A soft rain spattered on the pavement as I strolled in the entrance to my local movie theater. The darkness of the early twighlight evident in the deepening shadows cast by the still new looking multiplex. The parking lot half empty, I purchased my ticket, looking forward to an empty theater all to myself, on this dismal, damp, Tuesday night.
The concession stands were unmanned as I walked past, towards the lone ticket taker, seated on a stool next to the screening room entryways. The silence of the place was profound, punctuated only by the soft droning of the big screen over the arcade playing preview after preview after preview.
Down the corridor, to my movie, number twelve, all the way at the end of the hall, and not a soul in sight. I push open the door tentatively, listening for the telltale sounds of conversation, or the laughter of little children who have eaten far to many goobers. Only silence met my ears as cool air wafted out the door, filling my nostrils with the sweet smells of a freshly cleaned theater.
Upon entry, I found my suspicions confirmed. Two minutes before show time and the dimly lit theater is completely empty. Elated at my good fortune to have an entire theater to myself, I quickly pick out at seat in the exact center of the theater, prop my feet up on the seat in front of me, and lean back to enjoy the calm, relaxing silence around me.
The lights go down. The projector rolls, and a voice drones on an on about how badly I need to purchase popcorn. Reclining in total luxury, I find myself even enjoying the commercials for a change. But then I hear voices. What's this? It looks as though I'm not alone after all. A group of people has entered, 8 of them, all talking excitedly, and looking very happy to be there.
I'm unconcerned, its a huge theater, plenty of room for them and me without crowding each other. Plenty of room for us all to sit back, prop our feet upon the empty rows in front of us, and luxuriate in the lavishness of an empty theater.
My attention turns back to the popcorn commercial, interlopers forgotten, I contemplate the possibility of sneaking back out in to the lobby for a buttery bag of popcorn during a particularly lousy preview. Just then, a dark shape blocks my view, and the happy sounds of popcorn are drowned out by laughter. Shocked my feet drop off their comfy prop on the empty seat in front of me, and I sit up to discover the source of my irritation. How lovely. The jovial group of moviegoers have decided that out of the 200 seats in the movie theater, the ones directly in front of me are the best. Better yet, the tallest moviegoer of their group has decided the chair upon which my feet had moments ago been so comfortable is best suited for someone of his ungainly height.
I can't help but notice, as the giraffe like individual leans his seat back to its maximum reclining position, and thus into my knees, that the people in front of me look might comfortable with their feet propped up on the seats in front of them. My dreams of the perfect movie-going experience shattered, my comfortable foot perch ripped away, I am forced to grunt in pain as giraffe man's chair hits my knees and mutter under my breath about the stupidity of the average person in an unkind and crude fashion. Fortunately, by this time the film has started and the voices of the people in front of me not only drown out the film, but my incessant cursing as well.
Death to the stupid.
You've endured the Hobbit's
madness, tell him what you think! CLICK HERE
