Fire hazards at the cinema.
I went to see My Bloody Valentine again last night. I didn't feel like driving all the way to Olean, so I picked up Joelle and we headed to DuBois. This meant the movie wasn't in 3D, but considering we have already seen it, it didn't matter.
Anyway, we get all settled in our seats--as close to the screen as comfortably possible--and squee our little heads off at the sight of Jensen and his awesome black jacket. We're whispering to each other about how hot he is every now and then, and eating Sour Jacks and gummi bears.
We are about halfway through the movie when the film gets stuck and slips in front of the projector lens. There is a spot steadily forming in the center of the screen that is extending outward as each second passes. It's not until the ever-darkening spot starts turning brown that I whisper to Joelle, "I hope that's not the film burning." Seconds after the words leave my mouth, you can see the film start to melt away.
It's left like that for a good ten minutes before the projector turns off and a voice from the film room screams, "Oh my fucking god!" This marks the biggest freak-out in history. The lights are turned back on, and at least two other voices join the first in the film room. It's all hysterical, unintelligible yelling for the next fifteen minutes. Though, I do manage to hear the first voice wail, "It's crispy, dude!"
I'm in my seat giggling madly, because how can I not? Never before have I had an accident-free day. If something of suckish proportions is about to happen, the universe picks me to be the sole victim. Yet, it hasn't happened. I am having a wonderful day. No suckishness of any sort on the drive to DuBois, or during the process of getting into the movie. So, I am obviously witnessing the sole victim of the universe's wrath, since I have been given a one-day pass.
After ten minutes, Joelle is getting stir-crazy. "We should have just gone to Olean," she says, pulling out her cell phone to text everyone she knows about what a failure her day is becoming. I, however, am not listening because I'm too busy worrying if the kid working the film room is going to get fired. After all, it's not exactly fair that he should suffer such a loss due to my bad juju being redirected at him.
But they get the movie working again, the lights turn off, and Jensen is viewable once more. It's getting closer and closer to the lightbulb-smashing scene (which is my favorite) and I'm getting majorly excited for it. It's seconds away and I'm bouncing in my seat... just as the film starts burning again.
It's another fifteen minutes to fix it and I'm wailing the loss of sexy, evil Jensen. Joelle looks ready to go, but I'm stubbornly refusing to miss my favorite scene. Especially when it was my sole reason for going to see the movie again. "There is five minutes left in the movie," Joelle bitches.
"We are not leaving until we see the part I came here to see," I say. I have the car keys, I make the rules.
The movie is back in working order just in time for Jensen to start smashing the lightbulbs, and aside from being thoroughly irritated with me, Joelle can't help but love it. It really is that hot.
We leave the theater an hour later than we should have, but it was worth it. I even take Joelle to McDonald's by way of apology. I know my bad juju will resurface in the morning (something that good can only last so long) but considering it went away long enough for me to survive the drive to DuBois, I figure I should be thankful for any kind of reprieve.
Anyway, we get all settled in our seats--as close to the screen as comfortably possible--and squee our little heads off at the sight of Jensen and his awesome black jacket. We're whispering to each other about how hot he is every now and then, and eating Sour Jacks and gummi bears.
We are about halfway through the movie when the film gets stuck and slips in front of the projector lens. There is a spot steadily forming in the center of the screen that is extending outward as each second passes. It's not until the ever-darkening spot starts turning brown that I whisper to Joelle, "I hope that's not the film burning." Seconds after the words leave my mouth, you can see the film start to melt away.
It's left like that for a good ten minutes before the projector turns off and a voice from the film room screams, "Oh my fucking god!" This marks the biggest freak-out in history. The lights are turned back on, and at least two other voices join the first in the film room. It's all hysterical, unintelligible yelling for the next fifteen minutes. Though, I do manage to hear the first voice wail, "It's crispy, dude!"
I'm in my seat giggling madly, because how can I not? Never before have I had an accident-free day. If something of suckish proportions is about to happen, the universe picks me to be the sole victim. Yet, it hasn't happened. I am having a wonderful day. No suckishness of any sort on the drive to DuBois, or during the process of getting into the movie. So, I am obviously witnessing the sole victim of the universe's wrath, since I have been given a one-day pass.
After ten minutes, Joelle is getting stir-crazy. "We should have just gone to Olean," she says, pulling out her cell phone to text everyone she knows about what a failure her day is becoming. I, however, am not listening because I'm too busy worrying if the kid working the film room is going to get fired. After all, it's not exactly fair that he should suffer such a loss due to my bad juju being redirected at him.
But they get the movie working again, the lights turn off, and Jensen is viewable once more. It's getting closer and closer to the lightbulb-smashing scene (which is my favorite) and I'm getting majorly excited for it. It's seconds away and I'm bouncing in my seat... just as the film starts burning again.
It's another fifteen minutes to fix it and I'm wailing the loss of sexy, evil Jensen. Joelle looks ready to go, but I'm stubbornly refusing to miss my favorite scene. Especially when it was my sole reason for going to see the movie again. "There is five minutes left in the movie," Joelle bitches.
"We are not leaving until we see the part I came here to see," I say. I have the car keys, I make the rules.
The movie is back in working order just in time for Jensen to start smashing the lightbulbs, and aside from being thoroughly irritated with me, Joelle can't help but love it. It really is that hot.
We leave the theater an hour later than we should have, but it was worth it. I even take Joelle to McDonald's by way of apology. I know my bad juju will resurface in the morning (something that good can only last so long) but considering it went away long enough for me to survive the drive to DuBois, I figure I should be thankful for any kind of reprieve.