Ticket for One
It was a freezing day in the city, where the wind was whipping around each corner of the streets. I was downtown walking from 9th Ave to Broadway; milking a cigarette along my icy route. I was headed to see a movie, but I guess some would call attending a movie alone…a daunting task. I’ve never thought of doing things alone to be intimidating or even abnormal, but rather an example or maturity. This lonesome journey was different than what normally occurred. I threw my cigarette down a storm drain when I could see the marquee a block away.
Once I made it to the theatre, I walked to the nearest kiosk to avoid talking to anyone. But lucky for me, there was a table set up by the kiosks with two eager beavers waiting to sell me some sort of bullshit I didn’t need. Even with my headphones in, they took it upon themselves to make me pay attention to them. Once the solicited conversation concluded, I made my way up two escalators and had my ticket torn for entry. I had a bag with me which contained a blue Swell bottle, a copy of Call Me by Your Name with a tear on the bottom right corner of the cover, a few sporadic pens, a gray lighter, my Oliver Peoples, and two bags of Sour patch candy—watermelon and kids. As the man began to inspect my bag, he points at my candy like I had smuggled drugs across the border. I mean this Regal Cinema has stronger security than any airport I had been in, proving to me that TSA is merely performance art. I, of course, acknowledge the fact that I had brought candy but due to my pride, I refused to throw them away. He instructed me to get rid of the contraband before returning. I made my way back down the escalators to eat my candy shamefully in the lobby. I munch, crunch, chew and savor each sour bite while the two solicitors look me up and down. Had I become the rebel child from an ’80s that I crushed on throughout my childhood? No, I was just a hungry shithead who refuses to pay $8 for two small packs of candy.
Two escalators up and for the first time I had noticed the massive Spiderman picture hung above. Why was Toby Maguire’s image still in this theater? I mean I know Y2K is back in style but don’t we think it’s time for an upgrade. I sarcastically greeted the ticket lady and security guard like they were my distant relatives I hadn’t seen since last Thanksgiving. She giggled while he begrudgingly let me pass. Up a third escalator and around the corner, I had finally made it to theater 13. Was it lucky 13 or an ironic finale to the bad luck I experienced with my candy catastrophe?
I walked through the doors, up the ramp, climbed 4 stairs and sat down in K7. The theatre was nearly empty except for a couple two rows behind me and a man who seemed to make himself at home in one of the handicapped seats in the middle of the theatre. You could tell this was routine for him when he pulled out a neck pillow. I through my legs over the seats in front of me and fidgeted until I could find the perfect position. I turned my phone off, chunked it on top of my jacket and sunk into my seat. The lights dimmed and the trailers rolled.
