Although we pay nearly three hundred dollars a month for cable service from the good folks at Xfinity, giving us access to a wide variety of entertainment options in the privacy of our home, Mrs. Pincus and I sometimes do venture out to a good old-fashioned movie theater. While I certainly love movies, I don't care for people. And that's exactly what we encountered last Saturday.
My wife and I made plans to meet my brother Max and my sister-in-law (no, not that one... the other one) for a rare "double date" night, My sister-in-law purchased discount tickets at a local Costco and was surprised by the "pick your seat" option that was available. From my recollection, movie theaters never offered reserved seating, but it certainly makes sense. Reserved seats are available at almost every other venue where public seating is offered — Broadway theaters, concerts, sporting events, you can even throw airline flights into that mix. Actually, now that I think of it, we previously purchased reserved seating for movies on our several, ill-fated visits to our nearby Movie Tavern. So maybe other movie theaters are just catching up. And it makes perfect sense, too! With reserved seats, you don't have to rush to the theater and scramble for choice seats — especially if you need to find more than two seats together. (That is, if you don't want to split up your party.) With reserved seating, your seat will be waiting for you when arrive, no matter what time you arrive.
My sister-in-law scored four seats at the end of a row, selecting a location midway up in a theater that offered stadium-style seating. Perfect! We could meet early for a leisurely dinner and then make our way to the theater at our own pace and not worry about the hassle of scanning a crowded theater for four seats together. Our chosen movie was "Yesterday," the latest Danny Boyle-directed fantasy tale of a young, struggling musician who, after waking from an accident, realizes he's the only one in the world who remembers the Beatles. The movie, after receiving a modest amount of pre-release hype, had opened the night before our little "family night at the movies" and the suburban multiplex would likely be crowded. But, we had no worries. At least not yet.
We met at a Ruby Tuesday's* that occupies a pad site in the parking lot of the theater. After dinner, as we exited the restaurant, my sister-in-law distributed the tickets and I tucked our pair safely in my wallet. We got in our respective cars and drove over to the larger lot nearer to the theater. We met at the front of the theater and entered. We determined which of the twenty-two auditoriums was our destination and headed down one of the long hallways that branched off from the main lobby. My wife and sister-in-law excused themselves for a quick visit to the ladies room, leaving my brother and me to meet them at our pre-determined seats.
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| Reserved! |
Max and I entered the semi-darkened theater. The enormous screen was alight with commercials for the concession stand and other commerce-enticing information. We took note of the large, prominent aisle designations affixed to the base of the end seat of each row. We mentally ticked off each one until we arrived at Row H. The end seat — Seat 12 — was empty, its padded cushion in the upright position waiting to afford comfort to its rightful ticket holder for the 7:30 showing. The next three adjoining seats, however, were occupied by three women. As showtime was fast approaching, there were only a few single seats scattered throughout the near-capacity theater. My brother and I exchanged puzzled glances. He had an expression on his face with which I was very familiar. It was a combined expression of exasperation and annoyance. I had seen it regularly in our youth — and I was usually the cause.
I spoke first. I said to the woman closest to me, "I believe you are in our seats." I tried to have no inflection of anger or accusation in my voice. Perhaps it was an honest mistake. Perhaps they were not aware of the reserved seating policy. After all, we were not greeted by an usher of any kind. We were not asked for our tickets and then guided to our appointed accommodations for the evening. The woman furrowed her brow and, with a raised, sweeping hand, gestured to the rest of the theater. "Oh, you can just sit anywhere," she bluntly stated in reply to my indictment. I think I could hear my brother's blood actually boiling in his veins. I could feel the anxious adrenaline coursing through my system in anticipation of a confrontation I did not wish to happen. I hate confrontation. I'm not good at it and I would rather remain silent. My brother, on the other hand, has never been one to stand idle while shit is forced in his direction. Perennially athletic and physical, he has always stood his ground in a calm, authoritative, and somewhat menacing, manner.
I told my brother that I was going to speak to a member of the theater's management. I started down the steep steps with my destination being the lobby. I tracked down a man in a mismatched suit gripping a comically-large walkie-talkie that looked as though he filched it from the set of "M*A*S*H." He sported a name tag engraved with "MANAGER" pinned to his too-wide lapel. I explained the situation transpiring right now in Auditorium 3. He assured me that a security representative would be there to assist momentarily. I felt no sense of urgency in his promise and no authority in his authority. Unsatisfied, I reluctantly returned to check my brother's progress.
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| Not actually my brother. |
Again, I entered the theater and ascended the steps towards Row H. There was my brother, my sister-in-law and Mrs. Pincus sitting in Seats 9 through 11... with Seat 12 on stand-by for my derriere. I took my seat and leaned over to ask Max to fill me in on the chapter of this story that I missed. In a totally unaffected tone, he said, after I left, he went back to the woman and calmly stated that she and her friends were in seats that they did not belong in. "I asked you once nicely," he said, most likely in a slow and deliberate timbre and through clenched teeth, "You need to get up and go to the seats that are printed on your ticket. These are not your seats." After a few seconds, the three women rose and pushed their way past my brother, not offering any sort of apology or even glancing in his direction.
Mr. Movie Theater Manager's security never showed up. We didn't really need them.
We brought our own.
*I still have not published my rant about my awful Ruby Tuesday's experience that I wrote four years ago. Maybe someday...
This is the 500th post to this blog. Thanks for reading!
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