I don’t understand why movie theatres sell large drinks. They find suckers like me and post pictures of drinks, almost as if to say, “A movie is a REALLY long time to go without some sort of refreshment. Good luck with your dry and itchy throat!” I almost have no choice but to spend every penny I have on a bathtub sized drink.
Then, once I have received a 92-ounce super-giganto diet something-or-another, I walk into a room where I am forced to sit for two hours, gradually filling my bladder more and more. Sure, I can leave, but inevitably I will leave during the part of the movie where a new and incredibly important character is introduced, causing me to spend the rest of the movie trying to figure out who the guy in the hat is and what event he keeps talking about. I will sit there, legs crossed, wiggling in my seat instead of missing a second of that movie.
I was again in this situation when the lights came up in the theatre. Instead of sticking around to see who the best boy grip was (Jordan Bell, FYI), I headed to the restroom. I was only five steps from the door when, with no warning, a surreal sight passed by me.
A tiny, round child gleefully skipped by, passing me and heading into the restroom ahead. He locked the door and left me and my unpleasantly full bladder outside.
It was one of the more surprising things I had ever seen. Very rarely had I ever seen a roly poly child like this do anything physical, let alone skipping. This was not mediocre, lackluster skipping, mind you. This was complete, full-on, unadulterated skipping. His hands flung side to side with each hop, his head moving along with each gallop. I’m sure that, had I listened hard enough, a pan flute would have been accompanying him with a whimsical tune.
I thought for a brief second about heading into the women’s restroom. I had not seen anyone skip into there, so I assumed that the facilities were not occupied. Of course, I would spend the whole time I was in there worrying that I would walk out to a line of 30 women. They would berate me and shout rude names like “Restroom Thief” or “Wrong Toilet User.” Women can be hurtful like that.
I was honestly jealous of that kid who had stolen my spot in the bathroom. I could not think of the last time I had been excited enough to skip somewhere. This kid was so excited to go to the bathroom that he could not walk there. There was no sauntering or meandering. He was so excited to take care of this routine bodily function that he gleefully skipped into the bathroom.
As this thought passed my mind, the door swung open. Out the kid came, still skipping! For all I know, he had never stopped. He may have spent the past two minutes, skipping in circles. I hope he wasn’t peeing at the same time. That would make the bathroom a much less sanitary place to be.
I went in and took care of business. As I washed my hands, I considered skipping out. Maybe my life would be filled with more joy if I skipped everywhere.
Knowing myself, I would more likely trip over an untied shoelace. The only thing nerdier than skipping is falling mid-skip and there is no doubt in my mind that would be my fate.