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Neurotic Lonely Man At the Movies

By Lionel Beehner

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Bill, our story’s neurotic lonely man, sits himself close to the screen, reaches for his Hi-C beverage, and passes the agonizing minutes by watching and answering the various annoying trivia questions that pop-up in succession on the screen. He successfully unscrambles the jumble of letters: “HCEIRAL HNESE” is “CHARLIE SHEEN,” he’s pretty sure. Yup, he’s right. The first few minutes of this he finds pleasurable. It wears thin though once the trivia bits begin repeating themselves.

Bill glances once at his watch, which reads two minutes till show time. He glances again, not sure why. He sits, fidgets a bit and shifts his weight on the seat to provide more comfort to his inner thigh, which has the beginnings of a cramp. He smiles to himself to show his inward satisfaction at this maneuver. He reaches again for his precious expensive drink that fits so snuggly in its seat-holster and slurps a generous amount of the icy-cold beverage into his mouth. The drink simultaneously quenches, refreshes and reddens his lips. For a moment he is content.

But that moment has already passed. A young couple - she a short teenager wearing a baseball cap, he a lanky, goateed twenty-something - sit directly in front of Bill. He sighs to express his disapproval at their unfortunate choice of seating, roughly three feet closer than his. The lankuny man’s head blocks Bill’s previously perfect view of the screen, forcing him to reposition himself in his seat, which in turn causes another cramp on his inner thigh. Surrounding him is a sea of empty seats. Why should this couple, sent from the bowels of unholy and godless hell, sit smack-dab in front of him?

Bill decides to visit the concession stand to pass the time and replenish his sudden hunger, induced by his discomfort in the seat. He approaches the counter and asks for a large bag with butter and salt. More salt, he beckons to the concession person, who nods apologetically. He pays with loose change and a few crumpled up dollar bills that reek of Bill’s pocket. Returning to his seat, Bill nibbles at the saturated top kernels of his bag, enjoying some, grimacing at the damp sogginess of others.

The theater is now pitch black. Movie’s about to begin, Bill reckons. He hurries back to his original seat, only to find a family of four inhabiting almost the entire aisle. Seats are sparser now. Bill frowns but no one can see his face to register that he is dissatisfied at the seating situation. He could bellow out an unwholesome “Fuck y’all!” but there are children and older types around. Bill is forced to move closer to the screen in the row reserved for folks who like to detect the pores on actors’ faces and see the squiggly marks the projector makes on the screen when reels change. Bill‘s happiness has receded.

His new seating arrangement forces him to recline past the optimal point to a position beyond what is deemed humanly comfortable, craning his neck back like one might do at an air show. He is alone in the wilderness of the empty front-row, otherwise known as the “loser” seats. The people behind him, he is sure, will derive greater enjoyment from the movie because of their strategic positioning and choice proximity to the sound speakers. He is too close. All he will hear are garbles.

The movie goes by as most movies do without much aplomb or laughter or tears. Everyone exits courteously. Bill does likewise. He then rehashes a few of the movie’s finer points and funnier lines to himself and lets out a chuckle. Hmmm, he thinks. Those were enjoyable moments. Dogs doing wacky things - what’ll they think of next? He’s once again content. Life is good. For this, he thanks Hollywood and the greater gods of cinema.

He then lets out a yawn and exits the popcorn-polluted theater, ten dollars poorer but in his own way infinitely richer.

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Lionel Beehner is a Research Editor at New York Press and a Contributing Writer at SEED Magazine. He can be contacted at [email protected].

© 2003 Me Three