Jeff and I are not a couple who enjoy seeing movies together. In fact, we make it a pretty miserable experience for ourselves. He insists on playing musical chairs in the theatre in a futile attempt to find the perfect seats. We change rows at least 3 or 4 times before the room goes dark. It’s a very intense 15 minutes or so, taking height, weight and snacking preferences into seating consideration. We’ve have actually resorted to sitting separately because I’ve refused to move for a fifth time.
Then, there’s the food issue. I’ve never really understood the need to eat in a movie. And if you’re going to eat, why not at least a quiet food? Couldn’t the concession stand sell marshmallows? Or jello? Something, perhaps, that doesn’t crunch? Whose idea was it to marry popcorn and movies anyway? The crumpling of the bag, the shaking, the chewing, the licking off of buttery hands…Don’t even get me started on the people who hold the bags to their mouths pouring the whole thing in. Gag me.
That brings me to the talkers. Once the lights go off, all mouths should be zipped. I have perfected the nasty glance back/eye roll/loud sigh that usually shuts up offender in a instant. Feet do not belong on seats, and there is no need to douse ones self in perfume. Common sense, people! Last, but not least, a child belongs in a movie with a rating of G or PG. Otherwise they belong at home with a babysitter.
That was then. Yesterday I joined the ranks of the “GP” (a term Jeff and I came up with years ago referring to the general movie going public) I brought my four year old to a movie. It was not rated G or PG and did not contain a single talking animal or animation. To make matters worse, we were running late and didn’t have time to stop for lunch. My solution? Grabbing subs next door and smuggling them in. Chips, too. Extra crunchy. She sat next to me the whole time asking question after question and rocking in her seat. I’m sure were the recipients of many an eye roll, but I was oblivious. I was actually watching the movie.
Since joining the chewing, swallowing, loudly whispering, child bringing audience members, I didn’t care what they were doing. I couldn’t obsess about Miss Blabber Mouth to my right or Mr. Loud Chewer to my left. I was one of them. A member of the GP. And you know what? It was a much more pleasant way to see a movie. Maybe they knew something I didn’t all along.