Adam Lenhardt
Senior HTF Member
Me too. When I was home for the summer last year, I went to the drive-in as much as I could - maybe five times - and it was a bittersweet experience. I grew up with drive-ins, my parents in the front, my mom smoking and me in the backseat in my pajamas heading peering out from between the two seats watching the movie from the space beneath the rear view mirror. Off to the left, the glow of the concession stand building was warm and comforting.
By contrast, the times I went to the drive-in last year, it was run down, the ground riddled with potholes. The paint on the concession stand was chipped and peeling, the panels that made up the giant screen clearly differentiable by the darkened moist areas at the edges of each. The concession stand itself, which used to have a smiling face working at each stop along the line, now had a person working the entire grill and one working parttime on the cash register between restocks. Truly a dying form, and a truely sad loss.
By contrast, the times I went to the drive-in last year, it was run down, the ground riddled with potholes. The paint on the concession stand was chipped and peeling, the panels that made up the giant screen clearly differentiable by the darkened moist areas at the edges of each. The concession stand itself, which used to have a smiling face working at each stop along the line, now had a person working the entire grill and one working parttime on the cash register between restocks. Truly a dying form, and a truely sad loss.