Hunger Games

I was mean to two old men the other day at the movie theatre.  The first was at the concession counter.  I was with First Born Prince, on a special date to see “The Hunger Games.”  We were planning to go to dinner afterwards, and I was in an exceptionally good mood…until Old Man #1 cut in front of us (and the rest of the line) to get a free popcorn refill.  He didn’t make eye contact, just marched right up and wove his bag around until the counter person helped him, right in the middle of my transaction.  The sales clerk literally stopped filling up my son’s soda to wait on him.

When he turned around, I spoke up.

“Excuse me, Sir, did you see the line of people here waiting?”

“Excuse me, Ma’am!”  His tone was indignant.  “I was getting a refill!”  I noticed his hand holding the popcorn-in-question was shaking and I didn’t want him to drop it or anything, so I just turned back to pay for the soda.

“Maybe he was confused, Mom.”  Son of Pollyanna reminded me to give others the benefit of the doubt.  I also wasn’t 100% sure what the rules around refills were since I’ve been depriving myself of movie theatre popcorn for over thirty years now.

We were seated, excited for the movie to begin, when Old Man #2 strolled in just as the lights dimmed and sat in the seat directly in front of my son, on TOP of a special cushion he brought with him.  There were many, many other open seats.  We had purposely arrived early and I was frustrated by the turn of events.

I asked really loudly, “Charlie, CAN YOU SEE?”

“No,” he whispered.

“I GUESS WE’LL HAVE TO MOVE THEN!”

The old man didn’t flinch.  I stood in the aisle with my hand on my hip, searching for another good seat, giving out a long, loud, heavy sigh.  Finally, Old Man #2 snuck a peek at me.  I marched off.

“It’s okay, Mom.”  First Born Prince-slash-Son of Pollyanna wanted back my bubbly mood.

And it was.  We ended up in good seats.  We were two rows back and I looked at Old Man #2 nestling himself into his booster seat and realized he was alone.  I started to feel a little sinking feeling in my stomach.  I wondered if Old Man #1 was alone, too.  I thought to myself, “What the hell is wrong with me?” 

As we left the theater and made our way to dinner, I remembered the sage advice my father used to give me, “Don’t be an asshole.”

It didn’t really matter what the refill protocol was or that an old man plunked himself down in front of my strapping 12-year-old, did it?  I was on a date with my son and was excited to discuss the merits of a great film over a slice of pizza and the rules of the elderly or the impatient, or the clueless, needn’t apply to me.

We only go around once, it’s a short ride.