When I was seven years old, I wanted to work at Blockbuster. I liked browsing DVDs until the horror section and I’d fast walk to video games. Sometimes they offered free popcorn in the store. Even then I was lazy, and it seemed workers mostly watched movies on their small TV hanging from the ceiling, blaring out back left corner. One Friday night my dad took me to rent Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. We pushed through the door as a man sliced his leg apart with a rusty blade, SAW’s iconic scene.
“Jesus Christ,” dad said. “Families come here, little kids, and you got that shit on first thing?”
A teenaged overweight greasy-haired employee raised her hand in apology. She clicked it off.
Later dad and I ate pizza and watched Star Wars. I couldn't stop thinking about the guy cutting himself. How did it sound when the limb finally dropped from his body? Would he die after all? Was anyone coming to save him? I’d have to get a job at Blockbuster if I wanted answers. I was willing to wait.