Restroom Weight Worries
By Nyrie Karkazian
The Collegian
A few weeks ago, I dashed out of the latest Tom Cruise movie, and stumbled over my rather large feet to reach the bathroom before a call of nature turned into a call for clean-up on aisle four.
When all was said and done, I stepped out of the lovely cinema restroom stall and came face to face with one of man’s most evil creations, a weight scale. Naturally I stepped up to the beast, circling it as if it were my prey.
Now why, I asked myself, would there be a scale in a public restroom? Excuse me, a 25-cent scale in a public movie theater restroom. To answer this age-old question, we must start from the beginning.
Nowadays, to be able to afford to watch the new blockbuster hit, which is probably an old movie redone with an A-list all-star cast including George Clooney, Brad Pitt and the prostitute in Pretty Woman, you’d have to sell one of your kidneys or give blood.
In fact, they should have a blood donation bus you have to walk through before getting to the ticket window. That way, you have a choice of donating blood or giving away your life savings to get in.
Once you have paid the fine, your next step is to go through the strict security who pretend to look through your purse for poison lip gloss or a comb that secretly turns into a knife.
Then (now this is a must) you stand in line to purchase delicious candy and popcorn (don’t forget the precious artificial butter) because you cannot watch a movie without eating lard covered in lard. It’s just not the American way.
Alas, you have made it into the theater and all is well in the world. All you have to do is find seats between all fifty-hundred-thousand teeny-boppers whose cell phones all play the O.C. theme song.
Now, if by chance you have proudly come to the movie alone, I applaud you. Bravo. Just remember to do the right thing and sit in the darkest corner of the theater like the creepy single man you are.
When the movie is over, there is one of two thoughts going through your mind. One, you liked the movie and are walking out with a sense of satisfaction and contentment. Or two, you hated the movie and are grumbling to yourself wishing the director of the film is cursed with a horrid flesh-eating, vomiting disease as he wallows in self-pity about the inexcusable film he created.
Either way you are glad you survived this complex procedure called “going to see a movie,” and regret not accidentally spilling your extremely large soda, only 25 cents more, on the people in front of you who would not stop talking.
This, my friends, is when the call of nature plays its part. There in the middle of the bathroom, between two full length mirrors, stands the enemy, aka the scale.
When I saw this I felt as if the scale had shrunk and I had turned into the Jolly Green Giant, except I wasn’t so jolly anymore and I wasn’t green.
OK so if I were green I guess I would be more like The Hulk when he gets mad and rips his clothes off in a fit of anger and frustration. Don’t worry, no clothes were ripped off anyone.
I tried to think of the reasoning behind this madness and came to this gripping conclusion. They, the wicked cinema owners, are involved in some kind of conspiracy with all of the weight-loss centers in the world.
This is the only logical explanation, think about it. They sell you irresistible candy and buckets of butter so you can sit there getting fat while watching the Fanta commercial for the millionth time.
Then they expect you to pay 25 cents to see how fat they made you, thus driving you toward guilt leading to insanity which ultimately ends in Weight Watchers.
As if you hadn’t felt bad enough watching the beautiful model in the movie gallivanting around without a care in the world.
A blood donation center at the movie theatre, yes that’s it. This way I can watch the movie, get free ice cream and go weigh myself in the bathroom knowing at least I got something free. A pint for a pint.
Nyrie Karkazian is a senior majoring in Mass Communication and Journalism. E-mail this columnist at [email protected].
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