The walk is fine, but your date isn't there yet

Several blocks of walking takes you deeper into areas worse than your own, and you're feeling skittish by the time you've reached the run-down theatre. Half of the bulbs are broken in the various signs, and the glass covering the posters hasn't been cleaned in months, if not years, making it hard to tell what the titles are.

"You're staring at it and looking around for Jacob when your phone rings. Looking down at it you realize it's him.

"Jacob?" you say tentatively.

"Of course it's me, who else would it be?" he says brusquely, his tone making you feel foolish. "I'm running late. I need you to purchase our tickets for me. Our film will be starting in a minute."

"But shouldn't I wait...?"

"Why would you wait? Then we'd be even later to get in. It's the next movie, just buy two tickets, and get two large pops, two large popcorn, and a couple of hot dogs for me. Oh, get yourself a bag of candy."

"But..." you begin, only to realize he's hung up. No one would ever accuse Jacob of wasting words on the phone, you just wish he'd direct more of that charm he's known for in your direction.

With a sigh you walk into the theatre, noting how dark it is. there's only a group of guys here, apparently still deciding what to see. You can feel their eyes undressing you, fucking you as you walk up to the cashier in your unfortunately skimpy outfit.

"Yeah?" asks the fat slob behind the glass, squinting at you.

"Um, hi," you say. straining to reach the grill between the two of you. Instead of it being flush with the tall counter it's placed about a foot higher, which puts it above eye-level for you. Fortunately your three-inch heels let you reach it when you stand on your tippy-toes. "I'd like two tickets for the next movie..."

"Credit card and driver's license, please," the man says, and you notice he's looking at the way your chest is thrust forward by your effort to reach the grill.

Fumbling through your purse you pull out the requested items, sliding them through the grill without thinking about it any more than to wonder why he'd want to see your driver's license. Finally you ask. "Why do you need to see my driver's license?"

"Eighteen years or older," is all he says as he starts to process your card.

"Oh, can I get a voucher or something for food? Enough for two large pops, two large popcorn, a couple hot dogs and a bag of candy."

He grunts, jotting something extra on the receipt. "Sign," he says, pushing a pen and paper out to you.

Conscious of your credit card's already high balance you check the receipt and spot the title of the movie among the cost, and exclaim...