I had the perfect setting for my screening of Vampyr, then life had to go and ruin it. See, the girlfriend was going to visit her parents in Brainerd this weekend. Since I don’t have weekends off I can’t afford to go see her family as often as she does, so it means that essentially once a month I get a Bachelor’s Weekend. (Ed. Note – Bachelor’s Weekend! Whoo!) In an effort to allay her fears that I will get drunk and bring home Puerto Rican hitchhikers to have carnal relations with I will typically pick up some extra hours on Bachelor’s Weekend (Ed. Note – Bachelor’s Weekend! Whoo!) to limit my free time and maximize my productivity.

One of the shifts I picked up was working crowd control Saturday at The Uptown theater for their midnight showing of The Disco Dolls in Hot Skin; a 1976 X-rated pornographic film starring John Holmes shot in 3-D. For whatever reason, 3-D 70’s porn are pretty popular screenings here in the Twin Cities. Those in attendance that are above the legal viewing age tend to be rowdy and drunk, and even worse, traveling in packs. But the primary reason I was brought in was to throw out anyone under age who was trying to sneak in the theater.

Now most people think that the best thing about working at a movie theater is the free movies. Some might choose the free popcorn and soda. Others are impressed with the celebrity meetings or the readily available swag. Now these are all great perks that help off-set the menial salary and the too often insanely anal retentive client base, but I am here to tell you the greatest perk in working at a movie theater is kicking out teenagers.

The great thing about teenagers is they think everyone else is an idiot. They are convinced that their idea of having one person buying a ticket only to have them go inside and prop a door open so the rest of their group can sneak in is a stunningly original idea. Teenagers also seem incapable of grasping that everyone else has also, at one point in time, been a teenager and thus has tried this same stunt themselves at one point or another. The other great thing about teenagers is they scare easily. If you look mean and yell loudly the teenagers skittish nature takes hold and they scatter.

But, surprisingly enough, the screening ended up being a relatively tame affair. While the crowd was probably approaching 400 plus people, the average age was closer to 40 then it was to 20. These were wine drinkers, and while plenty were tipsy, they certainly weren’t rowdy or threatening in any way, shape or form. And even more disappointing, not a single soul tried to sneak in, effectively ambushing one of my biggest planned thrills on this particular Bachelor Weekend. (Ed. Note – Bachelor’s Weekend! Whoo!) So in an effort to try and salvage my weekend, at 12:30 AM I headed off to a birthday party for someone I hadn’t seen in a decade. Perhaps I should rewind a bit to help you better understand the relevance.

Now I played volleyball in both high school and college. While I was a very good high school player, my lack of height in a sport dominated by oak trees meant I had to do the little things to contribute. I played good defense, I had a monster serve, and I annoyed the hell out of the other team. See, I was the guy opposing teams wanted to kill. I know this because in one particularly satisfying match a lumbering giant of a man glared at me through the net and said, “I want to f***ing kill you.” To be fair I was being a total prick to him.

I played up my role; shaved my head, wore obnoxious shirts during warm ups, and talked non-stop through the net. I knew what my role was, and that was to get in the other team’s head. And without fail they bought into my act. I’d irritate them so much they would get out of their game plan and focus on trying to shut me up. This in turn freed my teammates to play loose and they excelled. Those teams all seemed to meld remarkably well both on and off the court, and as a result mark some of the best memories of my life.

But after Nationals my senior year I lost touch with the group. Frustrated with the bureaucracy at the University of Minnesota I left school early and started working as a manager at a specialty tropical fish store. Over the years I worked other jobs and occasionally would run into a former teammate around town. We would usually chat for a bit on how we were doing and for some reason or another I’d quickly lose touch again. But that all ended Friday night.

Friday, the first night of Bachelor Weekend (Ed. Note – Bachelor’s Weekend! Whoo!) I was stuck working the closing shift in the box office when who happens to stop in to see a movie but my former teammate, and also a former roommate, Luke. He was there with his wife to watch The Counterfeiters. After his movie got out we talked for a bit and he told me about a party for our friend Griffin, himself a former teammate/roommate. Seems he had recently been promoted to being a sniper for the Minneapolis Police Department, and that coupled with his recent birthday meant a group of people would be gathering to celebrate at one of my favorite bars the following evening.

So when I went home late the night I was far too tired to throw in a movie to watch that would require me to pay attention. I also knew that since I had to get up early to open the theater and work a 10 hour shift I wouldn’t be much in the mood to squeeze in a screening during the 3 hour time period I had to rest before heading out to the midnight movie. So I was left with the choice of once again skipping out on getting together with some long lost friends, or watching one of the greatest horror movies ever made. It was a simple decision, as a movie can always be put on hold when real life comes calling.

To be continued next week….

This entry was posted on Monday, April 14th, 2008 at 8:20 pm and is filed under Features, Movies, Reviews, Where the Long Tail Ends. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.