This post is rated R and might not be acceptable for children under the age of 17
Now that the Academy Awards have come and gone and been quickly forgotten—(unless terribly boring shit is memorable to you)—I thought I might share one of my personal favorite movie stories.
I was 23 when “Old School” came out. I went with a couple of friends (who were even older—like 26—real old at the time.) Upon entering the movie, the pimpled and overweight schlep with the flashlight says—to no one but me—”ticket stub.” Usually, I lose something like that—but for whatever reason, I had it, showed it to him, and went to my seat.
Immediately, I leave to take a piss. Upon my re-entry I’m greeted with the same kid’s request—”ticket stub.”
Me: No recollection? I’m wearing an orange sweater—you don’t remember me?
Him: Ticket Stub.
Miraculously, I still have it. I show it to him again, and go back to my seat again.
So I walk in, a little annoyed, but also a little excited—a movie with this much security is going to be a total boner-fest of boobs, butts, sexual insinuations and cursing. I mean, those are all my favorite things about movies!
The movie is halfway finished and the gratuitous boobie shots have already happened when a group of high-school kids sneak into the movie theater and proceed to obnoxiously draw attention to themselves as if I’m more interested in their commentary than Luke Wilson and Vince Vaughn’s humorous banter. The same security guard follows in closely behind them. Knowing that he’s a no-nonsense kind of movie guard, I chuckle to myself thinking, “Ohhhhh, these kids are gonna get it!” I love a little harmless controversy, so I was ready for exaggerated laughter upon their expulsion. You can only imagine my surprise when the security walked right up to me and hit me in the face with the flashlight beam and said, “I need to see your ticket.”
Me: You know this is the third time you’ve asked to see this shit, right? I can’t even believe I still have it—but here you go.
To which he responded, “I’m going to need to see some ID.”
Did I mention I was 23 watching the movie with my 26 year old buddies? Holy shit—you’d a thunk they were front row at a Richard Pryor show as their howls of laughter erupted.
Calmly (like the eye of a storm calm) I say—”And I’m going to need to see your manager. Lets go out into the hall.”
What happened next was the most ferocious (and therapeutic) F-Bomb Storm to ever take place:
Me: Are you F’ing serious?
Him: ID please
Me: Mother F-er, what? ID? Where’s your ID? Here—can you read? That shit says, 1979. I know you can’t do math, so let me help you. I’m 23. This is an R-rated movie. I would have to be 16 years old to be underage at this shit. Where the F-bomb is your boss? I drove 20 minutes to this dog shit movie theater to see some dog shit movie, and eat some crap popcorn, and hopefully some giant tits on a movie screen. Instead—I’m out here talking to you, because you think I’m 16 f’ing years old?! Where the F is your boss?
(I’m pretty sure that conversation has been recollected verbatim. Impressive, I know.)
I saw his boss in the distance walking toward us. As soon as he got within earshot of the F-bomb Uzi I was blasting this guy with—he busted a quick u-turn and walked into another theater. Good decision.
After all that, I walked back into the movie. All my chucklehead buddies were beside themselves with laughter.
Friend: Uh, can I help you little boy? Did you lose your mommy?
Me: Ha—that’s funny. Professional comedian. You should do movies.
Friend: I’m afraid you might not be old enough to see them if I did.
(Teeheehee, haaaaa hahaha snort, chuckle (more laughing noises) etc.).
Ah yes, asshole friends. The entire lot of them. Except for Dave. He leans over and says—”Did you F-bomb that guy?”
Me: Shit—you have no idea. I used the F-word in every imaginable context.
Dave: That is so awesome. It’s not every day you get to justifiably F-bomb someone. I’m kind of jealous.
Me: Of my boyish looks?
Dave: Yeah—and the F-Bombing.
Me: I think you’re right. I actually feel pretty good about what just happened. I might get kicked out though. I pretty much ruined that guy’s world.
Seconds later the security kid returned. I got up to leave without a commotion, because clearly, I’m a gentleman. However, he just handed me some free passes and scurried off.
This, my friends, is what the movies are all about. Good memories, and F-bombs.
–The Big (effing) Avocado
Apologies for the F-word, S-word, and A-Hole-word.