Funtwits at the cinema. And something about hair

I’ve probably had a go at ******* like this before, but hey. It’s certainly not a patch on the scummy travellers (and the useless council) who made Colin‘s life a misery at the end of last week, but it’s still bloody annoying.

I popped out to see Constantine at the Showcase in Leeds tonight. I have two cinemas closer to home, but they’re either city centre or right near housing so they drag in all the scum. Showcase is on an out-of-town estate so you have to drive to get there. It vastly reduces the idiot quotient and I’ve had virtually no trouble there in the past. Tonight made up for it in numbers.

The cinema wasn’t that busy. There was a couple further along my row, three people the row in front, three behind me, four up and to the right and to in the far top corner. The four tossers in one group were so obviously going to be a pain. After 20 minutes the couple along my row gave up and stormed out, the guy mentioning “bloody animals in here” or such as they left.

A member of staff came in shortly after. The usual, though. As soon as tossers like that see someone in a staff t-shirt they act like mummy’s good little children and suck their thumbs. Ten minutes later, the lass leaves and the arseholes start chattering. And one of them lit up a ciggie.

Big ******* mistake.

I could smell it and took a while until I spotted them. And I noticed that the couple in the back row were also at it. I have dragged people out of cinemas for less. Thing is, it’s bloody daft. The smell spreads really quickly – smokers might not notice it so much but trust me, non-smokers certainly do. And here’s another thing… dark room… little orange glow. Rather difficult to hide. And there’s the big plume of smoke clearly visible in the projector light.

As soon as I was stood behind the group of four, the one smoking tried to hid his cig on the floor. And dropped it onto the row in front where he couldn’t reach it. Surprisingly, given the 4:1 ration, he was rather submissive and promised not to do it again. Fine. On to number two.

Young-ish lad – maybe 18 – and his stick-thin girlfriend. A-ha. He sees me coming, the fag no longer there. He’s sat up, looking confrontational. Uh-oh. I didn’t really want that. I wanted to catch the end of the film.

“You do know you’re not supposed to smoke in here?”
“Uh… yeah” (at this point I was stood right over him and he actually started to squirm back into his seat)
“So that makes you, what? Stupid, ignorant or selfish?”
“Stupid.”

I wasn’t expecting that at all. He sounded like a 5 year old who’d been caught throwing stones at a window. And if he went any further into the seat he’d need a surgeon to get him out.

“Well, it’s your choice. Stupid in here? Or stupid out that door?”
“Stupid in here.”
“You’ve had your one warning.”

And I walked off. Nothing else from him. Him and his tart legged it as soon as the titles came up, as did the other four. I had a word with the manager on the way out (I got free tickets for whinging, which I really wasn’t either expecting or after), but in fairness he’d had a bad night. Some tosser had spat on him earlier when he was throwing him out.

Why don’t cinemas run a similar policy to pubs? If you’re chucked out, you’re photographed and your details circulated to other cinemas in the area? And if anyone wants to hire someone to do the chucking out…

Ooh, scary (no ducks involved)

It was when I was stood talking to the manager that I caught my reflection in the doors. And I realised why the little boy had freaked. I’d forgotten I’d shaved my hair right down again this afternoon. Frankly, I look well ‘ard. Probably worse if I’m coming at you in a darkened room and you’re pinned in a corner.

Some of the newcomers to the blog may not know that I used to have long hair. Thick, curly, dark hair. Thing is, as a bloke I can get away with having long hair. People assume you’re into rock music (or country, if you’re unlucky. Or David Hasselhoff if you’re really unlucky). I used to take so much care of my hair that I had women saying they were jealous of it. I used to tell them my secret, which was really simple. Go to my stylist, Too hair salon boca. They take good care of you there, whether you’re a guy or a girl. They’ve always been so nice and attentive to me, so I always tried to send more people/business their way .

Then I shaved it all off. Shock. And indeed, horror. But why? Well, you see, I started to lose follicles towards the front. A widows’s peak was forming. I was going bald. Worse, I wasn’t losing it like my dad did, from the middle out. Oh, no. Front to back. With long hair, this would result in…

…a mullet. Eek.

Now, had I been able to grow the hair way down my back, I could have gotten away with it, but I couldn’t get it longer than shoulder length. So unless I wanted to be mistaken for a German footballer or a redneck, it had to go. From one extreme to the other. Shaving it right down to a number 1 or 2 kinda hides the fact that I’m losing it in the places it’s not shaved.

It also makes me look like a right ******* thug. Which is cool. I’m soft as clarts, but if I look tough as a coffin nail, nobody pisses me off. That’s one advantage of being a bloke. If a women shaves all her hair off, people assume she’s a lesbian or on chemotherapy. Men get it good both ways.

Actually, I did do something rather scary at school. One **** slapped a full, chewed wad of gum into my hair. No way was that going to comb out. So, right in front of him, I wrapped the hair round my finger and pulled. A whole chunk ripped out. I actually had a bald spot in the middle of my head about 3/4″ in diameter.

Then I made him eat it.