I cut it close, but I arrived at the theatre five minutes before my movie's start time. My local theatre long ago got rid of their kiosk, making interaction with humans an unwelcome cost of admission. Now they've upped their obnoxious game.
"Purchase tickets at the concession stand," read the sign in the booth.
I was greeted, of course, by a long line. One eye on my watch, I squirmed as I watched each customer get the hard sell. The long, hard sell. The staff managed to fritter away 10 of my minutes. By the time the elderly woman in front of me was paying for her comically large bucket of popcorn, I was steaming. Waste my money, waste my heart, but do not waste my time.
She took her sweet time getting out of line, so I tried to expedite things. "Medium unbuttered popcorn," I said to the employee who'd gotten everyone else's popcorn. She nodded and did nothing. Another eternity passed. Finally, the old woman left, and I put my M&Ms on the counter.
"Would you like to upgrade to a large for only 75 cents more?" chirped the employee.
It was all I could do not to lunge at her. I closed my eyes.
"Yes. In fact, make it a small. You talked me out of it."
"Uh, okay. You can combine that with—"
"No."
"—a large soft drink for—"
"No."
"only $1.25 more."
"Still no."
"And if you add your candy—"
I grabbed my candy and put it back on the shelf. "You're really good at the upsell," I observed. "Let's move this along."
"Do you have a Regal card?"
"No, and I don't want one."
"Do you want one?"
"No, I still don't. I want to see the beginning of my goddamned movie."
We stared at each other, and I realized I wasn't going to enjoy the movie. I began my 30 minute drive back home.
You know that guy at the car dealership who you have to talk to, even if you're paying cash, about financing and undercoating and warranty extensions? You know that desperate, trapped-animal feeling?