Tonight my dad and I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. The movie had great visual effects was witty to boot; I'd really have liked to pay attention to the film, but these piss-ants of children ran up and down the stairs every couple of minutes and gossiped back and forth with four rows between them. Throughout the movie, I plotted my move to get them to shut the hell up, from shh-ing them (which I did quite loudly once - it even caught my dad off guard) to getting up, walking over to them and telling them to stop ruining the movie for me and fuck off, to leaving the theatre to explain my rage in a calm manner to my least favourite (assistant) manager. By the time the credits started rolling, I felt like I wanted to pop out of my seat, jump over the rows and tackle those little bitches and slam their heads through the floor like in some Tarantino movie. Woah. Rereading those statements makes me sound like a horrible person. Yet I'm going to leave it because that's exactly what the most rewarding scenario felt like at the time.
The most I did, though, was catch up to two of the girls and say "hey girls - could you not talk through the movie next time?" I'm seriously all talk, people.
Let's hope I can take care of this inner rage before I turn into Naomi Campbell and beat people up over a pair of jeans.
Now, where did I put those anxiety pills?
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3 comments:
there is a special place in hell for people who talk through movies.
You should have found the parents after the movie and told them in an eerily genuine manner what truly lovely children they have.
that would've been a great option had the parents attended the 9.10p movie with their children
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