Once upon a time I’d just come out of a really long relationship so I went straight into making horrible decisions about who to spend my time with, starting with a co-worker who was more than a decade older than me and an admitted womanizer (he claimed he’d slept with more than 300 women). He was a complete asshole and fairly disgusting but I was having a moment so I went with it.
The first time we ever hung out solo, he wouldn’t stop putting the TV remote down my shirt and letting farts rip unceremoniously. That was all just foreplay before showing me his huge sci/fi movie memorabilia room. Every girl’s wet dream. There were a few kisses where he jabbed his tongue down my throat and squeezed my boobs, sort of like a 12-year-old might do.
Still, I stuck with it because I thought he was at least interesting, employed, and he paid attention to me. (Although I’m not sure chucking beach balls at my head while I am working on deadline counts …) We also had mutual friends who could fill me in on all sorts of sordid details from his past, which appealed to both my voyeur and exhibitionist sides.
One afternoon, Prince Charming and I decided to go see whichever Harry Potter movie was coming out at the time. We didn’t call it a date but his intention was eventually to bang me, so I think in most countries that counts as a date. He didn’t pay for my ticket to the movie which I normally wouldn’t even care about but my tongue still sometimes spontaneously bled from that time he tried something he saw on RedTube so he kinda owed me.
The first thing he made me do was smuggle a scalding-hot cup of coffee — with a piece of scotch tape covering the mouth hole — inside my purse, since he had already asked the ticket takers if he could bring coffee in and they said no. I am still trying to figure out what kind of emotional tailspin causes a person to just have scotch tape in your pocket at any given time but I digress. I tucked the full cup of just-purchased Starbucks coffee inside my purse and as it heated my thigh and leaked out onto the contents of my purse, he suggested that we enter the theater separately so as to not arouse suspicion that I was carrying his illicit drink. Since I was kind of embarrassed to be there with him anyway, I stayed about six feet behind him until we got inside the theater, at which point I waited for him atop the stairs so that he could go wash his left contact out (“It’ll bug me through the whole fucking movie if I don’t“). Such a charmer.
We went inside the theater and it was a little crowded but not packed. He led us down a couple of rows and then proceeded to step over an entire aisle until we were positioned smack in the middle of the screen. Of course it was difficult for me to step over an aisle with a full, scalding hot cup of coffee teetering inside my purse.
We made small talk during the previews. You know, just the usual questions a guy asks a girl. He wanted to hear all about the size of my ex boyfriend’s penis and if I knew what “the shocker” was. He pulled out a bag of Skittles from some mysterious place and offered me some, but I declined so he placed the bag on his lap and leered, “If you want any, you can get them yourself.” I didn’t dare grab any though because he was sweeping my off my feet so fucking hard already that I just knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from grabbing his dick.
The movie started, and as the opening title screen faded away, we noticed some flickering spots on the screen. He pulled out his cell phone and began to make a call. I’m thinking, “What the fuck is this jackass doing?” and notice he has called the movie theater, whose number he had memorized, to complain about the spots on the screen. Twenty minutes later, he gets his phone out again. “Yeah, I called earlier about the annoying light on the screen. Nothing was done about it. … Okay, it’s really distracting.” My irony meter explodes, as I’m sure everyone in the theater is turning to look at the giant d-bag yapping on the phone. Finally, I think, he’s made two calls. Surely he’ll drop it now. He rummages loudly in his bag of Skittles and munches on the candy.
A few minutes later, he tosses the bag in my lap (“Don’t eat ’em all!”) and gets up to pee, lumbering past several people to get out of the nearly full aisle. He’s a fairly large dude, so his movement does not go unnoticed by the theater. He gets back, takes back his Skittles, whips out his phone and dials the theater again. Harry and Ron are having a heart to heart on screen and this guy is bellowing, “Yeah, I’ve already called twice but nothing’s been done. It’s a light that’s flickering on the screen. Ma’am … ma’am. I don’t care what it is. It’s really distracting.” I am melting into my seat.
The flickering specks on the screen do not go away and this dude is seething. I sit, terrified that he will make another call, as he gets up to pee again because he is apparently a pregnant woman. By this time, I have to pee too (it’s a 2.5-hour movie) but I am determined to not get up since our aislemates have already had to endure him walking over them twice and I want to be as different from him as possible so that I can win their sympathy.
He comes back from his second bathroom trip and gets right back to rummaging loudly through his bag of Skittles. I notice that he has turned around to look behind him and he’s staring at a man who has taken the opportunity to nap. He turns back around and spits “Shhh!” loudly, in the general direction of the guy. Then he turns around again to stare at the him. After that he starts hissing, “Stop doing that!” to the man. At this point, everyone is looking at us.
Meanwhile, on the screen, Harry and his Asian girlfriend are kissing. Dude leans in to me and says, “Harry’s like me: He’s got yellow fever.” A million groans.
I really have to pee, but I am frozen with humiliation and cannot move. I have no idea what these fucking wizard kids are up to because I have not watched a single whole scene of the movie because of the insane shit happening around me.
The snoozing man behind us begins snoring. “Can you hear this fat bastard behind me?” my companion loudly says to me. He’s talking so loud partially because he is an asshole and partially because he is almost 40 and hard of hearing so he can’t regulate the volume of his voice very well.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore, and I leave to pee during the climax scene, much to the vocal chagrin of the people in my aisle. I think I even kicked a drink over. I take my time in the restroom and think of all those movies where people just GTFO during bathroom breaks, but I decide to go back because I’m stupid. I make it back to my seat with about five minutes left in the movie. The credits mercifully roll, the lights come on, and I am picking my purse up when dude stands and is all, “Hurry up, let’s go!” I guess he feared the sleeping man’s revenge.
On our way out, he says LOUDLY, “Fat people make the most disgusting noises.” We are at a matinée in Memphis, Tenn., so you can imagine that nearly everyone within earshot whipped their heads around to look at this lumbering dumbass. I just laughed it off and plowed through the crowd because my eye was on the prize: FREEDOM. We entered the parking garage and he let the door close in my face. He joked, “Didn’t see you there.”
The one positive takeaway from all this is that I never let him see me naked. Phew.