One of the great privileges of being a blogger is the ability to post about things that make you look really bad. Join me now on this thrilling trip to yesteryear– or, last weekend… (making Wayne and Garth “doodly-doop, doodly-doop” noises and waving hands vigorously)…
An ancient father of seven and his saintly bride decide to take their children to see a movie– a talkie, as it were. Because they have seven children, and the father is so very ancient, the couple fails to realize the cost of going to the movies. The couple is none other than Sharon and me.
I think the last first-run movie I saw was Tron. That Bruce Boxleitner, what an actor!
Frugal in our frivolity, we take the children to a matinee showing of Toy Story 3: The Final Insult. Pretty smart, eh?
I approached the ticket window and saw that the theater charged for children ages 2 through 11, and that everyone else is considered an adult. Not yet smelling a rat, I answered the world-weary, Clearasil-decked, expectant face of the teen agent with a cheery request for four adults, four children (free infant!).
“That will be $55.00”
Silence. Like the tomb.
“Are you kidding me?!” (Frantically craning neck to reexamine the prices…)
“No, old timer.”
OK, he may have said “Sir”, but I heard “Old Timer”.
Creaking open my wallet, clearing the cobwebs out, I scrape out the required amount. But just to make sure, I ask, “That’s in American money?”
After being assured that it was, I staggered inside. The children, as usual, were oblivious. I make a mental note that the next child to whine or complain about anything will be sold off for medical experiments.
Next stop: the concession counter. Please don’t start with your whole trad-Catholic-homeschool-super-smart-we-bring-a-hefty-bag-full-of-snacks-and-hide-it-under-mom’s-blouse-because-she’s-mostly-pregnant-anyway-so-who-would-know lecture. I’ve heard it.
After getting a forty gallon trash tub filled with popcorn and three five-gallon buckets of caramel colored bilge, I get to feel a feeling I’ve never felt before: I just got a bargain at the movie candy counter! Only $25. Yes, ONLY $25. After the assault at the ticket window, I feel like I’m on Antiques Roadshow and the aging hippie appraiser tells me my Fat Albert lunchbox is worth $3,000, but only because I didn’t clean out the original mold colony from my first neglected ham sandwich in first grade.
Though slightly relieved, and though I am not a whiz with math, it then dawns on me that I just spent $80 to see Toy Story 3: The Final Insult. And that I am pretty much a moron. Because I have to admit, I would not pay $80 to see Citizen Kane, with Roger Ebert if it were shown in Orson Welles’ mausoleum.
How was the movie, you ask?