I'm not proud of it. But it comes from a time when I had a movie addiction to feed but was relatively poor. Paying for the movie was enough of a hit to my bank account. I couldn't more than double that with a popcorn and a drink.
Today? I'm not scraping together pennies like I once was. Now it's just habit, and a preference for having the exact movie snack I want. So I guess I'm less proud of it than ever.
I don't always bring in my own snacks. In fact, I only bring them in when I'm going solo, which, granted, is 95% of the time. If I'm with family or friends, I can't bring someone else in as an unwitting co-conspirator on my secret shame, making it a lot less secret.
And the thing is, they never notice. The people running the theater, I mean. Years ago, they heavily frowned on the notion of external snacks, and went so far as to possibly even inspect your bags, though maybe I'm wrong about that. In any case, I did use to worry about it.
Over time, though, a "customer is always right" mantra has come to dominate the showing of movies. No one blinks at bringing in a backpack, which is how I (almost) always get mine in. In fact, if you walked into the movie carrying an entire McDonald's value meal openly in your hands, I doubt anyone would stop you. Too awkward. They don't get paid enough for that sort of confrontation.
However, last night I almost forced the issue.
I should say "yesterday afternoon," because my showing of Gregg Araki's I Want Your Sex started at 4:40. I thought I left my house early enough to get there, but I was racing in, and made it to my seat with about a minute to spare before the movie proper started.
I didn't have my backpack with me, in part because I'd brought in no food. I'm a little less worried about succumbing to sleep in a late afternoon movie as I am in a 9:25 start, even though I've long since concluded the hit of sugar doesn't actually do much for me, its effects gone almost as soon as I've stopped actively eating it.
But I did have a can of Pepsi Max, which was easy enough to smuggle in in the pocket of my winter jacket. We still technically have three more days of winter here in Australia.
The drink was also intended as a "break glass in case of emergency." If I started to nod off, and caffeine was the only way to suppress that, it was there if I needed it.
I didn't start to nod off, so when the brief 90 minutes of I Want Your Sex had passed, I had not yet opened the can. So I stuffed it back in my jacket pocket when leaving the theater.
The problem is, that jacket pocket also contained one of two gloves -- which I don't need anymore, but still have stuffed in there out of habit -- as well as a tin of mints, which were technically also there in case of an emergency that never arose. There wasn't really enough room for a can of Pepsi Max. (If you're wondering why that wasn't a problem on the way in, well, I was carrying in an inner pocket that time. Should have done the same on exiting.)
And so as I was walking through the lobby on my way out, it fell to the floor loudly and obviously.
Fortunately, it did not explode.
Another couple walking toward me picked it up and handed it back to me with a big grin and told me I was lucky it didn't explode. And they just meant "It would have sucked to have ruined your Pepsi Max in that way." They weren't judging me in the slightest for the Pepsi Max. They were just being good samaritans and they wished me well.
But it's true, I was lucky. Because an exploding can of Pepsi Max in a busy movie theater lobby would not have been good for anyone, particularly me, at my favorite cinema, the Sun in Yarraville.
It didn't occur to me at the time, as I also just felt it was lucky that I hadn't ruined my Pepsi Max. But after leaving, I thought about what a scene that would have been. An illegal external can of soda exploding all over the place, calling incredible attention to itself, leaving sticky residue everywhere and causing a potential slip and fall hazard for the other patrons in the lobby. Because it's sugar free, the residue wouldn't have been quite as sticky, but that would have probably been the least of the concerns. The attention called to it and the slip and fall hazard would have been enough.
See, the people who worked there would have needed to run over and start cleaning it up. They also would have inevitably interfaced with me in some way. Perhaps they still would not have been getting paid enough for a confrontation with me, but it would have been awkward at the very least. A can of soda, which they do not sell at their snack bar, causing havoc that should never happen. Sure, someone might drop a drink they do sell, and I'm sure that happens sometimes. But that at least is within the range of expected outcomes for their establishment.
And I'd have to stay and face the music, wouldn't I? I couldn't just flee. That would make it worse. It might make it less awkward, but my guilt would be compounded tenfold. And knowing me, I'd have to stay there and stammer out an explanation for why I had a can of soda with me, even if no explanation was requested.
The following mitigating factor would probably not have occurred to me:
The can of soda was never actually opened.
You see, if you bring an external drink into a movie, the goal is to drink it, is it not? That's the way you're ripping off the cinema. That's the real crime.
But if you didn't drink it?
Well then I guess there was no crime at all. You brought in a can of soda, and you left with the same can of soda intact. At least, intact until it fell on the tile floor and blew up everywhere.
I mean, maybe I just did a very small grocery shop before the movie, and had no other place to put my single purchase than the pocket of my jacket.
However, as I said, I wouldn't have thought of that in the moment. I would have just stammered and spluttered and looked guilty as hell. Which, in truth, is what I would have been.
Lesson?
It's probably not to discontinue smuggling in my own food and drink. I'm a creature of habit. I'll probably keep doing it.
No, the lesson is probably not to casually stuff a can of soda into a jacket pocket already occupied by a glove and a tin of mints.
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