Unless you’ve got one of these beasts, you just can’t replicate it at home. Push a button and in a few minutes, voilá: the unmistakable smell of movie theater popcorn. This would eventually heat up and was connected to a big bin up top - that’s where you’d pour the kernels, add the salt and then pull a lever to get the oil squirted in there.

You’d pry the thing open (one time I cut myself, spraying blood all over the Goobers ) and carve out chunks of the solid, slick glop, then plunk it in a tank at the base of the machine. Gross, orange coconut oil in huge gray drums. For many long, boring shifts I did nothing but make and sell popcorn. My first job as a kid was working at a Loews Theater in New Jersey, and my core responsibility for a long time was the engine that still drives the profits : the concession counter. (I live in New York City if you live in Montana or Greenland, okay, great, you win, you can go get your mail mask-free.) I miss a lot about “the way things used to be,” however, and high on the list is going to the goddamn movies.

Believe me, I’m not chancing it - I’m washing my hands a lot and wearing a mask each time I go outside, and not whining about it. I am deeply grateful, relieved and, to be honest, a little bit surprised that I have not yet caught the coronavirus.

Movie time popcorn