On the outskirts of my hangover a voice bellows. “WELL?” My bleary-eyed coworkers shrug at the figure stalking us, weaving between the small clutch of two-top tables in front of the concessions island. It’s 8 a.m. on a Sunday. We’re in the middle of fire drill practice, the one allotment of time each week where ushers, box office clerks, and concessions staff get tested by management. The topic of today’s grilling is staff awareness. Do we know the specific ratings assigned to each film currently on the schedule? More importantly, do I know what certificate Immortals holds? As our manager’s fury intensifies, and the veins on her face steadily redden, I have a stab at an answer. “Is it a 12?”