A Penny Dreadful

One year, as a birthday or Xmas gift, I received a small popcorn machine. I was around 8. It was just like a mini movie theater version, fronted with clear plastic doors, a hinged popper & lid, a compartment to dump the popped corn below, a scoop & about 200 tiny red & white striped paper bags. A sudden entrepreneurial spirit came over me, & I wanted to set up shop.

We’d moved the year before & already I had a reputation of the unsavory kind. My parents likely thought my idea would encourage me to be more sociable. I don’t know why. The entire Vance clan are introverts & finding solitude in a large family is a challenge. I believe we mostly went outside to get away from all the people in the house… until we were driven back inside from encountering all those other, non-related people. Sort of ‘the devil you know’ thing.

My mother was accustomed to being my bouncer, or agent, or whoever runs interference for those in demand. Even at our old house, where I had somehow amassed some friends, I would often peek out the window when kids came a-knocking to see if I could play. As Muz went to answer the door I’d whisper to her “say no!” I had my projects & was not a team player when it came to my vision of creating them. Also, I’d rather play cards with her or my sisters than do whatever lame thing those friends wanted to do most of the time.

So I guess that’s why my parents were willing to go all out for my business venture. Unlike kids who would simply set up a table curbside, I had a dad who liked to build things. Poppie designed a small, magnificently carnival-style booth, fully collapsible, with a red & yellow striped awning on top. The wood parts were white (for maximum visibility). He even painted a sign saying ‘fresh popcorn.’ & another one displayed ‘cool drinks’– because “popcorn makes people thirsty,” I told my folks. I wished now for an actual carnival with rides & games, or better yet a circus, to occupy the currently vacant horse pastures at the end of our street. That means foot traffic.

I knew location was important. Since we lived on the corner lot of a cul-de-sac, I set up in our side yard facing the main street. I used our longest heavy-duty extension cord to run the popper, & a cooler with ice to keep the pitcher of beverage cold. My folks sprung for Kool-aid™, paper cups & waxed paper straws. I was disappointed I couldn’t get the individually wrapped straws like theaters had, but I was out-voted because those were “too expensive.” Plus it wasn’t like the Health Department would pull a surprise inspection. I was parked on the same grass our dog used for her restroom. I had to check each day before setting up that there were no ‘solids’ about.

I priced each cup or bag at 10 cents. I didn’t have any overhead. My parents were bankrolling the startup funds. But I neglected to calculate the costs of popcorn, salt, oil, & sugar because we regularly stocked those in the house. & the math got more complicated. Those costs would have to be eaten by the investors. 

I was hoping to run all summer long by making enough to keep me in artificial drink, cups, & straws. Little did I know how stingy the neighborhood parents were with their children’s allowances. Or that my rep had been hyped during the year. I had street cred I wasn’t even aware of.

I’d had a rough transition the year we moved. I was the new kid in 1st grade. Not only did other classmates give me grief, but the teacher picked on me too. Lisle (name changed to protect the innocent), a nice girl across the street, started hanging out with me. She was a year younger, smart, & liked my offbeat sense of humor. But according to her next door neighbor, a singularly unpleasant girl named Charlene (name changed to protect the… well, mean), Lisle was already spoken for as her BFF.

Charlene had taken an instant dislike to me from the day we moved in. The fact that Lisle preferred my company sent her over the edge. I didn’t choose this battle, it was thrust upon me. What was I to do– reject the only friend I made here? Charlene even complained to her mother, who talked to Lisle’s mother, in the hope she’d forbid her daughter to hang with anyone other than Charlene exclusively. Lisle told me this as an example of how conniving Charlene was, which was why she didn’t trust her. Lisle’s mother wisely refused to get involved in her daughter’s friendships.

One day Lisle & I were playing with an old folding knife Poppie had let me have. Think slightly pointier butter knife. He warned me to be careful, but the blade was so dull, the tip practically rounded, he probably thought I couldn’t injure myself too badly. We were taking turns tossing it, seeing who could stick it in the ground furthest away. One of those impromptu games probably inspired by an episode of Wild Wild West or Bonanza.

Charlene marched up to us, right into my front yard, with her younger sister & brother in tow. She started smack-talking me with “You’re so weird. Your family is like the Addams family.” This didn’t get the reaction she was looking for. I was flattered– said “I love that show!” So she signalled to her siblings, who tried to stone me with small rocks from their pockets. They came armed for a showdown, biblical style.

I replied calmly “Lisle & I are playing a game here. You’re not invited. Get outta my yard.” & an unfortunate incident ensued. I flung the knife at the ground at the exact instant the bratty brother lunged to snatch it & ruin our game. The knife bounced off his gut, but not before making a teensy nick in his shirt & the slightest scratch in his stomach. He screamed dramatically, fell to the ground crying. This is how I got the reputation for stabbing people.

Even in this youthful stage my thoughts were: ‘Please. If my intent was to stab someone, I’d have done a better job. & it wouldn’t have been the brother. & I would’ve left no witnesses. To be taken for knifing someone & have it not be lethal is just insulting.’

So my concession stand started the next year with a partial boycott, led by you-know-who. The rumors were exotic, up to a mix of human flesh into my fare! (What?) As in the Victorian serialized story The String of Pearls, later a play & eventually a movie, the rumor mill had me as both Sweeney Todd & Mrs. Lovett. I might as well have greeted my few morbidly curious customers with:

‘Ello, guv’nuh! ‘Ere for a shaive?* [whilst stropping a razor]

*My closest approximation of a cockney accent.

P.S. The use of a brand name beverage in this story is not product placement.