Everything about Chick's concession stand is carefully thought out. Each concessionaire has an individual workstation, with his or her own cash register, drink machine, and supply of candy and popcorn -- an added expense that nonetheless cuts down on transaction time and reduces lines that can scare away potential customers.And the kids behind the counter have been well trained: after you order the popcorn, they ask, "What kind of drink would you like?" rather than "Is that all?" Before expansion, Presidio averaged 91? in sales per customer, below the $1 most theaters aim for. Today, sales are up to $1.15, with $1.23 set as next year's target.
Meeting such goals puts a good deal of pressure on Presidio's young employees, but even more on Chick and his managers to keep them motivated. A concept borrowed from Disneyland helps. "Don't think of what you do as a job," Chick tells employees. "This is show business. You aren't an usher taking tickets. You're an actor playing the part of an usher taking tickets." A pretty subtle difference, but one not lost on teenagers whose other choice may be making a few cents more an hour flipping burgers at a fast-food joint down the street. Among Austin youth, in fact, working at the Arbor provides status and social visibility, and there's always a stack of applications on the manager's desk.
Chick capitalizes on this initial enthusiasm by building motivation into every aspect of Presidio's elaborate training and personnel system. The manual for Level I ushers, for example, runs to four pages, detailing everything from how to patrol the parking lot to how to clean the auditoriums. Usher trainees must understand Chick's "theory of the guest," and pass a written exam (open book) that includes an essay and multiple-choice questions on what announcements to read when and what to keep in the usher's stub box. Only when candidates have passed the test, and demonstrated punctuality, good attendance, neatness, cooperation, and politeness, do they earn a gold Presidio star for their vest, a 5?-an-hour raise, and a posting outside the auditorium door.
Each subsequent level on the Presidio ladder has its own page in the manual, its own exam, its own set of criteria. Level II concessionaires must demonstrate an ability to handle cash accurately, a memory for prices and brands, an understanding of "psycho-suggestive selling." As a cashier candidate for Level III, you're tested on everything from how to answer the phones to how to respond to a bomb threat. Can you handle the daily cash reconciliation sheets? Do you have "polished guest relations skills"? Level IV "floor staff leads" supervise training, keep time cards and attendance for those below, and distribute the weekly duty roster, and it is from their ranks that theater managers are chosen. Leads are expected to forward new ideas on how procedures can be improved. And, should anything go wrong while they are on duty, they are expected to pitch in until the crisis has passed.
Just as each level has its own responsibilities, so it has its own incentives. Concessionaires compete for cash prizes in regular sales contests. Cashiers earn a bonus each month if they can go for 10 shifts without a cash shortfall from ticket sales. Floor leads compete for a limited number of manager positions, which earn them steady salaries and a percentage of the gross sales if their theaters hit their targets. There are also trips and automobiles to be awarded at the company picnics.
It is company policy at Presidio that jobs are filled from within, from Level II right up through the corporate offices, where all but the position of film buyer have been filled from the ranks of theater managers.Besides higher pay, the executives earn a piece of the 34% employee share of Presidio equity. They also have a chance to invest in the limited-partnership deals for theaters yet to be built.
"The major criterion we use when we hire is: Does this boy or girl have the potential to be a manager someday?" Chick explains. "We can't guarantee that they will ever become a manager, but if they have the potential, we know that they will be able to shine as a member of the floor staff."
Saturday night, 7:30. Presidio president Charlie Chick can't help himself. He knows he should be home with his wife and two sons, but with the Arbor likely to set an attendance record, he can't stay away.
Part of the reason he wants to be there is purely practical, he explains as he walks through the lobby door: "Nothing fattens cattle as does the eye of the master, as my daddy used to say." But a bigger part of it is emotional: he has never outgrown his love of the movie palace, or the excitement of owning one.
As much as he loves the Arbor, he sees its limitations on a Saturday night as busy as this one. The lobby space he was able to negotiate from Trammell Crow is far too small for the sellout crowds that now throng to the Arbor, and the crush of people makes it too hard for people to get to the concession stand. That tends to cut down on concession revenues. Worse, from Chick's point of view, it cuts down on the magic as well.
Chick tells himself the Arbor was just an experiment.He's already signed the lease for his next theater, an even grander palace. Outside, he imagines it something like Grauman's Chinese Theater, while inside he'll have 11 screens, all with THX sound. He's decided to put two more inches between the seats, so even a six-footer can stretch out. And with 50,000 square feet, he'll have room for a bar, restaurant, and an ice cream parlor right off the lobby, where you can order a drink or a snack and a ticket for the next show, all at the same time.
His imagining, however, is interrupted. "Excuse me, Mr. Chick. We're a little shorthanded. Could you help us sweep up?" The girl blushing in front of him couldn't have been more than 16 -- Cameron, her name tag says. Her energy makes him smile as he grabs a broom and heads for the popcorn stand. And when he's done there, he'll help clean out the auditoriums as well. The sweat drips down his face as he moves from one row to the next, sweeping trash to the center aisle, just as the manual prescribes. For Charlie Chick, such is the stuff of which movie magic now is made.
