scruff on his chin to make you think "college," but the baby face makes you add "freshman" to it. Soft-spoken, he says just enough to move the transaction, but never fails to address someone as "Sir" or "Ma'am." The disheveled collar and lanyard suggests he was probably running late today.

Bring up any movies and the glazed eyes light up. His knowledge of film, both old and new, is rivaled only by his love of the art form.

A man, when asking about the discount, asks with a chuckle "Do I need my ID?" The cashier dismisses the question, a hint of annoyance on his face.

As the line builds, a manager walks in - a man in a black suit, red shirt, black tie - to give the cashier some relief. But he leaves when another manager - an older woman with a spotted shirt - takes over the register, leaving Liam to observe. The other register continues to be unmanned as the line of five turns into fifteen.

The woman leaves and the dual-chromatic manager returns. Once the line is empty, the mics turn off and the two men share a laugh. Is it at the expense of a customer? "The world may never know."

Many elderly, white people are coming to see Hillary's America: The Secret History of the Democratic Party. The manager asks me "Do you think if I switch this out with The Purge, people will notice?" When I shrug, both men burst out laughing.

A few minutes later, a little girl walks up with her mother. She interrupts the transaction with "There's a bird passed out in the parking lot. You should go bring him in the shade."

What else is a cashier to do but mutter a stunned, stammering "Okay"?

To my knowledge, the bird has yet to be picked up.

The sticky heat outside heavily contrasts with the air conditioning in the box, felt by patrons through the small slot in the window.

We get to talking about our thoughts about for the worst movies of the year. Despite it only being July, we have a fair crowd of contenders.

"[The worst would] have to be Independence Day: Resurgence," he says. "I'd probably list Free State of Jones too. I tried, but I was just so bored."

The day rolls on, and with it, boredom, but Liam keeps on going. Thankfully, all he needs is a good conversation and a good movie. He's probably in the right line of work.