Going to the movies

Do you know what is my favourite part about going to the movies? It is not sitting in the plush velvet reclining chairs. It is not seeing characters come to life in crystal clear HD clarity. It is not even the brilliant surround sound that brings the hall alive.

No, my favourite part about going to see a movie is when my family insists that I go and get everybody refreshments during the interval. One of the greatest mysteries remains as to  why they do not get it before the movie starts, when there is no time pressure or rush.

But, being the adult son, the man of my family, I stride forth to do my manly duty.

I survey the onerous task ahead. There is a large guy in a business suit who is absorbed in a conversation on his Blackberry. In front of him is a couple intent on showing everyone exactly how much they love each other. I sigh in exasperation and take my place at the end of the queue.

The couple take their own sweet time, playfully arguing over the menu and pecking each other on the cheek. I can feel my heart rate increase as precious seconds tick away in their quest for romantic condiments.

“Just choose the bloody popcorn and go!!” I almost said out loud.

Finally, they settle on nachos and dip. I see one last amorous kiss before they finally cut out of line and leave for their movie.

Mr. Blackberry seems to be in a heated conversation with his associate. This argument has taken the epic proportions of a UN debate. The topic of such vital importance- golf.

The clock mercilessly ticks down to the restarting of the movie as he can't seem to put his chat on hold to order. Instead he gestures with the skill of an autistic mime as to what he wants. The poor high school guy behind the counter has no idea what to give.

I have to restrain myself from pulling his Blackberry from his hand and flinging it away as he cannot bring himself to stop his golfing discussion to tell the guy coherently what he wants to eat.

Finally, the high school guy successfully deciphers his improvised sign language and pointing and gives him a Diet Coke. He walks off, oblivious of the heartache he has caused me. It is my turn next.

Faster than the guy can type, I reel off my entire family's order. Time slows to a crawl as he moves from the counter to the various dispensers and starts putting my wishes into cartons. My eyes are bulging and my blood is rushing as I notice that the movie will resume imminently. After an age, I have my order ready.

Balancing several large buckets of popcorn, cups of soda and other assorted snacks is no mean feat, but with the dexterity and finesse of a ballet dancer, I rush back to the hall and run up to my seat. The movie starts right on cue. I just made it.

“You forgot to get a Slurpy for me. Oh and while you're at it, your sister would like a Snickers.”