Consumed

Michael couldn’t help but smile as he pulled his belongings from his locker; the first smile of the day brought on by the fact it was not only the end of an extremely long ten hour shift but also because he’d never be returning to the cinema again. Not that they knew that. At the age of twenty-four, one of the oldest working there, he had always had trouble keeping hold of a job despite rarely being fired. He simply got bored with them and would walk out with little, or no, warning — often leaving his colleagues in dire straits as they’d try and manage their shift knowing they were a man down. Even if boredom hadn’t taken a hold of his senses, in this particular job, he had known from the first day of working there that he wouldn’t fit in. The other staff members were in their late teens and he found it difficult to speak to them on their level. Hell, even the managers looked as though they should have still been in diapers. Some of them even acted like it too.

Two o’clock in the morning and it was still warm outside the air-conditioned building, not that Michael minded having left his home without his coat. He stood in the doorway and lit up a cigarette; a quick drag and the sickly sweet nicotine evaporated any residue stress. He dropped his silver lighter back into his trouser pocket and ran his hand through his dark brown hair. He could feel it was messed up. Another problem with the job was that they forced you to wear a baseball cap. On some people they look cool. Not on Michael. He always complained they made him look special and a few nights into working there he had already come to the conclusion they weren’t even necessary; the management simply made the staff wear them to bring down their confidence a little more. With lowered confidence they’d be easier to control. No one else shared in his beliefs and he had already received two warning letters from the management for failing to turn up in the correct work uniform on the days he decided he didn’t want to wear the hat. A pointless show of disobedience, on his part, for there was always a spare hat close by for him to wear.

From across the car park a stationary van flashed its headlights catching Michael’s attention in the process. Another flash of the headlights when Michael smiled and raised his hand in the air to show he had noticed it and was on his way.

“See you tomorrow,” said Wayne — one of the cinema’s many managers — as he stepped out of the building behind Michael.

Michael flashed him a smile as he walked down the stairs towards the car park, “I don’t think so,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Wayne called out after him.

“I said okay,” Michael lied. He couldn’t be bothered to end the evening on an argument.

He pulled the van’s passenger door open as soon as he was close enough and peered in to one of his best friends, Joel.

“Put that shit out,” said Joel — his green eyes fixed on the cigarette hanging from Michael’s mouth.

“Can’t we just open the window?” asked Michael as he jumped up onto the seat of the VW camper van.

“I mean it, put that shit out,” Joel repeated. “You fucking stink.”

“Jesus, deny a man his simple pleasures, Joel…” moaned Michael. He took an extra long drag before flicking the butt out of the van. “Happy?”

“You going to spend the whole weekend smoking?”

“Depends if you’re going to spend the whole weekend being a miserable fuck.”

There was the slightest of pauses before they both started laughing.

“How have you been?” asked Joel as he started to drive the purple vehicle out of the car park.

“Well… I’m better now I’m not going back to that shit-hole. You got my bag?”

Joel nodded, “What did they say when you told them?”

“Told them? I haven’t told them anything.”

“You’re just not going back?” Joel was a little younger than Michael not that you’d think it if you looked at them side by side. Years working in cold garages, training as a mechanic, had ruined his complexion and he always looked as though he hadn’t bothered to wash the various engine greases from his black hair; always knotted and matted.

“Damn straight. I don’t owe them any favours. You finished the van then?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Sort of.”

“Well it’s looking good.”

“Yeah, I got that bit fixed up okay.”

The van did look good. A classic VW camper van with a funky sparkling purple paint job which certainly caught the attention of people passing by. The roof rack was a shiny chrome metal. Even the van’s grill was chrome. The insides had been fixed too. The seats, once covered in torn smelly fabric, were now a lush leather — a lush leather Joel was extremely protective of even to the point of asking people to remove any keys from their back pockets before taking a seat for fear of causing a rip.

“So what bit wasn’t fixed up okay?” asked Michael.

“Let’s just say we nearly ended up having to get a taxi…”

“What?”

“It wouldn’t start.”

“But it’s okay now?”

“I guess. I haven’t actually switched the engine off to check if it starts again. I got it started. I figured why rock the boat?”