Friday Night Out
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It’s Friday night. You’ve had a long week and an even longer day at work, so you decide to treat yourself to a movie. You’ve purchased your ticket and popcorn and are now standing in the back of the theatre, trying to select a seat for prime viewing. You never sit on the back row because everyone knows that area is reserved for freakishly hormonal teenagers and their “every-comment-I-make-about-this-movie-must-be-loud-and-obnoxious” mentality. Of course you can’t sit on the very first row because it kills your neck, and your favorite seat – middle row, middle seat – is already taken. You decide to just slip into a seat a couple of rows down, right on the aisle. At least you won’t have to walk over fifty thousand legs in case you need to purchase more popcorn or something.

You settle into your seat and munch on your popcorn for a bit. The movie hasn’t started yet, so you scan the theatre to see if you know anyone. You do. This one stupid guy you met in high school and dated for nearly two years. You split up six months ago, but for some reason, the sight of him still makes you panic slightly. He locks eyes with you, and just as he’s opening his mouth about to say “Hi” or “What’s up” or “I’m sorry I chewed your heart up, spit it out, and plan to do the same with my hot new girlfriend here,” you quickly shift your eyes above his head, as if you haven’t even noticed him. You stare at the wall for a while, studying the swirly pattern printed over it and then look back to see if he’s still watching you. He’s not; he’s pretending like he didn’t see you, either. He kisses his date lightly on the forehead. You throw up.

There is some shuffling and grunting at the back of the theatre, and you turn your head to find a disgustingly overweight, bald man in sweatpants hustling through the back door of the theatre. He struggles to balance his tray of snacks – popcorn, Coke, a hot dog, nachos, and two pickles – as he waddles down the aisle in search of a seat. He turns on to the far end of your row. Good thing the rest of your row is empty – plenty of seats for him to choose from that are far away from you.

Convinced he’s considering a seat on the other end of the row, you turn your attention back to your ex. His nasty little date throws her head back and laughs hysterically at something he said. Just as you begin to imagine her head rolling farther back and falling off of her body altogether, you realize the shuffling and grunting is growing louder. You look toward the sound and, to your horror, you discover SweatPant is bustling all the way down the empty aisle toward you.

You study his face to see if you know him – you don’t. You lean forward and study the row to make sure there are plenty of other empty seats for him to sit in – there are. Yet, here he comes, huffing and puffing and heading for you. He backs into the seat right next to you and flashes you a yellow-toothed grin. You nearly choke on your popcorn.

He settles into his seat and balances his tray of snacks across both armrests of his chair, which means using one of your armrests as well. He smells like onions and sweat. You stare at him for a moment, waiting on him to explain why the other empty seats weren’t good enough for him; but he doesn’t say a word. He dives into his hot dog and laughs bits of food out of his mouth as the lights dim. Never in your life have you seen anyone so excited for a movie to begin. He even puts his hot dog down to clap, yes, clap as the previews start to roll. The worst part is, he’s the only one making noise in the whole room.

Seats groan and snickers erupt as people turn in their seats to check him out. You slowly lift a hand to cover the majority of your face. You peek between your fingers at your ex-boyfriend. He turns toward the clapping and a grin splits his face as soon as he sees the man. He probably thinks you’re on a date with this guy. He turns and says something to SlutWhore, who in turn glances back at you and begins to giggle. You mentally stab her in the throat. Twice.

This same scene plays out several times during the movie – SweatyOnionPants claps or laughs or hoots at something on-screen, ExCreep and TrashFace slide a nasty glance in your direction and then snicker together devilishly. You try your best to focus on the movie – which you paid eight dollars for, by the way - but every time you semi-ignore the mound of flesh parked next to you, it throws a random piece of popcorn or nacho your way. When it begins crunching on a pickle and shoots a stream of pickle juice right into your eye, you leap out of your seat and head for the door. Enough is enough.

You bust out of the theatre and head for the bathroom, one eye squeezed closed and stinging from pickle juice. You shove open the bathroom door and there stands SkankBreath at the sink, touching up her make-up. You give her a weak, squinted-face smile, as you sheepishly tear off some paper towel to wipe your eye with. She responds with an evil eye roll and scans the butter and cheese all over your shirt and pants. She giggles to herself and prances out the door, rushing off to tell JerkFace, no doubt.

You consider drowning yourself in a toilet but decide against it, as she might come back into the bathroom and find you facedown in a toilet and really ham it up. You decide to just leave. You need to take a shower after the HumanSpitSprinkler has covered you with spit and snacks for the last twenty minutes anyway. You dart to your car and consider driving off a cliff but head for home instead. At least you can console yourself with ice cream and chocolate there.

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