The Pony and I took my mom to the movies today to see Dispicable Me 2. You know what that means. We had issues. Not so many as I expected, though. I didn't have to browbeat the counter clerk into giving me the just-popped popcorn instead of the already-bagged-and-cold dregs from the bottom of the popper.
Really, it was just one little issue. This is a kids' movie, so I expected a bunch of kid stuff. Lots of getting up and going to the bathroom and getting refills and hollering at the screen. From the kids, too. Of course there were those who rolled in at 15 minutes past the show time and stood in the aisle deciding where to inflict the backs of their heads on those of us who got there early. The daycare contingent who took up two rows got there in plenty of time to stake out their territory in the middle of the theater. The two adults with them had ONE popcorn bag. I envisioned those kids passing it along the row, taking one kernel at a time, sharing like the large family of Rita-the-rat in Flushed Away sharing that one bowl of soup as it slid from one end of the table to the other as their houseboat tilted to and fro. That's one of my favorite animated movies. Check it out if you have the chance. My personal favorite is the scene where the sewer slugs sing, "Poor old Roddy, flushed down his own potty..." But I digress.
We had our regular next-to-the-back-row seats. Nobody sat directly in front of us. A lady and her grandson came in and sat behind us just as the previews started. All was well until the movie itself began. Then they pulled something out of their pockets or purse that drove me crazy. I don't know what it was, but my ears told me it was some kind of candy wrapped in cellophane. You know cellophane. It crinkles. It can't be tamed. Can't be worn out. Can't be quieted. When The Pony has a box of candy, say, for instance, Cookie Dough Bites, that are enclosed in cellophane inside the box, I tell him to dump those tasty tidbits right into the box. Get rid of the cellophane. If only I could give such sage advice to other people's children. Or grandchildren.
That kid was a world-class cellophane rustler. It was like he was digging to China in the bottom of that bag. Like he couldn't eat what was on top, but had to dig out the deepest morsel for each bite. He must have been practicing to be the Guinness World Record Movie Cellophane Rustler. He probably had a plexiglass case lined with red velvet for when the Olympic Committee adds cellophane rustling as a sport. That racket went on for over half an hour. The Pony was oblivious. Me, not so much.
It's the little things, people. Just because it wasn't listed on the screen with those other behaviors that AMC wants you to refrain from, like arm-punching and whistling and chair-kicking and texting, doesn't mean it's okay.