The Sonia Show

Writer. Mocker. Beer drinker. Old movie watcher. Mother. Goober.

Rude awakening

1 Comment

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.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

jarjar

“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.

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Author: The Sonia Show

I'm a writer/mocker/goober/mother in San Francisco who likes to drink beer, shop, laugh and make other people laugh, podcast, watch old movies, feed my unhealthy obsession with pop culture, kick breast cancer's ass, wear orange and root for the San Francisco Giants, participate in general jackass-ery, talk about TV, eavesdrop on strangers' conversations, make nerdy “Star Wars” and “Simpsons” references, and post personal things about myself on the web for all to read, which makes me some sort of literary exhibitionist.

One thought on “Rude awakening

  1. Nah, not your fault. The server should have told you whose damn popcorn it was!

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