Written 25th October 2017
It’s official. I’ve realised that I’m having a midlife crisis.
For many months now, I’ve been struggling to find direction. When I really think about it, this has probably been going on for years.
Back in 2011, I was working as the projection manager at my local ten-screen multiplex. I was happy. My days were filled with screening films, building them up, breaking them down, and managing a team of four projectionists across the weekly shift pattern.
Life was good.
I was paid well for the work I did. I enjoyed the responsibility. I liked not having to deal with the public. The department felt almost like a business within a business. Our domain was hidden behind locked doors, projection booths, and quiet walkways, well away from prying eyes.
We felt good about the work. Most of the time, we were left to get on with it. The only time we really emerged was to collect film crates or return boxes to the collection point.
Mornings usually involved rehearsing the films we had built. We checked that the reels were spliced together in the correct order. We made sure everything was right before the first public performance.
Life was good.
It was fun.
Then, in April of that year, we were told the entire chain would be converted to a fully digital system. We were redundant. Surplus to requirement. We were told the process could take up to three years, as if that somehow softened the blow.
Fuck.
We were told we would be redeployed elsewhere in the business. I would be given the chance to become one of the managers running the operational side of the cinema. But we would no longer be involved in the audio-visual side of things.
That sucked.
Not long after that announcement, I began to fall apart.
One evening in particular stands out. For some reason, the general manager decided it would be a good idea to interlock two projectors and show the same film on both machines.
It was a risky manoeuvre. One film travelled through the first projector, across the room, and then through a second projector. We did it rarely, and for good reason. Synchronising the system was delicate. It usually requires at least one full test run and rehearsal.
We were not given time to do that.
I was nervous. The member of staff with the most experience of performing that operation was not on shift that night. Both theatres were packed. I was not feeling right when the time came to prepare the projectors.
To make matters worse, another projector at the far end of the building had already malfunctioned. That delayed me from setting up the dual projector sync properly. My gut was screaming at me to get help before it was too late.
Instead, I rushed.
The two projectors were laced up. Everything seemed ready. The customers had taken their seats, popcorn in hand, waiting for the show to begin.
The first projector started automatically at the designated time. A second or two later, the second projector was supposed to start, slaved to the first and controlled by it.
For about thirty seconds, all seemed well.
Then the alarms went off, and the first projector shut down.
The second projector kept running. It began pulling the film through the first projector, ripping the perforations as it went.
This was not good.
By the time I realised what was happening, the second projector had dragged about twenty metres of film through the first before snapping the reel and shutting itself down.
The lights came up in both theatres.
My radio crackled into life.
“Projection, come in projection.”
The floor supervisor told me what I already knew. Both screens were blank. The audience was restless.
I tried frantically to work the problem, ignoring repeated requests for updates. Then the projector at the far end of the building, the one that had been problematic all day, also shit the bed and shut down.
My stress levels went through the roof.
“FUUUUCCCCK.”
The general manager appeared at the door, trying to take in the scene. Alarms sounding. Damaged film across the projection booth. Me in the corner, trying and failing to keep my shit together.
I wanted the world to swallow me.
The weeks before that meltdown had already been fraught. My staff were unfocused, which was understandable. There had also been a sudden increase in the number of shows the cinema was putting on.
For years, mornings had been used to build films, maintain projectors, and look after the theatres. The extra shows ate into that time. We no longer had enough space to rehearse films, maintain equipment, or change blown bulbs properly.
On top of that, the senior management team decided projectionists could not do overtime. Overtime was the only way we could keep on top of the work.
The department went from calm and effective to stressed and inefficient in a matter of weeks. It felt as if someone higher up had flicked a switch and created all the problems at once.
So there I was, staring at my manager like a rabbit caught in headlights. I felt as if I had failed in a huge way, and it crippled me.
Both shows were cancelled that night. There were never any more interlocks performed with the film projectors.
The next day, a Sunday, I stayed in bed feeling utterly useless. I could not even face my family, such was the depth of the shame. By Monday, I felt sick to my stomach, so I made an appointment to see my doctor.
He was an affable man. He sat me down and asked the usual questions. I explained what had happened and told him I had not felt right since the incident at work.
He took my blood pressure, listened to my heart, and told me I was suffering from an anxiety attack. He signed me off work for two weeks and told me to try to relax.
I did not get better.
It was a year before I was well enough to return to work.
When I did, I got involved as best I could. The main focus of my remaining time at the cinema was preparing for the transition to digital. I learned a lot about the technology and was sent on several courses to bring me up to speed with the new equipment.
But it all felt hollow.
At the back of my mind, I kept wondering what the point was. The promise of continued employment had evaporated during my illness.
In June 2012, I returned my keys, uniform, and passes, then left the cinema for the last time.
I was redundant in more ways than one.
For the last five years, I have tried hard to carve out a career for myself. I have spent time and money learning new skills. I worked away from home for almost nine months, returning only at weekends to be with my family. That ended up covered in broken promises, too.
Another nail.
But worrying about the past has to become a thing of the past.
By then, Rhona was supporting us with her novelty cake business. I continued trying different things to make money. Photography has been intermittent. Web design and digital marketing have also been irregular, though they do seem to be improving.
The trouble is consistency. I cannot seem to tap into the regular work I need to make ends meet. It always feels just out of reach.
Today I realised that I am the only person who can make the changes required to move my life forward.
I am the problem.
I am the person holding myself back.
There is a certain amount of money I need to earn to be comfortable and provide for my family. It is not a huge amount, but it has felt just beyond my grasp for too long.
Money is not the only thing that needs addressing, but I am fed up with drifting and hoping for the best. Things have to change, and they have to change now. No more waiting. No more procrastinating. Just focused determination to alter the direction of my life.
I have a broad skill set now, and I am going to keep adding to it. I am going to push forward and make the right changes without relying on anyone else to get me there.
I will ask for help if I need it. But I will not be a victim of broken promises and piss-taking moochers anymore. Those lessons have been learned.
That said, I forgive the transgressions. Staying angry has not got me anywhere.
Things are about to change, my friends.
Things are about to change.
Until next time,
adieu.