I have a great story, but doubt I’ll be able to do it justice. Which is unfortunate, because I am still overcome with shame and laughter as I think about it.
To set the scene: I went to see Bourne Ultimatum tonight with a friend. We had discussed meeting up for dinner before, but decided instead to eat on our own. Of course, since I just came back from a weekend out of town, my fridge had a few odd leftovers of a questionable freshness. I chose a cucumber, and a hunk of “fresh” mozzarella, a meal that reminds me of our week in Myrtle Beach and that I often eat in an attempt to re-capture that mood.
Driving to the theater, I was parched, so I made a promise to myself that I would purchase a beverage. A carbonated, caffeinated, over-sugary beverage, since you get so much more bang for your buck.
My friend was waiting, and after I purchased what was probably a liter of Mr. Pibb (Extra!), we practically had the whole theater to ourselves. We chose a seat in the front half, and started catching up on life, stopping for the previews, all which were about perfectly normal people (Kevin Bacon, then Jodie Foster) turning into brutal murderers all for the sake of justice — which was a drastic turn from the previews I’d been seeing all summer while attending family movies. (Also, I am generally not a fan of movies about vigilante justice, because the only result of such a drastic failure to forgive is a higher body count, often cases with our “hero” included in the pile.)
So as the movie started, I was totally hopped-up on Mr. Pibb (Extra!), realizing that my dinner was definitely not sufficient — especially considering the amount of caffeine running through my veins — and remembering that the ENTIRE movie is filmed with camera-in-hand and that the shakiness of the opening sequence might be par for the course so if I’m starting to feel dizzy already, maybe now is the time to move further away from the screen.
I whisper to my friend, “Hey, can we move back a little?” She’s all for it, and so I try to grab my stuff and creep to the end of the aisle without distracting the people behind us (since the theater had filled up considerably after we sat down). I scanned the aisles in the back half of the room, trying to find a seat that is somewhat close to the center, and marked the spot.
As I started creeping down the row, attempting yet again to not distract the people in the row behind, the laws of physics decided to turn on me. More accurately, those concerning friction. As my feet slid out from under me and my appendages slammed into the seats, I remembered that the shoes I was wearing? The adorable polka-dot flats that I bought on sale at Macy’s just this weekend? Probably have nothing but a flat plastic sole.
And then I remembered that there was essentially a liter of wet, cold, syrupy beverage in my right hand. Or there HAD BEEN a liter of wet, cold, syrupy beverage in my right hand. The cup was now lost, probably had rolled down to the row where I had been sitting before, and the beverage? Was dumped all over the sweet, middle-aged couple in front of me.
That’s right. Not only did I lose my footing and fall down in front of a theater full of people, interrupting the first scenes of one of the summer’s best movies, but I also managed to spill my entire drink on the people in front of me.
I was mortified.
Immediately, I started apologizing to the couple, and offered to go get them some paper towels. Of course, there was still the problem of friction, which I was still unable to grasp. Literally, I could not convince my shoes to make contact with the floor. So I sort of pulled myself by my arms toward the carpeted aisle, and pushed my feet onto a rough, textured surface so that I could stand up and find some paper towels for the sweet people.
Thankfully, the girls at the concession stand gave me a whole roll of paper towels, and then the sweet middle-aged couple really were sweet — they laughed it off and said it could have happened to anyone and that it wasn’t a big deal — and as I returned the paper towels, the girls at the concession stand gave me a replacement soda, of which I drank very little but still appreciated.
And so I watched the movie.
Except, I was totally shaken from my fall, and from the Mr. Pibb (Extra!), and from insufficient nourishment, and from the continued mortification about how wet and sticky that poor couple must still be, and THEN the dude sitting behind me kept kicking my chair. It wasn’t a blatant kick, it was more of a nervous twitch, which I discerned mostly because it would increase as the action intensified in the movie. And dude probably had long legs and very little space, and I couldn’t fault him for doing something which I have done myself. So, in an attempt to NOT distract everyone around me one more time, I chose to scoot to the empty seat next to me.
You know what happened, right?
My feet slid out from under me (again), and the soda, which had been sitting in the armrest between the seat I was sitting in and the seat I was moving to, was knocked over (again), and I collapsed onto the floor in a fit of laughter which was most likely mimicked by everyone around me.
At this point, I vowed not to move from that seat ever again. Or at least not without assistance in the form of a walker or a strong pair of arms. And my friend took the soda and placed it as far away from me as possible.
The movie, however, was awesome. At least the parts that I saw. I missed a LOT.