It's not just an extra 50 cents

Why do I always choose the wrong line? I think to myself as I impatiently wait for my popcorn. The movie started 3 minutes ago; but I'm here by myself -- which means I shouldn't have any trouble finding a seat.

I don't know how this always happens. It's a life curse I suppose. No matter what logic I throw at the situation, I never seem to roll a hard 7. The line I'm in always takes the longest.

Sure -- it looked promising. There were only two people in front of me and the other lines were closer to the theatres, so they had more people. I thought I had made the wise choice. But I didn't. And like most of my failed relationships, I now stand here -- idled and unproductive. The movie is starting without me.

The two lines on either side of me swallow up their 4 people -- but I wait. I know that the second I jump to either of them, this line will accelerate with lightening fast speed. More people swarm into the theatre and the lines become longer. I should be grateful that there are only two people in front of me, right?

Just what is she doing? I say to myself angrily as I stand on my tiptoes and try to figure out what the girl manning my line is up to. Seems she is moving just as fast as the rest of them. I don't get it.

I watch her. Maybe my stares will make her work a bit faster? Maybe it's the fat lady at the front of my line who is taking her sweet time ordering everything in sight. I strain to listen....

Bitch! She wants extra cheese sauce on her nachos!

I'm getting antsy. Really antsy. My movie is dangerously close to having shown all the trailers, and some woman at the front is wasting my time ordering extra cheese!?!?

Another counter opens. I go to spring for it -- but the fat lady has started to migrate towards her theatre and she blocks me. Everyone else manages to get to it before me. I managed to keep one toe in my place; and so, when I scurry back to my spot -- the impatient computer geek behind me can't tell me that I'm budding.

OK. Only one person in front of me. Hopefully this goes quickly.

I watch the clock. The seconds have entered into a new form of quantum physics. They've split at the atomic level and multiplied by a factor of 8. Everything is taking 8 times longer than it should.

I'm not budging. I can't. To leave now would be certain failure -- and besides, I put a treacherous 30 minutes on the treadmill today. I DESERVE POPCORN!

Ah! It's my turn!!!

"What can I getchya today?" says the counter girl. Her black nail polish is chipping away at her finger nails. I will have to watch carefully to make sure that her fingers don't actually touch the inside of my popcorn bag when she goes to serve.

"I'll have a small popcorn. No butter. Thanks." I say.

She punches my order into her register; and then looks up. "Will that be all?" she asks. I shift my weight. The tallboys in my bag are starting to weigh on my left shoulder.

"Yes", I say. I've got my own provisions. They're lucky I'm spending $5.37 on a friggen popcorn. Must remember to buy microwave popcorn on my way home...

She looks at me -- takes a second to remember her spiel from her training and says, "Would you like to go to the next size for another 50 cents?"

Now...I don't know exactly what it was about this phrase that triggered the set of events that happened next. Maybe it was a culmination of my being in line a bit too long? Maybe it's left-over nerves from the break up? Or maybe (and most probably), I'm just a crazy woman making her way in the world? But, whatever it was, this poor counter girl couldn't have been prepared for what happened next...

"You know," I start, "It actually isn't just another 50 cents". She looks at me blankly. I stare back at her -- determined to get through. She looks down at her register, back at me, and then points to the billboard that advertises the special. "No ma'am. It is only 50 cents. See?" She's pointing to the big yellow 'only 50 cents' on the billboard.

"Honey," I smile, "It's not just an extra 50 cents. It's more than that. Sure -- to you, I give you 50 cents and you give me 5 more cups of popcorn; but at what cost? Do you know how much those 5 more cups of popcorn will cost me? First, there's the clothing factor, and -- by the way, clothing costs a lot more when you're not living at home with Mom and Dad -- just so you know for future reference. But, at my age -- and trust me; you will be my age one day. I know, hard to believe it - but it's true. I used to be you. I used to be skinny just like you. I did. And now look at me! I'm totally fat -- and I watch what I eat. It's not like I go to the movies every day and order popcorn. Could you imagine? If I did I'd be huge. HUGE! This is like...the first bag of popcorn I've eaten in months...and so, to finish my point -- it is not just an extra 50 cents. It's the extra hundreds of dollars I will have to spend on another depressing larger-than-I-want-to-admit-to-myself size of pants. It's the extra time I'll have to spend at the gym -- time away from my work...I couldn't even begin to calculate in the long run how much that would cost me. It's the time I spend in my therapist's office -- time that I could be enjoying with friends -- or maybe even a lover if I so choose; which I could have -- if I wanted. I'm just not ready at the moment. And I don't want to feel pressured into doing anything that I don't want to do. So trust me, it's not just an extra 50 cents. It actually factors into hundreds of dollars. Cellulite on the upper arms! Low self-esteem! Acid reflux!!!"

I stop to take a breath. I think I've gotten my point across. She looks at me -- surprisingly not dismayed by my little rant. Teenagers can be insightful if given the right circumstance I suppose.

She smiles and says, "Did you want any flavoured powders for your popcorn then?".

I smile. She gets me.

"Sure!" I say. I pay up and shuffle to my movie which has already started. Popcorn and flavour packet in hand. All the while trying to minimize the sound of the tallboys clunking softly in my purse.