You know what I hate ...
I hate it when people show up to the movies five minutes before the show starts and expect a pair of seats together in the best row. To get said seats, they ask everyone to "just move over a little."
I say f--k that. If I ever were to arrive five minutes before a flick -- and I wouldn't cuz I care about my seat -- I would take what I could get. But it never fails, some jerk must come along and ruin everything for us good people. Like, on Saturday night these damn chicks did it. They pranced in like the owned the place. After glancing around and deciding that the few empty seats didn't suit them, they asked the people next to me, "Would you mind moving over?" A couple in the row behind us did the same thing to some other good people. "Would you guys mind scooting down so we could sit here?" As for me, you're damn right I mind. My boyfriend, David, minds too. It's just that good people don't like to make a scene about stuff.
David and I frequent a very popular movie theater. There's always a big line for every new movie. Even the not-so-new movies get the "spillover" crowd from the sold-out flicks. The boyfriend and I, we know the game. For new movies show up a good hour early. For older movies give it at least a half-hour. Show up late, you take your chances. You get the front row seats, or the seats beind the partition where you can't see the screen, or you and your movie partner have to break up, taking scattered seats where you can get them.
Unless you're "special." In that case all you need to do his show up and ask everyone to scrunch together. If you're really "special" then you ask everyone to scrunch together toward the sides of the row so you get those perfect middle seats. David and I have all sorts of plans to foil the attack of the "special" moviegoers. We've tried making the seats look full by stuffing them with his jacket or my purse. Sometimes we pretend we're waiting for imaginary friends, so the seat-grubbers will seek comfort somewhere else. We're thrilled when we manage to escape the scrunching game. Unfortunately most of the time we're scrunched no matter what we do.
There's a few reasons for this. Sometimes the theater sells every damn seat, then sends security in to make everyone squeeze in real tight. Frequently we fall for the "single guy trick," a favorite sly move of seat-hogging couples. The man shows up by himself and points to a spare single seat. "Is this seat taken?" You feel sorry for the poor sucker without a date. You confess it's empty. Then he signals his wife -- who mysteriously appears out of nowhere -- and turns backs to you, "Would you guys mind ...?"
Sometimes we just give up our seats without a big fight, because we don't want to seem petty. We'll secretly hope you'll get run over by a diesel truck, but we don't want to seem petty. So we curse you under our breath and move, vowing to pay you back. Only we can't pay you back. That would mean you'd have to bring your ass to the movie on time and we'd have to show up late. But you don't have to show up on time -- and you would never scrunch -- because you're "special."
I hate that.