Hail Nincompoops!

croptheatre

 

Son and I went to see Hail Ceasar! the other night.

I appreciate being able to pick seats ahead of time.  Not many tickets had been sold when I got online, so we reserved our favorite spot in the middle of the back row.

The theater seats about 150.  By the time the previews were ending, only 14 seats were occupied.

The lights were dimming when in sauntered customers #15 and #16.  They were carrying super-ultra-mega-sized drinks, ice cream bars, a 10 gallon bucket full of popcorn and a platter full of fried dough, masquerading as chicken nuggets.

And where did they choose to sit?

Right     next      to      me.

Are you kidding me?  Either side of us had empty seats all the way to the aisles.  What kind of egregious disregard of personal space was this?

My son looked at me and then I looked at the woman. She was adjusting her rather corpulent frame into the seat while also trying to claim the armrest.

And then she gave me the stink-eye!

I matched her stink-eye as I got up and moved to the other side of my son.

The movie was loud enough to mostly mask the sounds of their chewing and slurping.

My usual method of dealing with this type of situation is to repeat  Hanlon’s razor over and over to myself:

Never ascribe to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.

I also try to practice gratitude, as in, “Thank heavens for Netflix.”

 

 

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