Shameless Pearoast

One wet and miserable afternoon where the heavy leaden skies merged with the grimy cityscape I decided a bit of Hollywood escapism was needed.

As is traditional when wanting to watch a film I deposited myself in the sticky floored chav breeding ground that is the modern multiplex.

Upon entering the theatre it was already dark as I had spent ten minutes explaing to a pus filled dimwit of a sweet vendor that his popcorn had risen in price by more than 17% in the last year tracking way above inflation and that I was loath to part with almost £5 for something that is 50% air.

Alas my lamentations and sound economics fell of deaf ears and I parted his company with a small bag of popcorn, a heavy debt and a seething resentment towards anything and anyone involved in the corn or corn popping industries.

I took my seat and resolved to enjoy the film with no more ire inducing episodes. This was not to be the case for behind me seemed to be the noisiest people in the world.

Snippets of whispered conversation buzzed around my head like so many malarial mosquitoes, the incessant crackle and crunch of sweet bags felt as loud as gufire, the soft sucking of humbugs pulled at the marrow in my bones and the random kicking of the back of my seat did little to ease my back pain.

I should have asked nicely for some peace and quiet, but past experience had taught me that these dark dwelling monsters would only increase their attacks if provocked with reasonable requests. Hence I sat and I seethed for what felt like hours, I balled up my rage in a way only an emotionally stunted Englishman can.

Like Krakatoa the pressure became too much and I exploded! Swivelling around in my chair I shouted in no uncertain terms for this utter shower of shits to, and I quote, "SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I RIP YOUR FUCKING HEADS OFF!"

All was silent, for a brief second I thought I had done the impossible and won against the tyranny of teenagers. Unfortunately as my eyes adjusted to the dark I saw quivering chins and frightened watery eyes.

In a line sat 6 very scared and on the verge of tears children with Down Syndrome. My heart absolutely sank. Their carer lent forward and apologised only making things worse, I begged her and the children's forgiveness and sank so deeply into my seat that my arse got stuck to the fetid sticky floor. It was where I belonged. I have never felt so guilty.

Luckily after the movie I managed to apologise properly to all involved and we all went away happy, but I have learnt how stupid it is to let the rage grow inside you and to release it with out doing some pre flight checks.

*starts walking to hull*
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:22, 4 replies)

Great the first time
Great the second time too :)
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:37, closed)

On the other hand...
They did shut up, right?


(I don't go to the movies anymore. There are *no* redeeming features as far as I'm concerned)
(Richy_T hundreds if not thousands of dollars, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:55, closed)

*clickety click*
Just out of interest, what film was it? What film would have an audience of an articulate b3tan and 6 kids with Downs?
(GONEism, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:02, closed)

Pitbull does Pussy

No it was Mission Impossible.
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:31, closed)