I'd like to make like the fresh prince and take a moment and have you sit right there while I tell you the story of a boy named Skippy. When I was in college, I wrote an essay about the experience I had, going to the movies on my own. I've been writing again and have not been feeling very bloggy so I thought maybe you folks will like this brief interlude. It doesn't involve a movie exactly but there is a lot of truth in it. Now I pulled up to the theater around 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie, yo homes smell you later...and so on.... Now the adventure of a young Mr. Unhappy, an anti-social pornstar if ever you saw one, at the movies... I call this...
Skippy, the Two Toed Wonder Child and other observations from the movie theater.
There are sticky cola stained floors littered with the trash of the others who came before us. The teenage male who feebly attempts to grope his girlfriend with that cliché yawning-arm-around-the-girl maneuver. The fat lady with the ten foot high hat who sits in front of you. The ushers running throughout the R-Rated theaters to rid them of the scourge of underage viewers. There is meaningless trivia decorating the screen with questions about Kevin Costner’s first movie (Sizzle Beach USA) and old people mumbling under their breaths about the way things were back when movies were boring and women were clothed. No wonder old people are so bitter. There was no porn in their days. I'd go out of my mind without a the ability to grope Mr. Happy to the fine breasts of Linnea Quigley in Sorority Babes in the Slime Ball Bowl-O-Rama. Which brings me to the final group. Those like me, the loners and the losers watching the loving, groping, teenagers in admiration and jealousy. This is the movie going experience.
I sit in the back of the theaters when I go to the movies, not because I want to watch the many kids aching for a release of their sexual frustration (some of who will release it in their mother’s station wagon later that night) but because I don’t want to bother people. I have heard the snickers of “Look at his head. Jesus, I am never going to see around that thing.” So I sit in the back. No one to sit behind me and observe the size of my head which, for the record, is not all that large Miss I-can’t-fit-in-my-seat-so-I’ll-make-fun-of-the-loser-in-front-of-me. Maybe if we took a little better care of our own lives and stopped concerning ourselves with other people’s problems we could evolve a little faster and close the arm rests on our seats.
I stake my seat in the back and permanently plant my feet on the superglue like cola stained floors and begin to read the trivia questions, view the “memorable moments” that aren’t that memorable and finally learn that “The English Patient” was the best picture last year. When I bored of the screen, I look over at the unpregnant pregnant woman who screams something about her husband being swallowed by her man-eating thigh. Like this is my problem or something but I look around anyway for the jaws of life but only see an usher standing there, his pants growing a large wet spot, and unable to move or help the obese whale in the seat in front of me. So being the humanitarian I am, I leap from my chair, grabbing the usher’s flashlight and begin to pry her leg up as she screams in pain. Finally her husband is on the floor next to me, covered in sweat and looking like a new born baby. I have saved another life at the movies even though the lady is now beating me on my head with her purse. So I pull my hand out from under the thigh and look down at the man who smiles. I help him up wondering what happened to the flashlight and nod my head to his wife who continues to beat me with her purse for making her spill her popcorn. All good deeds get punished...
I return to my seat without being thanked and being cursed at by the pee-stained usher for losing his flashlight. Tuning him out I look back to the screen where a cartoon tells me not to talk during the movie. Unfortunately the guy three rows up is too wrapped up in his conversation to notice the sign. Besides everyone has to be interested in what his little Skippy did this morning. Apparently he watched MTV for three hours, grabbed his crotch and did the cutest Michael Jackson imitation. Then he moonwalked across the floor, which is tough for Skippy to do because Skippy only has two toes. When he reached the TV, he screamed at the top of his lungs then put in his favorite Snuggle bears cartoon and laughed himself silly. I can’t speak for the rest of the theater but I could have cared less. Finally I look back at the screen as the lights dim and the screen lights up. I sit upright in my chair and sink the cushion into my back. Ahh finally relaxation.
SHARP DRIVING PAIN!
My butt goes numb, my leg is pins and needles and I suddenly realize my hand is being used as sexual device by the horny teenager to my left. Apparently two hands groping his girlfriend aren’t enough. Not like I care, best grope I’ve had in my life. I begin to move, trying to alleviate the pressure on my ass and the woman I've been drafted to grope screams. Next thing I know, I’m flying out of my seat and some pimply faced circus midget is slapping me around for groping his girlfriend. Fists are flying quickly and the woman is screaming for me not to kill her “lover man.” Since I hadn’t thrown a punch nor did I intend to, I couldn’t see her point. Multiple “Shut-up you morons” from the people in the theater end the scuffle quickly and I, at the request of the impish boyfriend and the pee-stained usher, agree to relocate to the front of the theater.
I looked up to the screen, my neck now craning back to the fourth row so I can see and that Captain Genius in the back is still yammering away about Skippy, his two toed wonder child and how he can do the perfect impression of a seal. Behind him, the whale of a woman is now contentedly eating her new bucket of popcorn while her husband’s legs jerk spasmodically as his upper half has been engulfed by her thigh again. I look for the usher who has mysteriously changed his pants and a fresh stain is growing. The pimply faced midget in the back still paws at his girlfriend who acts rather disinterested without my hand there to help him(I knew I was good.) I remind myself that these are not my problems and I relax to watch my movie. Ahhh, relaxation, a movie and then, the whispers. “God, look at his head. Jesus, I’ll never be able to see around that.”
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