Friday, July 11, 2008
Page 11
AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)
Movie Ticket Brings Senior Moment
By J’AMY PACHECO
Talk about your good news, bad news.
The good news is I saved a few bucks on a movie ticket. The bad news is…well, just too painful to admit in print.
But when has that ever stopped me?
I recently took my daughter to see the new Pixar film, “WALL-E.” I liked the little robot’s story very much, but admittedly, came away from the theater emotionally scarred. Not by the film, but because of something that happened before I set foot in the auditorium.
Normally, a trip to the movies means we get up early enough to see the first showing of the day. I hate weekend crowds, and don’t like to be trapped in the middle of a row of seats filled with people. If we make it to the first show of the day, not only do we usually get our choice of seats, but we sometimes get a private viewing. I like that.
On this particular day, however, my daughter persuaded me to take her to an evening show. I grumbled about the crowds I expected, and about the inflated price of tickets for evening shows.
“We’re not going to buy a bunch of junk at the snack bar,” I cautioned her, crediting the price of evening tickets for my stinginess.
When I paid for the tickets, however, the cashier charged me only $11.50 for both. Although I’d expected to pay almost twice that amount, I didn’t give it much thought as we hurried to get in line for the single bag of popcorn we intended to share.
While waiting in line, however, I looked at the tickets. One of them said “Child” and cost $6. The other — mine — cost only $5.50. The explanation was stamped across the front of the ticket: “Senior.”
Now, I’m not a senior citizen. Not even close. Well, closer than I’d like, but suffice to say I’m not there yet. I have “Camp Rock” and Taylor Swift music playing on my iPod, for pete’s sake. I’m the mother of a ‘tween.
“You don’t look that old,” my daughter assured me. The sting of the printed word was only partially reduced by the realization that we’d saved enough on the tickets that I didn’t mind splurging at the snack bar.
Being mistaken for a senior citizen was probably my own fault. I need bifocals, but I’m too vain to get them. I have, therefore, developed the habit of lowering my glasses and peering over them when I need to see up close, as I did to get money from my purse to pay for the tickets.
In recent years, I’ve also stopped wearing makeup unless I’m working, and started stuffing my hair into a ponytail rolled up to look like a bun. Maybe I do look like somebody’s granny.
But I’m not.
Maybe I shouldn’t have waited so long to start a family.
Years ago, when I was pregnant with my now 12-year-old, my husband and I ventured into a local department store to look for a crib. I still remember the face of the young man who asked us, “Are you shopping for your grandchild?”
Pointing to the noticeable bulge under my maternity top, I remarked, “Yeah, and I’m carrying it too.” We left the store without buying anything.
A few years later, when I went with a new friend to check out pre-schools for our then-four-year old daughters, I took offense when one school’s administrator kept referring to me as my friend’s mother. We left the school.
Once outside, I asked my friend how old she was. I nearly fell down laughing when I realized I COULD be her mother. We’ve remained friends anyway, and we still joke about that.
Maybe I deserved it. I remember teasing my husband mercilessly when he got his first correspondence from AARP. I think he was in his mid-40s. He was devastated. I was abnormally entertained.
Apparently, it’s payback time. My husband got quite a kick out of the story of my first senior moment.
I suppose I shouldn’t complain – in this economy, who doesn’t need to save a few bucks now and then? Even if it comes at the cost of dignity and self-esteem.
If it really bothers me, I can always get new glasses, put on some makeup and do something more energetic with my hair. There is plenty I can do to keep from looking like a grandmother.
Then again, I am quite fond of movie theater popcorn…maybe my youth is a small price to pay.
For my own bag, at least.
Copyright 2008, Metropolitan News Company