Paranormal Activity

Going to the movies alone is an interesting event.

The first time I did it, about a year ago, I was seeing “The Reader”. I had decided that I would no longer wait for a date to take me to see the films I was interested in, and besides going alone meant that I could wear the same Western sweatshirt I’ve been wearing since 1998 and a baseball hat. And that’s what I did. Walked into the theater on a Friday night, bought my ticket and proceeded to the concession counter, where I fell in love-- with the kiddie snack pack:

Small Popcorn.

Medium Drink.

And a box of Mild Duds.

Excited by my selection, I approached the usher taking tickets.

“Um… this is a rated R film. Do you have your ID?” Was it the hat, the sweatshirt, or the kiddie pack that made me look so young?

“I’m 29 years old!” I squeaked a little.

“I’d have given you at least 22.” The man behind me laughed while he hugged his well dressed, perfectly coiffed date.

Saturday night, I ventured to the theater alone once again.

In mild protest of the hallmark holiday and to celebrate the Halloween season, I went to see Paranormal Activity.

I bought my snack pack, choose sour patch kids this time instead of milk duds, and settled into my seat in the center of the back row. Of course, being a Saturday, the theater began to fill up a bit, and someone decided to sit directly in front of me. I hate that. He could have moved one seat left or right and I’d still have had my leg room. I blame him for what happened; he put himself in the line of fire.

The movie started slow, I didn’t even jump for at least the first hour.

However, in the last fifteen minutes of the movie I jumped, squealed twice, and somewhat loudly yelled “Holy God” and “Dumbass”. And in the last minute of the movie I did something that I’ve never done before.

Actors call it a “spit take”.

Yes, I got so scared right after taking a sip of my Dr. Pepper that I blew it out of my mouth all over the poor guy sitting in front of me. Some of it may have even come out my nose, I can’t be sure.

Then the lights came up.

“Did you just spit all over me?” The guy turned around and looked at me through glasses too small for his face.

“Um. Yeah, I’m so sorry. That just really freaked me out. That last sip of Dr. Pepper turned out to be a really terrible idea.” I cringed, waiting for him to get even angrier, maybe yell at me.

“Well, how about you come buy me a beer to make it up to me?”

Shocked I replied, “I could do that. It’s not like I’m going home and going to sleep anytime soon. Or ever again for that matter.”