 |
On Thursday nights it was often necessary to change the marquee after closing. We used a very wobbly ladder which was too short and required that another person be at the bottom to hold it steady and which also required the disregard for the strong warning encouraging users to "NEVER STAND ON THE TOP TWO RUNGS." Upstairs, beside the office, was a large room full of big plastic red letters. Most of them were useless having had their hooks broken off years before. Once while I was trying to come up with an ingenious way to spell "Empire of the Sun" (two times, one for each side of the marquee) with the abridged collection of available letters, I came upon a miniature letter-sign that said "IN COLOR" and I promptly incorporated it. The manager failed to see the humor and made me take it down.
I believe that The P truly imbued me with superhuman abilities. For instance, one time I had been talking to the ticket sales person and turned around to walk back to the concessions counter. The ticket salesman threw a broken crayon at my back and that very instant I turned around and in a split second I noticed the projectile coming toward me and grabbed it from the air.
Please, shed a tear with me now in remembrance of that noble structure which has since been torn down and turned into a parking lot.
Tune in next time for part 2 when Paul drinks straight from the soda fountain and I ingest a half pound of melted butter!
I have pictures of its destruction during the meanwhilst of I which cried.
ReplyDeleteThe P was tall. The P had exploration possibilities galore. If you were a heroine with some microfilm, and you were chased by Russian thugs dripping with legitimacy (and pockets full of chasing skills), you could dangle to the side of a high P window by a pipe, thereby eluding capture.
The P was America, its values, and the everything our brave soldiers are fighting for. If it was a woman, I would kiss it on the mouth and not tell Mandoo. It imbued seldom people with none superhero powers. I loathe its absence.
I didn't know it was torn down. That's sad.
ReplyDeleteI am well aware of the P and the emotions tied to it, as Bar mentions it about nonce whenever we're in Provo.
ReplyDeleteI don't know why, but I find the progression of Paul's nickname to Bar very amusing. He said first Dave called him Parley, then Barley, then Bar. Is that how you remember it Joel?
I'm excited about Part 2. Hopefully we'll get to hear all about the girl with the nothings on her chest and the exploitation of those nothings by you two. Don't worry, he told me all about it.
I had a nametag that said Bar on my vest. I was pretty official.
ReplyDeleteThere were dressing/interrogation rooms as well. There was a catwalk. There was a spooky basement with bats and sometimes a vampire would attack you. There were legends.
And a neat projection booth. I wish I could have gotten in there and taken all the posters before its destruction.
Hey Joel,
ReplyDeleteI vaguely remember your employment at this "P." Didn't you say it was haunted too?
I've conformed and joined the blogging community.
See my icky and gooey love infested blog @ tiffnry.blogspot.com
Tiff B
What happened to part II? I'm still waiting!
ReplyDelete