Saturday, July 12, 2003
Friday, July 11, 2003
I walk in to the Odeon cinema, quickly, because “Igby Goes Down” started at 20:50, and since despite being a citizen under her royal majesty, I still can’t read England’s military time any better than I can read my analog watch. Douglas Adams always claimed in his works that humans were insane in thinking that digital watches were really neat ideas. Despite being a firm believe in usefulness over appearance, I always wear regular analog watches because I think they look nicer. Most people do. The crazy thing is that despite hundreds of years of getting used to the idea, no one can read them properly. We came up with terms like “half past seven” and “a quarter till’ nine” because we can’t let ourselves go through the embarrassment of someone realizing that we haven’t a fucking clue what the exact time is. The attempt is always made though. Man A says to Man B:
“Excuse me sir, would you be so kind as to tell me what time it is?”
“Why certainly…….”
“Yes?”
“It’s…..uh…… quarter past three.”
Despite the fact that it is actually 3:18, Man A slows down thinking he has those few extra minutes to get to the bus so he can make it to the hospital in time to see the birth of his first daughter. Upon arriving at the stop 3 minutes behind schedule, he realizes that the bus is pulling away, and is flattened by a cab in attempt to run it down. Analog watches cost lives.
Fortunately my life wasn’t utterly dependent on reaching “Igby” on time, because I knew I still had at least 15 minutes of previews and commercials to sit through. I arrive at the ticket counter, LSE identification card in hand (so I could take advantage of the excellent Odeon student discount). After seeing to the woman in front of me, the man behind the desk looked up at me.
“Yes?”
“Hi,” I said, breathing hard, I didn’t dare run to the Odeon, but I walked like I was in the “Staying Alive” video on fast forward.
“Uhh, one ticket for “Igby Goes Down” please.”
His eyes widened as his lips parted, not to speak but to let his jaw hang loose. I could see the thoughts streaking through his mind. This is London. It’s a Friday night. Love, laughter and general merriment is in the air. Every person that has walked in this cinema has been with at least one other person. This is London for Christ sakes. He can’t be asking for one ticket. By GOD he can’t be asking for one ticket. What am I going to do? Should I apologize? Should I offer my sympathies? Oh bloody fucking hell. What am I going to do? He did not just ask for one ticket. Fire will rain down upon the earth if he asked for one ticket. The world will be destroyed and all will be for naught! The end is nigh if he asked for one ticket! Jesus Christ, let it not be so!
“Cheers.” He handed me the ticket.
I felt obligated to sit on the right side of the theater. Sure there were plenty of seats in the middle, but those were for normal people, those that go to the cinema with friends or loved ones, and by the way they all gave me that “look out for the loner” look, I felt it was for the best. It takes a lot of effort not to be sociable in this city. The LSE summer school was holding huge parties bash at the end of the first week that night, with subsidized drinks and everything. Unfortunately I’m a sober bastard, so that sort of leaves me out. I’ll leave the drinking to the Brazilians, Indians, Americans, Australians, Romanians, Ukrainians, Russians, Germans, Swiss, British, Chinese, Lebanese, Italians, Spanish, Croatians, Mexicans, Slovenians, Turks, Norwegians, Danish, Japanese, Montenegrins, South Koreans, Cypriots, Singaporeans, Austrians, Greeks, Portuguese, Icelanders, Swedes and Palestinians that are currently doing the summer school thing with me.
Drinking is a social norm I choose not to partake in. Dancing is another one. Loud pop music takes the third.
Then again, as I’ve said before, I’m the one sitting at my laptop on a Friday night.
“Excuse me sir, would you be so kind as to tell me what time it is?”
“Why certainly…….”
“Yes?”
“It’s…..uh…… quarter past three.”
Despite the fact that it is actually 3:18, Man A slows down thinking he has those few extra minutes to get to the bus so he can make it to the hospital in time to see the birth of his first daughter. Upon arriving at the stop 3 minutes behind schedule, he realizes that the bus is pulling away, and is flattened by a cab in attempt to run it down. Analog watches cost lives.
Fortunately my life wasn’t utterly dependent on reaching “Igby” on time, because I knew I still had at least 15 minutes of previews and commercials to sit through. I arrive at the ticket counter, LSE identification card in hand (so I could take advantage of the excellent Odeon student discount). After seeing to the woman in front of me, the man behind the desk looked up at me.
“Yes?”
“Hi,” I said, breathing hard, I didn’t dare run to the Odeon, but I walked like I was in the “Staying Alive” video on fast forward.
“Uhh, one ticket for “Igby Goes Down” please.”
His eyes widened as his lips parted, not to speak but to let his jaw hang loose. I could see the thoughts streaking through his mind. This is London. It’s a Friday night. Love, laughter and general merriment is in the air. Every person that has walked in this cinema has been with at least one other person. This is London for Christ sakes. He can’t be asking for one ticket. By GOD he can’t be asking for one ticket. What am I going to do? Should I apologize? Should I offer my sympathies? Oh bloody fucking hell. What am I going to do? He did not just ask for one ticket. Fire will rain down upon the earth if he asked for one ticket. The world will be destroyed and all will be for naught! The end is nigh if he asked for one ticket! Jesus Christ, let it not be so!
“Cheers.” He handed me the ticket.
I felt obligated to sit on the right side of the theater. Sure there were plenty of seats in the middle, but those were for normal people, those that go to the cinema with friends or loved ones, and by the way they all gave me that “look out for the loner” look, I felt it was for the best. It takes a lot of effort not to be sociable in this city. The LSE summer school was holding huge parties bash at the end of the first week that night, with subsidized drinks and everything. Unfortunately I’m a sober bastard, so that sort of leaves me out. I’ll leave the drinking to the Brazilians, Indians, Americans, Australians, Romanians, Ukrainians, Russians, Germans, Swiss, British, Chinese, Lebanese, Italians, Spanish, Croatians, Mexicans, Slovenians, Turks, Norwegians, Danish, Japanese, Montenegrins, South Koreans, Cypriots, Singaporeans, Austrians, Greeks, Portuguese, Icelanders, Swedes and Palestinians that are currently doing the summer school thing with me.
Drinking is a social norm I choose not to partake in. Dancing is another one. Loud pop music takes the third.
Then again, as I’ve said before, I’m the one sitting at my laptop on a Friday night.
