Last night I really, really wanted to see a movie. My husband was out on the boat, and our sitters were both busy (darn teenagers! Why must they have sleepovers with their friends, water ballet shows and tennis camp? Such nerve!!) so some friends watched my entire team (for which I was both amazed that they'd volunteer and astounded when they assured me that my children were well-behaved. I think they were lying. But anyhow.) I could see District 9, which I'd been dying to see/talking about incessantly for weeks. More on that later, but I really, really wanted to see that movie.
I arrive at IPic at Bayshore approximately 2.6 minutes before the movie was scheduled to begin because I am rarely early. Immediately I had a weird feeling because that theatre sort of disturbs me for the following reasons:
1. it's too swanky, and I always feel underdressed. However, as I rarely dress fancier than yoga pants and a black t-shirt that may or may not be my guilty baggage.
2. There's a bowling alley, a restaurant, a bar AND a movie theatre and really loud music playing. Am I bowling, dining, drinking, showing off my mad dance skills or seeing a movie? I don't like multi-tasking.
3. The ushers escort you to your seat. Once, my brother and I saw a movie there and the usher selected a "cozy couch for you two to share." Such romance...with my brother.
4. They have this ridiculous "preferred seating" or general seating thing. The "preferred seats" include popcorn. The general seating means you can sit in only the first two rows AND after the movie suffer a major headache, neckache and possible hospital time because you're basically looking straight up at the screen for two hours. But anyhow.
So. This is my life as a criminal. I arrive at the theatre with all this weird action (people drinking and wearing cocktail gowns! Bachelorette parties! Bowling bags!!) is going on, so I ask for general seating (because I refuse to pay $14 for a movie ticket!!) and he says, "oh. District 9 is sold out tonight!" I was desperate, people. I'm not joshing you. It took an act of Congress for me to get to this movie, and nothing NOTHING was getting in my way. I calmly said "okay. I'll have a ticket for GI Joe instead. Thank you." (as if I would see GI Joe when DISTRICT 9 was playing in the next theatre. Bah!!) So I get to the usher, heart pounding, and I, rude and snippy, say I'd prefer he not escort me into the theatre. Sometimes you just have to adopt a different persona when you're a hardened criminal. So he shrugs and I walk away...and into the District 9 theatre!!! My heart was racing. I was perspiring. My hands were shaking. (These ailments might have been caused by gallons of Diet Coke throughout the day, but I'm fairly certain it was nerves.) I walked into District 9 and there were two ushers standing along the sides. The trailers were rolling. I was shaking like a crack-head. I chose a seat in general seating (I do have SOME standards, even if I am a crook.) and hunched down. I couldn't even enjoy the trailers and take notes of upcoming movies I'd like to see, I was so nervous. I was also convinced that the ushers would bring in the ticket guys to ID everyone (is this unlikely? yes. But at the time - in the heat of the crime!- it seemed possible!!) so I hid my very bright Vera Bradley Cupcake Pink Messenger bag (I love love love it. Wait. I digress.) because it's quite memorable ('cause it's awesome in every way.) and I thought he'd recognise it and yell "SNEAK!!" at me. So I'm guiltily glancing back at the ushers, who by now have a couple movie-goers with them and are helpfully pointing out open seats. I was sweating buckets and worrying what I'd do if I had to call Teresa and Paul to tell them I was in lock-up. Would they watch my kids overnight? Or should my one call be to my husband, to tell him he might want to file for divorce straightaway because my legal bills might be super high and he'd be reluctant to pay for my life of crime? Or should I call Jenny to tell her about it? Would they let me drink Diet Coke in the big house?
The ushers continue showing disgruntled patrons to seats, and I slunk down lower and lower in my seat. Once the lights went off I relaxed a bit, and no more people were searching for seats, being put on romantic sofas with their brothers, AND when I got up to leave I noticed two empty seats in the general admission area. My life of crime wasn't so wild after all.