We All Have Our Things
On Finding Comfort Beneath One's Finger Inside Movie Theaters
We all have our things. Things we do which we don't necessarily consider to be out of the ordinary until we share them with the outside world and discover we are freaks. I remember vividly the first time I saw my college roommate brushing his teeth. He brushed so vigorously, the water and toothpaste would cascade out, down his chin, all over himself. Every night, he would foam at the mouth, like a rabies victim. When I saw this, naturally, I thought he was trying to be funny. So I laughed.
He didn't understand why I was laughing – after all, he was only brushing his teeth. I informed him people of Earth don't brush their teeth as if they are maniacs, which shocked him to his core. He was certain he brushed like everybody else. The way he brushed was his thing. We all have our things. If you don't have a thing, then not having a thing is your thing.
But it's highly unlikely you don't have a thing.
My thing is this, among others: when I go to the movies, especially when I go by myself, I like to sit against the wall, preferably the right wall, but the left will do.
I like to feel the carpeting on the walls with my finger, preferably the index, but the middle will do. It's nothing sexual, nothing perverse. It simply gives me a sense of security to feel the grooves of the carpeting on the walls in movie theaters. I don't know why. It just does. I learned from my friend, Sheila, that this is weird.
Many moons ago, I went to see a film called Road to Perdition, starring two-time Academy Award winner, Tom Hanks. I arrived late. Normally, I'll arrive anywhere on time, if not early. But I was with my aunt and uncle and they did not share my feelings regarding the importance of being punctual. As a result, we got to the theater a little late. When we arrived, the opening credits had already begun. Ordinarily, I would have left, as arriving late to a movie is Number Four on my list of things in life that irritate me, right behind women who think I like them when I don’t, people who merge onto the freeway too slowly, and Number One: being forced to hold a baby. If I am late to a movie, even by thirty seconds, I'd rather leave. It's another one of my things. But, again, I was with Aunt Loretta and Uncle Ron and had no choice but to stay.
The theater was packed. Since we couldn't find seats right away, we stood in the back corner as we waited for our eyes to adjust. As it happened, I was standing along the back side wall. So while I watched Tom Hanks wear a mustache and prepare to shoot guns, I began to feel the carpeting along the wall with my index finger. I did this for quite some time. It wasn't until I began to prod a little more intensely that the wall moved away from me, no longer wishing to be touched.
I found this odd. Curious, I turned and studied the darkness where I stood and discovered I was mistaken in thinking that I was alongside the back wall. In fact, I was standing along the back row of the theater. Imagine my surprise to find I wasn't feeling the carpeting on the wall, but rather the side of a middle-aged man's head. In my defense, the gentleman had short, cropped hair that felt very much like wall carpet. Having nowhere else to go, I continued to uncomfortably stand beside this man. The only thing that would have made it more uncomfortable was if it had been a film other than Road to Perdition such as 9-1/2 Weeks.
I couldn’t help but think, "I've just been fingering the side of this middle-aged man's head.” More discomforting, however, was my subsequent thought, "This middle-aged man has been letting me finger the side of his head.” He never said a word, he just let me do it. This man, whoever he was – we’ll call him Bob – Bob got to the theater on time, bought his ticket, found his seat, started watching the movie... Then I showed up and, without hesitation, began feeling his head, as if that was the sole purpose of my being there.
Who wouldn't say anything? Who sits there and keeps quiet? Who doesn't say, "Excuse me, what the hell are you doing?” Either Bob was terrified, or he liked it. Maybe I had stumbled upon a secret Internet rendezvous point and just as I removed my finger, Bob was about to slide his foot out to signal he was ready to party. Or maybe I was already fulfilling a longtime fantasy, and as I gently stroked his head, Bob closed his eyes, savoring my touch, thinking, "It's finally happening.” It is my hope Bob feared for his life, and sheer terror prevented him from speaking out or even moving. It gives me comfort to believe this man thought I was a psychopath, diabolically toying with my victim the way a mountain lion might playfully pat around its prey before devouring it. Hopefully, Bob was thinking, “This it how it ends for me.”
If I remember this brief, yet eternal, quasi-intimate encounter with Bob, then in all probability Bob remembers it as well. Maybe he tells the story at office parties, "You’re not going to believe this. The strangest thing happened to me when I went to see Road to Perdition, starring Tom Hanks.” Maybe Bob never talks about it, the way war veterans sometimes don't dredge up past experiences on the battlefield. Perhaps his children, or grandchildren, ask from time to time if he’d like to rent Road to Perdition, or Bachelor Party, or Bosom Buddies – The Complete Series, and Bob sternly replies, “We’re not watching anything with Hanks in it,” before mysteriously clamming up.
If by fate, destiny, or even simple chance, Bob happens to be reading this, I’d like to make it perfectly clear: I meant you no harm, Bob. You just got in the way of my thing.
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