I've only shared this with a few people, as it is a testament to how timid and non-confrontational I used to be and I'm not proud of it. 'Used to' being the key phrase in that sentence. If this were to happen today, somebody for sure woulda probably maybe kinda been lightly slapped on the shoulder or been looked at really agressive-like until things got awkward and then I woulda faked a phone call and cleaned my pants out. Almost for sure kinda maybe sorta probably.
Here's what happend. I went to the movies on a date about 10 years ago. We went to see the midnight showing of a movie called 'SAW'. She was into horror movies and I had no opinion on the matter so to 'SAW' we went. It had the guy from Princess Bride in it, how bad could it be?
Wellp, real bad as it turns out. But it made enough money to warrant 37 sequels so what the hell do I know?
So, there we are. At the movies. And this movie is SICK. I mean, it's foul. Blood everywhere. This was a true Rated R kill fest. Coulda been rated X but I guess that's saved for pornies.
And the theater was packed. Full house and not a seat open. I got the popcorn, layered butter, big 15 dollar coke, two straws (gentleman) and lots of napkins. Cause I'll be hot-damned if I'm gonna put that butter bag on my lap without a sponge between it and my jeans. That butter's like acid. It only belongs in my stomach.
So the movie's just kinda doing it's thing up there, being sick and foul and blood-filled when all of the sudden I hear it.
I hear IT.
It's starts low and soft, but gradually builds to a devil cry of a crescendo. I really can't believe my ears.
It's a baby. And the baby is crying.
I wonder why the baby is crying? Could it be that the guy on screen just sawed through his own arm with a telephone book while his eye fell out and his head exploded puss and blood and his innards spilled out like the soft serve at Mickey D's?
Hmmm. That's a sure-fire child-pleaser where I'm from, like a unicorn prancing freely through a field of candy corn dobbly-doobers. But just then I heard the second most unbelievable thing I've ever heard, this coming literally on top of the previous most unbelievable thing I've ever heard.
Another crying baby.
Over my left shoulder.
Two crying babies in a midnight showing of the sickest movie I've ever sat through. Surround sound crying baby speakers.
If this were 'Look Who's Talking, Too' this might make sense. I'd let it slide.
But this was 'SAW'. And people were killing each other with paint chips and tinfoil.
What kinda parents? The worst part? The babies didn't stop crying.
And nobody said ANYTHING. Nobody said a damn thing.
And the parents or whoever didn't even attempt the walkout. Just do the walkout, idiots. I don't even have kids but at least I know the walkout! Grab the kid, walkout. Rain, rain go away, come again some other time when the kid's not crying.
I decided that I had had enough. Ya know when that time happens, right? I love that moment. The rush hits you and you're pissed, you're amped, you're going to make a difference. Like McFly before he smacked Biff in the face for fooling around with his woman. It's either that, or ya wait and hope some other hot-head says something. Wellp, this time, I was that hot-head, ladies and gents.
The moment was for McHardy now. These baby Biffs just effed with the wrong butter-soaked crotch guy on a really awkward date.
I straightened up in my seat and thought of what to say for exactly -.00005 seconds. Yes, NEGATIVE time went into the next line you're about to read. I asked:
'Are we surrounded by babies?'
I don't know. It's all I could think of. But the question matters not, sweet child. It's the response that I'll never forget:
'Shut yo mouf, bitch.'
And that was that. Oh snap. I got served.
It came from the woman with the second surround sound baby, just over my left shoulder. And then I smelt some poop. Baby poop.
And I shut my mouf, bitch. Sure, I could have said something else beforehand, a bit more rigid or firm, but I don't think it woulda mattered. Woulda gotten the same response, I'm afraid. To just shut my mouf, bitch.
It's fair to say that that was the last time I ever went to Loews Cityplace in Dallas, Texas.
Not long after that it was torn down.
I really miss getting refunds on movies from there.
(Kidding. I didn't get a refund. Probably should have, though, but then I'd be the guy who drank the whole bottle of wine, tells the waiter it was 'eh' and gets it taken off of the bill. I can't be that guy. That guy's name is Chaz or Will and mine's Justin so it literally couldn't happen.)