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CHANDLER COULD ONLY STARE at the bustle of customers within the cramped walls of the lobby of the downtown Cinemart, the cheesy Christmas music blaring faintly from the speakers. Perched on top of the counter, the man craned his neck to get a good look at the pretty blonde sitting across the room, clearly intrigued.
The New York City traffic was at its peak for the night, audible enough through the thin walls of the building. Stacks of snow lined the pavement outside as a steady sea of people sauntered by with their phones tightly clutched against their ears, shopping bags and toy store goods gripped in the other. A group of drunk merry men exited the bar across the street, arm in arm, and began singing a horrible rendition of Silent Night at the top of their lungs.
It was Christmas, the most detestable time of the year. Parents running wild from one discounted toy store to the other, the endless visits from unfamiliar relatives, the cries of children whining for something bigger - Chandler could only bear so much.
As if the holiday season couldn't possibly get any worse, Chandler was forced to take a leave from work because his boss insisted he should, even when he had protested numerous times that he didn't mind the extra hours if it meant he'd get a little more on his next pay.
There couldn't have been any worse time for him to get off from work too, with his apartment rent due next week. Technically, it was Joey's half, but Chandler's friend hadn't gotten a gig in a while and he knew better than anyone than to peg him for money.
As a last-minute attempt, Chandler had somehow snatched himself a part-time job at the local theater downtown before he could think better of it. It didn't have the best pay in the world (it barely scraped half of what he usually earned), but it had to be enough to at least pay Joey's half for the month, and that was good enough for him.
Joey was furious when he found out over breakfast ("I can pay for us myself just fine," he had said with a frown), but the gang had reasoned with him then that it was just until his manager landed him another role. Indignation and anger eventually settled into gratitude the longer the day went and by the time night came around, Chandler was welcomed back to his apartment with a warm hug and a muffled apology.
Presently, as he hung around the lobby, Chandler had never thought highly of himself, but he never realized just how low he was on the spectrum of twenty-six-year-olds until he spent the first few days of his holiday in the Cinemart, the bastion of repetitious motion pictures and popcorn-strewn carpets.
Pushing himself off the counter, Chandler dusted off his maroon-colored vest. He was peering down at the lousy stitching of the logo smacked on his vest pocket when his co-worker walked up to him.
"Movie's almost done," The man named Mark announced gruffly. "Some kid peed in one of the seats at the back. That's all on you, Bing."
Mark was a tall thirty-seven-year-old made of pure muscle, a gangly bushy beard barely scraping his neck. During the orientation on his first day on the job, all Chandler could think about was how grateful he was that he landed a job outside the movie screening business while he was still in his twenties, though having specialization on statistical analysis and data reconfiguration wasn't really something worth bragging about either. It was very clear to him that Mark was not happy with his job and Chandler couldn't really say he blamed the guy.
