put in some more
November 27, 2009
We followed that most ancient of American customs for Thanksgiving, which is to go to the movies.
I don’t know why I keep going TO the movies instead of just investing in the new American tradition, namely the home theater room. I guess I just like the theater. I like the big screen, the big room, the big sound, I like seeing movies in a giant room full of people.
But. But what I’d really like is for all of the people within maybe 10 feet of me to be mannequins. And not the talking kind.
This time I’m pretty sure I was being tested, like I was on the Truman Show, and everybody but me was in on it. The entire row behind us was definitely in on it. Full theater, nowhere to run, second to last row. Trapped.
And then the Dr. Moreau style testing began.
One couple with a baby in a baby carrier. And a family behind me that might have had an outpatient pass for the day. Seriously. After the movie I actually waited for the lights to come on and I turned around to see if they were either wearing lab coats or being escorted by people IN lab coats.
The guy directly behind me had a bottomless bag of Red Vines. That’s an affront on two, well, fronts. First, Red Vines are gross. They had to have known that I’m a Twizzler man and were just trying to get my goat. And second, the bag was BOTTOMLESS. About an hour into the movie, after the guy had dug his hand around in the loudest candy bag I had ever heard for the thousandth time, I leaned over to Kim and said “Either he’s got TEN bags, or that bag is just magic.”
And next to him someone had what must have been a big box of Sugar Babies. I don’t think I need to describe the double whammy that presents. Well, okay, I will. Number one, knowing someone by me is eating Sugar Babies makes me throw up in my mouth a little. And number two, there’s nothing that says “Shhh, the movie is starting” like shaking a box of Subar Babies like they’re maracas. Except in this case, they never stopped playing the maracas.
Next, a giant tub of popcorn. Nobody can polish off the mega barrel of popcorn, because it’s impossible, but this guy came as close as I’ve seen. And he was still hungry enough to rattle around in the kernels, shaking the barrel to get the good stuff to float to the top. And eventually he started EATING the kernels. Just to crunch them in my ear. It’s a good thing I don’t have a concealed weapons permit.
To finish off the cacophony of food, when the giant Pepsi (had to be Pepsi) was gone, you guessed it, the ice chips lasted another hour. Shaking. Crunching. Shaking. Crunching.
And, finally, all of them were guffawers. Not laughers–full on belly guffaws.
Not to be outdone, the baby family kicked in about halftime. And by kicked in, I mean the baby started slowly chirping until the happy couple noticed, and then, well, the baby started sucking. Too dark to know if it was natural or bottle sucking, but it was loud enough for the characters on screen to hear.
Satiated, the baby let all of us know how happy he was by spending the next 10 minutes belching and farting.
And yet. I passed the test. I breathed deeply. I relaxed. I enjoyed the movie.
I don’t know what Kim put in my drink, and I don’t think I care. Put in some more.