Tag Archives: rant

Rude Sandwich



In the waning hours of the holiday season, we decided to squeeze in one last activity by heading out in the pouring rain for a matinee showing of The Accountant.  Perfect rainy day activity but ultimately a bit more interactive than I anticipated.

I drop my wife off in front so she could avoid the rain and get tickets. I then wade off to find a spot in the crowded parking lot to dock my vehicle.  50 yards from the theater, I wedge in between two other U-boats; but before I step into the monsoon I get a txt from my wife advising to skip the line and just find us a seat in the theater.  She notices there are no ticket takers, and with 5 minutes to the show if one of us doesn’t grab seats we may be watching the movie with our necks at a 90 degree angle to our bodies.

She’s not kidding.  The lobby is wall to wall-to-wall wet wool and bad breath.  I serpentine through the lobby masses and head for the entrance to our theater.

Somehow on my way in, I get sandwiched between three larger than life characters (husband/wife/child).  The woman in front of me is unaware I have slipped in front of her husband and is narrating her thoughts on seat selection at full volume.  Clearly thinking hubby is right on her heals and having selected her preferred row she barks, “How ’bout this one?”   At the same time she wheels around and finds herself face to face, with me.  Apparently she thinks I am a big white ghost because she lets out a, shriek, then immediately breaks into this humongous HAW HAW HAW when she realizes she has been blabbering absentmindedly to a total stranger.  She and I do this little dance in the aisle, and I step into the row immediately in front of her selected row.  BIG MISTAKE.

Anyway, the woman, her husband, young daughter (I’m guessing about aged 8 – in an R rated movie??), tub of popcorn, large drinks and assorted luggage sit behind me and continue their conversation through the previews.   I put my wet umbrella in the cup holder of the seat next to me and a minute later my wife lands.

A man and woman in front of me are also working through a large vat of popcorn but not 5 minutes into the previews, the man gets up and heads for the snack bar.  He returns as the opening scene appears on the screen and I miss the set up for the movie.  He then proceeds to sit (thankfully), pauses briefly before tearing into a grocery store size bag of something.

Could have been candy.  Could of been Calamari. But whatever it was, it was two hours of crinkly loud.  Like nails on a chalkboard, how someone could occupy themselves with a bag of such volume is unimaginable.

Now this is no spoiler, but The Accountant is about a high functioning man with Autism who is also a trained killer.  As you might surmise, the movie builds around the eccentricities of this unlikely combination of behaviors.   Pretty much every time the Accountant mumbles some inappropriate comment or puts a bullet in some nasty guy’s head, the trifecta behind me bursts forth with hearty HAW HAW HAWS,  MYUCK MYUCK, MYUCKS, and HONK HONK HONKS.  Even the eight year old.  Between the inappropriate comments, head bullets, and GUFFAWS there is the occasional “jump out of the closet/big white ghost” scene met withheld now familiar womanly shriek followed immediatley by a stereophonic MYUCK MYUCK, MYUCK, and HONK HONK HONK.  Oh, and of course there is the ringing cell phone during the final head/bullet scene.  She answers it of course.

Between the the incessant CRINKLE, CRINKLE, CRINKLE and HAW HAW HAW,  MYUCK MYUCK, MYUCK, HONK HONK HONK, I feel a bit like week-old turkey in a rude sandwich.   To say the rain must have driven all the rats out of the sewers would be a huge overstatement, but I have to chuckle at the world in which we live today.

A few additional thoughts:

  1.  The Accountant is worth seeing in the theater or in home.
  2. Next time I choose the long ticket line over seat selection.
  3. “All you had to do was pick a freaking decent seat and you picked the two between the Three Stooges and Willy f’ing Wonka.” (reprimand from my wife)
  4. When I get a little uptight.  I write.
  5. If I put the words, “Donald Trump” in my blog post will I get more views?

Back Off College


I am sorry college, but you need to back off. I know the idea of you is nice, but once we actually started something I can’t wait to be through with you. There are so many problems with you. Let’s start with the biggest one: you won’t give me any space. You are clingy, and overbearing, and you get downright annoying after about 30 minutes. I mean it’s as if you expect me to think about you 24/7 and I simply won’t. I have a life outside of you, believe it or not. I am only 16, and this relationship has already gotten much more serious than I would have liked at my age. Everywhere I look or no matter who I talk to, you seem to come up. You’re either really popular or extremely frightening because you seem to be all the buzz around here. I know everyone seems to think you have the magic power to get them where they want to go, but past that I really don’t see the appeal right now. All too soon you have forced me from a perfectly happy friendship with high school and into a suffocating relationship with you.

Second, I have tried so hard to impress you. I’ve given my all on so many levels. You want a smart girl? I studied harder. But it wasn’t enough. You want a well-rounded girl? I signed up for heinous activities that I don’t even like just to try to get your attention. I figured that maybe if I put myself out there, maybe you’d take interest in me. But you’re simply stone cold. Obviously you want talent. So I have trained: dance, voice, acting class, striving to be the best because the best is all that will cut it for you. I feel like I am constantly auditioning for you. I have to be better than the next smart, pretty, talented girl who catches your eye. Night and day I ponder the endless possibilities of what you have in mind as the best. Would it be lots of good grades, several activities, boatloads of talent? Do I have to be gorgeous on top of all that? I mean, come on, let’s be realistic here. I can’t do it all! I don’t physically have enough hours in my day!

Third, being with you is like being with a brick wall. I mean, come on. You lure me in with all your positives: so-and-so loves you so much they wish they could go back and do it all over again, look at how happy blah-di-blah is now that you’ve been in their life, you can take me exotic places, get me out of the South, give me everything and make my hopes and dreams come true. That is what I see on the surface. You want me to learn everything about you, to dig and investigate, and make sure you’ll make me happy. You want me to visit (and we both know long-distance relationships hardly ever work), you want me to meet with “your people”, and even visit your website and look at all the perfect pictures of you at your very best. You expect my utmost devotion and flattery and attention. But what do I get in return? I mean you confuse me with other girls all the time. You know nothing about my personality or charms. All I get  is the occasional postcard from you bragging about the fantastic new things you’re progressing in, or the beautiful new feature you’ve had worked on, sometimes even that you are dying for me to come and giving me specific dates to conform to. You expect me to drop everything going on in my perfectly happy life and come be with you for a weekend, sometimes even making me miss school, and all for what? You drag me on, and it’s entirely possible that when all is said and done, you’ll decide that I’m simply not good enough and reject me. I will fall in love with you and then what? BAM! Like a ton of 10 pound bricks I’ll get a simple letter in the mail saying I’m not what you want. It’s entirely possible that you’ll break my heart as soon as I start to think I have a chance. And I will never know why. I’ll never know why the girl in my Math class or my best friend was better than me. You’ll never tell me. I’ll have to pick myself back up, look myself in the mirror, and tell myself that you were never what I really wanted anyway. I’ll never hear from you again. And just like that, two years of my life that I gave to you will have been ill spent. Of course, there is also the possibility that something about me will appeal to you, that I will have just that spark you’ve been yearning for and then, SUCCESS! I will get you like I’ve been plotting and scheming to for so long. I mean, sure, I’ll be stealing you from someone else, but then I guess they should have been more like me, right? What’s that old expression…”All’s fair in love and war”?