Last night I recruited my friend Bob to join me to go see The Omen. I was actually entertaining the idea of going it alone, thinking no one was as nuts as me to be desperate to see the flick on opening night and on 6-6-6. But Bob is pretty odd, so I thought it was worth a shot. He was an easy sell and he’s super sacrilegious—saying things like the Baby Jesus wanted us to have the primo free parking space we found miraculously.
It was a packed house at Webster Place as expected. We were a bit early, and I got our tickets on the web, which is kind of useless when you have the inevitable late comers crawling all over you. And I can’t tell you how much I love it when couples think others should move—others who got to the theatre on time—so they can hold hands or whatever. Here’s a little sampler.
Girlfriend No. 1 to pair of dudes sitting behind us: Um, can you move down so me and my boyfriend can sit together?
Me (in head): Rock on. Why should they pushed over to the wall and make an already mediocre seat, crappy?
Girlfriend walks away in a huff.
As the previews wore on, the dudes were approached several times. And each time the encroachers were denied, I was secretly happy. But shit, as they say, was about to go down.
A big gun was called in—an assistant to the assistant theatre manager I’ll bet—to get the guys to move down for a married couple this time.
Power Trip: YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO MOVE, THIS IS A FULL THEATRE!
Dude: No. I. Am. NOT! We got here on time. And it’s not fair to make us move. There are seats left, just not together.
Usher: WELL THEN I'M CALLING THE POLICE!!!!!!!!!
He seriously threatened this. I couldn’t believe it. And I’m sure the Baby Jesus was dumbfounded as well.
Dude: WELL CALL THEM!
As you can guess no cops came, the guys behind us sat comfortably with two empty seats on either side and we all settled in to watch the son of Satan do his thing. It was a fairly scary movie, but with people laughing when folks are getting their heads lopped off, it’s hard to get too shaken.