Double Feature

My sister L and I went to the movies last weekend to see Slumdog Millionaire, an often talked about but frequently unexplained sleeper hit film. It is a favorite to win big with Oscar, which speaks poorly of the rest of the candidates. Nevertheless, I was happy to see a movie with an "R" rating, no animation, and no one wanting to sit on my lap. I was also happy to be with L, and while we knew little about the movie itself, we were excited to be out of our houses with no one but ourselves to attend to. I bought our tickets after fast walking up to the window in order to beat some sad sack mom and her posse of preteen girls on their way to enjoy Paul Blart: Mall Cop. Sucker!

L and I discussed the pros and cons of popcorn (L: we just ate lunch. Me: but it smells good!) while we walked in the theater lobby. I looked around at the high ceilings, movie posters, and concession booth while L handed our tickets to the usher. Next to me, a chipmunk voice squeaked, "Thank you, your movie theater is on the left." I looked up to see who owned that high pitched rodent voice. Before us, taking our tickets, was a thin shouldered micro encephalitic woman with thin, wispy hair barely covering her scalp. And I mean tiny head. The last time I saw a woman with a head that small, I was watching the 1930's film classic Freaks. I quickly looked away and avoided all eye contact with both her and my sister, in an effort to not bust out laughing.

L and I stumbled down the hallway toward our theater. L tried to engage me in conversation while I continued to pretend I wasn't going to crack up. "I didn't realize she was a pinhead, " L said. "I thought she had cancer or something with that sparse hair growth." I fell against the wall, laughing, tears streaming down my cheeks. I tried to regain composure, but when L began chanting, "One of us! One of us!" I just lost it. I hope I was laughing at the unusual sound of her voice or maybe at the surprise at seeing a small headed woman ripping movie tickets, but I can't promise I wasn't laughing at her, which I realize makes me the kind of person who laughs at other people's physical anomalies. In other words, I am a monster.

We snorted and guffawed our way into the theater, wiping our eyes and scouting for good seats. Right in front of us was a morbidly obese man spilling over his seat into the one next to him. We started laughing all over again and found two seats near the back, from which we were able to watch the large man dip his fat hand into his small popcorn bag to eat, stopping after each handful to daintily wipe the butter flavored grease off his fingertips onto a wad of napkins. L checked the armrest between our seats to see if it could be raised. I knew she was thinking that man would have been more comfortable if he could lift the arm and take over the neighboring seat. It could not, though, which made me laugh harder.

The movie was good too. But I think L and I enjoyed the pre-show even more.