Last night, I took my twelve-year-old cousin, Antoinette, to see the latest Pixar full-length feature, Wreck-It Ralph. (On the way, we picked up matching Santa Claus hats–just because.)
After nabbing two seats in the overbooked theatre, I waited in line for 20 minutes for her Nestle Bunch-A-Crunch, Milk Duds, and a bottle of water.
When I got back to our row, there was a father of four young girls sitting in the aisle. He graciously stood up so I could squeeze past him and his children to get to my seat at the end of the row.
I handed Antoinette the candies and water, took off my coat, put on my 3D glasses, and prepared for the show to begin.
“Where’s my popcorn?” she asked.
Damn. I totally blanked on the popcorn.
“No problem. I’ll go grab it,” I replied.
I got up, disrupted the little girls and the father once more, and made my way out to the concessions again. The line was even longer now. And worse, I realized I left my wallet in my coat.
The movie was just about to begin and I didn’t want to have to disturb everyone in my row three more times plus wait in the extremely long line again.
“What am I going to do?” I thought.
About twenty feet away, I noticed an older woman who worked at the theatre leaning up against a wall holding a broom. I had an idea.
“Excuse me, Jeane,” I said–reading her name tag. ”My name is Jared and I’ve got a little situation.” I explained to her my dilemma and proposed a possible solution that would require her help. She obliged.
Moments later, I went back to my row without any popcorn. The patient father stood up one more time so I could scoot in.
“Where’s the popcorn?” Antoinette asked.
“It’s coming.”
About three minutes later, we heard Jeane’s voice whispering, “Popcorn for Santa Claus.” There she stood at the front of our row with two bags of popcorn. One for the dad in the aisle seat and one for Antoinette. As the little girls passed one of the bag’s down to us, I passed them a $10 bill for Jeane.
The father gave me a smile and a thumbs up. Antoinette laughed.
“You’re the only person I know who can get popcorn delivered,” she said.
After the movie, Jeane was standing at the front of the theater waiting for everyone to clear out. I thanked her again. But before I said goodbye, I asked her one question.
“Jeane, why do you work here?”
“This is my retirement,” she said. “I worked for forty years as an office clerk. But I always loved the movies and the theater. So now I work here two nights a week. I meet some really interesting folks. And I even get free movies whenever I want. It’s the best. Did you like the movie? I think I’m going to take my grandson.”
“I loved it. Thank you so much, Jeane.”
The Point: When people are doing what they love, they’re better for the world. They help strangers buy popcorn. They buy popcorn for strangers. And they know that the show must always go on.
Here. We. Go.
Love, Jmw.
Hurricane Sandy is gone.
Over the last two hundred years, science and technology have taken leaps and bounds. Human beings have built trains, planes, cars, iPhones, satellites, and more. We’ve traveled all four corners of the earth and put men on the moon.
A lot of inspirational mumbo jumbo delivers this message:
I learned a long time ago that trying to define someone else’s happiness only pushes them farther away from you.
Making it in New York City is a hustle.
