The five stages of buying a 3D movie ticket
So it's come to this. I'm standing outside a nice theater with my 11 year old brother and trying to get in to see Cars 3. I look through the glass partition that separates the ticket booth attendant from the clamoring public, which is reminiscent of the visiting room at your local prison. They've got the phone and everything. So this intern on loan from the local high school raises his droopy eyelids enough to make some semblance of eye contact and manages to ask which movie my pet telly tubby and I are here to see. I inform him that I'd like two tickets to see the Cars 3 movie that started five minutes ago, because I could have left home an hour early, but would still have shown up five minutes late. The attendant mumbles something resembling a question concerning whether I want the movie in 3D and my breath catches in my throat.
3D.
The gimmick that doesn't seem to die, milking the few willing moviegoers of both their money and youthful joy at the pleasure of the movie-going experience like a chupacabra on a Mexican goat. I summon up all my conviction, and manage to squeeze what I hope sounds like a confident "Of course" from between my suddenly dry lips. The disinterested attendant looks from me to his screen, and his eyes widen marginally as though he might be awakening for the first time this evening, waiting in anticipation for my next move. He conjures a queasy half-smile and says: "$26.21, sir."
Sparks dance across my vision as his eyes lock to mine, and I pray that my resolve holds as I repeat the phrase to myself in the vain hope that my repetition will somehow decrease the fact that I'm paying nearly 30 dollars to watch Larry the Cable guy pretend he's a tow truck.
I'm onto you, you bucktoothed twit.
So for all of you who may find yourselves suckered into the same trap as I was, I made this handy guide to the emotions that will flash through your head as you make your defeated way through the lobby, past posters full of promise of intrigue and adventure, and know that you will never see them, because you'll have to start working two jobs to make ends meet after this unholy extravagance.
Stage 1: Denial
Your first response may be to chuckle at what must be a jest on the part of the employee behind the glass, which makes more sense the longer this situation drags on. Surely, no sane member of society would charge such an exorbitant price. Your wallet will surely not be taxed to such an extreme. But slowly you begin to see the terrible truth manifest itself as you see no light of humor behind the drooping, dull expression plastered all over the face of this acne ridden tormentor.
Stage 2: Anger
And who does Larry the Cable guy think he is anyway? That man's as funny as a pile of dead clowns. Furthermore, Owen Wilson was never even a worthwhile actor, and his voice is stupid. The last contribution he made to society was when he worked with Jackie Chan and nobody came to see him anyway. The whole institution is rigged! Rigged against the little guy who just wants to be a slightly less crappy brother than earlier and now if I turn around I'm the guy that said "we can't do that" again.
Stage 3: Bargaining
Okay. I'm a smart guy. I'm a marketing major. I can make the best of this. I bet this movie will be so hideous I'll be forced to demand my money back! Plus interest! This braces-faced neophyte won't know what hit him when I charge victorious back out to the booth to demand the return of my hard-earned funds, due to the fact that Pixar's just phoning it in with the Cars franchise anyway. I'll be vindicated and will have maintained my self respect, which is the most important part here, anyway.
Stage 4: Depression
I'm not going to ask for my money back. I'm weak and timid, and even if it's Larry the Cable guy standing up on stage and telling bad puns for two hours I'll still probably shuffle out to my car as if I'm scared some Kafkaesque Big Brother will sense my rebellious discontent and rain down fire and shame upon my bent frame. The Cars movie will be awful, my brother will love it, I'll wind up broke and alone, while the quarterback that bullied me in 6th grade will become a millionaire and wind up married to a supermodel.
Just look at him. LOOK AT HIM
Stage 5: Acceptance
I guess at the end of the day, what I remember won't be the expense, but the time I get to spend with my little brother. That's something priceless. Look at that smile on his face as he slaps on those stupid glasses! Pixar still does those short films? I always forget about those! Man, Paperman was an amazing, well crafted experience!Oh! This one's about a Lost and Found bin! That's just great! I bet Larry the Cable Guy's not even in this one, and proceeds will go to those lovable scamps over at Pixar! And while the lesson has been difficult, I have learned it well. I've learned now that I will never buy a 3D ticket again.
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