Two for the Money (22Nov05)

This week, as we prepared for our Cheap Theater adventure, I was tempted to wear some big, black boots. That would make Hooker Boot Guy feel good, don't you think? He'd see that I, too, like to wear big, black boots. Then we could be friends, and I could finally figure out the deal with the boots.

But then I thought about it some more and decided against it.

Still, though, I'm on a mission to find Hooker Boot Guy back. I took the time while we were waiting in line at the theater to check the footwear of everyone else in line. But alas, no hooker boots.

The suits were gone this week, too. Remember the fancy uniforms -- with the suits and the formal name tags -- that everyone was wearing last week? Gone. The usual striped shirts were back, as was the somewhat uninterested manner in which the employees treated us. Now that's more like it!

Paul figures somebody important must have been visiting last week. Whoever it was, I'm glad he's gone now. The formality freaked me out.

I felt way more comfortable when the ticket-ripper (whose name I didn't catch because I was trying to be friendly and polite and make eye contact) was back to the old "second one down there" routine. None of that "enjoy your movie" crap. It was good to have things back to normal.

Right from the beginning, as soon as we took our seats in the back corner of the theater, I knew I didn't belong. Despite the fact that women tend to be especially tolerant of watching all kinds of guy movies, there were almost none of them in the theater. Most of the people there were either groups of guys in their 20s or older, solitary men.

And remember what I've said before about the lack of padding in the seats at The Cheap Theater? I now understand. I think the kind of older guys who go to see a movie like Two for the Money by themselves may have something to do with it. They were mostly very large men -- say, at least 250, though probably much more. And their size was only enhanced by their big quilted jackets (of either a plaid or camouflage pattern). After seeing them, I can totally understand why the seats in the theater are no longer padded.

There were a few women in the theater, however. One of them sat right in front of us. And after all of the people who have sat in front of us and blocked our view or distracted us with their screaming children, this girl was quite refreshing, really. She took her seat and settled in -- and then she turned around and asked Paul, "Can you see okay?" I found it a bit odd, since she was actually seated more to the outside of the theater than Paul was, and she wasn't really all that tall (especially since she wasn't really sitting up straight). So it was totally unnecessary. But I appreciated the gesture nonetheless. In fact, I was even a bit stunned by it. So kudos to the girl ahead of us for being shockingly considerate.

The experience this week wasn't all hearts and flowers, though. By the time we got out of the theater, I was somewhat troubled.

"Do I smell like rotten eggs?" I asked Paul, sniffing myself.

"I don't think so. Why?" he asked, obviously confused -- and maybe a bit disturbed -- by my question.

"Because it smelled like rotten eggs in there," I told him. And I would know rotten eggs. One of my grandfathers was a chicken farmer, and the other worked at an egg processing plant. I know rotten eggs.

I quickly came to the conclusion that it wasn't me -- since, if anything, I would smell like the tacos I'd made for dinner (though, sensitive to the strong smell, I'd changed my clothes before going out). And I was pretty sure Paul didn't smell like rotten eggs, either.

"I think it was the guy ahead of me," I concluded.

Paul just shrugged -- since, as a guy, he's pretty much incapable of noticing bad smells, like rotting garbage or that horrible smell that clings to hockey gloves...

But I digress...

The man ahead of me had shown up alone -- but instead of being especially large, apparently he smelled like rotten eggs. Perhaps he (or another solitary guy like him) was the cause of the mysterious Smelly Seat we encountered this summer...

But I guess it takes all kinds at The Cheap Theater. What fun would it be without them?