Mummy Terrorism

My girlfriend Sheila and I took our boys to see the new Mummy flick last weekend on opening night. 


We bought the tickets in advance at an older theatre in Westwood, which is disappointing enough as it is, because the seats have springs poking you in the tuckuss, and there are NO cup holders – GEEZ – but it’s what happened at the theatre (during the movie) that could have destroyed our evening – by, well, killing us! (I am quite the drama queen, aren’t I?)

After sitting for a few minutes, quietly enjoying the previews, Sheila leaned over to whisper to me, “That guy just left a bag sitting there.”  I looked at her and inquired, “What guy? Like a real bag? Or a bag of popcorn?”  “No, a real bag.  He and his girlfriend got up to walk out and he set the bag down on the floor before he left.”  “Where?”  She quickly pointed to the seats directly in front of us, two rows up.

Well, now.  I think now is the perfect time to jog your memory a bit, on the matter of a little hike Sheila and I took some time ago in “Forget the Love Guru.”  If you are new here, welcome.  Feel free to peruse that post before moving onward, as it could provide you some important background on Sheila. But I warn you.  These posts are not for the faint of heart! hee hee

Remember in that situation, how Sheila “leaned in and whispered” to me, as if to take a sip from her camel back, only to pose the hysterical question of “How do you work this thing?”  That alone should have been reminiscent enough for me to beware and realize that when Sheila’s inner danger meter goes off, maybe I ought to use my brain and assess the situation intelligently on my own. But somehow I always get that “Drama A-D-D.” I’m so quickly distracted by a juicy possibility or anything of interest at all, and I get carried away into her little blond fantasy-land. HA HA.

That said, if you want to get me to do something, and quick, present me with the threat of an act of terrorism – or some really bad practical joke, and I am the girl to save the day.  I don’t mess around.  If there is imminent danger or even the remote possibility of it, I will be the first to act – especially if my child is in the vicinity. In that case, look out! I don’t care if it does cause a stir on the opening night of The Mummy at a little theatre in Westwood. Sheila knew all she needed to say was her version of, “Your mission, should you choose to accept it” – and I was on the job of disseminating the Mummy Terrorist Plot.

Like an undercover agent, I calmly race-walked to the concession stand and told the employees what had taken place. I explained to the clerk that he would quickly come with me and take the bag away, so the patrons (and I) could enjoy the movie and get on with life – that we all expected to be able to watch it, go home to our loved ones, and live another day to tell about it.

As I was leading the guy to the scene, the person one row in front of us was coming out as well to take care of the matter.  Thank god, I’m not the only smart person. I thought.  The guy looked concerned, and said, “Oh good, you got someone.  Yeah – he left this bag there, and it was really weird.”

So, we both led the guy to the spot, and watched as he carried it away.

I sat down next to Sheila, and she whispered, “Yeah it was really weird.  It had all kinds of weird stuff like boxes and stuff in it.”  I didn’t think to ask how  she knew this, since I couldn’t tell what was in the bag, and I’d actually gotten up to look at it, but she continued. “Yeah.  The guy was really weird looking too.  He was with his girlfriend or whatever and he had this really greasy and stringy long blond hair.”  “Really?”  I asked. 

Then after a couple of minutes, I asked, “So do you think you should go and tell those kids (from the concession stand) to call the police, in case there was something dangerous in the bag?”  My beautiful blond friend said – true to British form (far more fearful of drawing attention to herself than imminent doom), “No. At least they took it out of HERE,” with a slight uncomfortable chuckle.  I laughed sarcastically, “Oh, right!  Well, if we go to heaven tonight, it was nice knowing you!”  We laughed, while I administered my own last rites silently to myself, just in case.

It was then – about two or three minutes afterward that we saw her – a somewhat odd looking girl, walking down the far side of the auditorium and taking a seat several rows in front of us on the far right side.  This was followed shortly thereafter by a big guy on our side of the aisle, apparently trying to find this girl, his old seat, and – could it be? – his BAG??? He was tall, and had long greasy, stringy blond hair.  He kinda looked like he was lost (or on something), as he looked around, saw his girl on the opposite side of the auditorium, and went to join her.  I looked sideways at Sheila who had a sheepish, guilty, and oh-so British grin on her face.

I’m sorry folks.  This was just TOO funny!  And so embarrassing!  I could not believe Sheila’d gotten me involved in one of her blond-haired, blue-eyed capers again.  Gone are the days that my dear friend can blame me for being a bad influence on her!  I think we can all agree now that Sheila and I are equal partners in crime, for sure!

Before you get upset, know this: The two culprits with the bag actually did end up disrupting the entire movie.  I think they were so strung-out on something they didn’t realize when they were yelling during silent moments, and such.  It got so bad that management was forced to warn them of being kicked out of the theatre, before they got themselves under control.  Turns out they really were terrorists – well, the non-murderous sort, for sure. More like the pesky, bothersome kind. Ha ha!

I must say, it was really great to get out alive – and by this I mean, I am thankful we survived that horrible movie.  Regarding our mysterious drug addicts – well those poor people lost their bag, perhaps their last remaining possession, which was probably incinerated by the time they thought to inquire at the concession stand.  All the while, Sheila and I snuck out, got into the car and drove ourselves home, secretly and silently.

Gotta love mass hysteria and its effects on the population. Well, at least on Sheila and me.

Until next week, my sweets, when we’ll talk about how chickens really DO have lips. I should know.  I kissed Fred the Wonder Chicken.

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!


Ms. Cheevious

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