This is a first ever. A review on SloWord. A review of a movie. So lets get started. With some preliminary chatter in this Part 1 of The Great New World of Reviews.
On a Friday evening in September, with the eminently unwelcome autumn imminent, I arrived at Streetsville GO station after another week of toil and trials. As I stepped off the train, I had thoughts only of the Friday staple of junk food, time in front of the tv and a late and welcome bed. As I got into the car, She Who Will Never Be Tamed said “I was thinking, we could see a movie. You know, go to the theatre-hall. There are a couple of things that are a possibility.”
Ever ready for a date night, I accepted with the grace for which I am world-famous in my basement. First, however, we went home so I could dump my laptop, water the flowers at the back and the lawn in front, which I accomplished with Kronenbourg 1664 in one hand, my first alcoholic beverage in 2 months. ( And it was good.) We checked out what was playing and narrowed it down to Baby Driver and Dunkirk.
Dinner, it was decided, would be at Scaddabush. I called to make a reservation and was told they don’t take reservations. I asked about the wait and was told ten minutes. I drove there, dropped her off to book a table while I parked the car, to make sure we wouldn’t have too long to wait. She gave in her number and was told by the young girl that she would get a text in the next 10 minutes. After 10 minutes, we went back in to check on the status and were told that they had nothing available for at least another 45 minutes. The girls at the front could have cared less about two middleaged people. This was my second such experience at this particular Scaddabush. I am never going to attempt going there again.
So we went next to Jack Astors, where the music’s loud and the lights are low. The food is usually forgettable and so it proved. The Feisty Bird Sandwich didn’t live up to its name, arriving as it did in a large hot dog bun. Still it did have some sharp sauce, pickled banana peppers and french fries on the side. Having already had my regulation one beer for the evening ( see above, flowers, yard, lawn, watering of ), I had Coke. We got through the meal, chatted with the server who sported a rather large piece of yellow fauna in her hair, which matched her large persona, but provided a slightly lopsided look, like a ship listing home from a severe storm.
Talking of ships, but hang on a second, we still had tickets to buy. We drove across the street to the theatre and walked in prepared to visit the counter and buy our tickets to the show. We were greeted by a large sign where the ticket counter used to be, that said, “Counter Closed – Go Away and figure out how to use the internet or those ticket machines on either side of you. Behind you! On either side! Pick anyone of them!” or words to that effect. So we walked over to the ticket machine and touched the screen where it said “Dunkirk”. Baby Driver was not playing, even though the internet site we had checked before leaving had said so. I resolved, then and there, never to trust the internet again. Of my profound loss of trust in an institution into which I had placed my soul, my mind, and to which I had entrusted my news, my opinions, my facts, I shall speak no more. Suffice it to say, faith was broken.
So the machine said, “Ok, what kind of human are you? Child upto the age of 12? The usual sort between 13 and 65? or Senior 65+?” Resisting the urgings of She Who to pick pretend I was 65+, I picked “Usual type”. It then asked me how many of this type. I pressed the + sign and it said “Forward two! Bring forth your wallet! Now pick what kind of payment method you want to use?”
I picked, at the urging of the elbow to the left of the solar plexus, “Gift Card”. The machine, said “Pay up $25.86. “. The card mewed “I have just $25 on me”. I expected the gentlemanly response of “It’s ok. I’ll take $25 off the gift card, but you still owe me 86 cents. So handover a credit or debit card”.
Well, machines are not gentlemen. This one was most certainly not a gentleman. It denied the transaction. Proving yet again that computer programmers are morons and their bosses are imbeciles. She who walked away to find someone, went to the popcorn counter and bought tickets. ‘Oh yeah, those ticket machines do that…”.
Muttering darkly under my breath about Business Analysts, Programmers, and business leads who I’d have fired forthwith if they had been under my command, I was dragged off by the good lady before I had a chance to let a few people know my true feelings. Then we were seated in well lit, but bedraggled theatre, with seats that were quite the worse for wear, spilled water in the aisle. There was another middle aged couple already seated, speaking in strong East European accents. We sat in silence for about 10 minutes, before an interminable series of advertisements, app-based trivia games that you could play along with the big screen did not enthrall us. More people trickled in, the trivia game kept coming on, ending in “Demo Mode” because no one was signing on to play.
Eventually, the movie started.
In Part 2, yet to be written, we shall actually review the movie. Patience is a virtue, remember!