Yeah, so, I went to the movies by myself.
I don’t think I’ve been to the movies by myself since the early 2000s. I used to go to the movies by myself all the time back in the day, but that’s because I was a loner, Dottie. Not really. I just really liked going to the movies, and occasionally I went by myself.
This solo trip to the theater was a little Mother’s Day gift. Mighty, mighty good man David spent the morning with mighty, mighty good boy Calvin, and I skipped out to watch “Captain America: Civil War” at the Alamo Drafthouse on Mission.
If you’ve never been to the Alamo Drafthouse, you should go to there. It’s rad. It has assigned seating, so I bought my ticket the night before. All of the seats share a little table for your food and drinks. I tried to be courteous and get a seat in which I wouldn’t have to share a table with a stranger. We all like our space. I get it.
I went to a 9:45 a.m. showing on Mother’s Day, so I had plenty of seats to choose from, but that didn’t stop someone else from buying a ticket for the seat next to me. I guess he doesn’t care about personal space.
When I showed up, a man was already sitting in my neighboring seat. “Sorry, your single table is a double now,” I said. “That’s fine. Welcome,” he replied.
I got to the movie early, because Alamo Drafthouse shows really funny videos before the movie starts. There was a lot of YouTube videos of people dressed up as Captain America and dancing. There was also a Japanese commercial for a urinary tract infection medicine, in which the mascot (because why wouldn’t a UTI medicine have a mascot?) looks creepily like Iron Man.
So anyway, the waiter delivered my seatmate’s coffee, and I ordered some popcorn and a ginger ale, because strangely I decided that 9:45 a.m. was too early for a beer, which doesn’t really sound like me, I know.
A few minutes later, the waiter arrived with a big bowl of popcorn, and I immediately slammed my hand in it and started stuffing my face like an animal.
“Eww. This popcorn tastes weird. There’s something on it,” I blurted out.
“It’s parmesan. I know that because it’s my popcorn,” my seatmate replied.
“OH MY GOD! I am so, so sorry! You can have some of my popcorn when it arrives.”
My seatmate was very nice about it. He said it wasn’t a problem at all. No worries. I could have offered to buy him a new popcorn or a drink or something, but I didn’t because I got distracted by the UTI Iron Man. Also, I’m an asshole.