At least once or twice a month, a small old women whose name I do not know, waltzes in to my work, Cinemagic, with a large paper bag. This old women, probably my height in her younger years, reminds me of how short I will be at her age- barely able to rest her elbows on the counter.
Most visits, she orders a large and a medium popcorn- both unbuttered and unsalted. Other times she may get a small, instead of a medium, with a large. I always seem to be the one to cash her out, and every time I wonder, Is all of this popcorn for herself? I also begin to wonder what lead to her popcorn routine. I have never built up the nerve to ask her, mostly because I don't want to disrupt her routine, but also because I like the mystery of it. The mystery of how some people become accustomed to certain things reminds me how unique everyones individual lives are.
After little conversation and a complete transaction, the old women opens her large paper bag, places it on the floor- preparing it to cradle her familiar bags of popcorn. She leaves peacefully, bag in hand. Maybe next time I will gain the nerve to ask her about her popcorn routine.
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