A Smuggler’s End

Growing up, one of the most exciting things I could do was smuggle food into a theater. This was not because I grew up in a small town like Tussville, Alabama or Mooreland, Indiana. It was because I was small and I did not know until much later that the main party spot for my high school was in the desert less than a mile from my house. Not that it would’ve mattered. The challenge of hiding an oversized carton of strawberry milk in my pockets while buying a ticket for Lethal Weapon 3 was too much to resist.

Over the years, I upped the ante and in a crowning moment, eventually snuck in a medium pizza, the box crammed down my pants like and overstuffed suitcase. I became so proficient I thought about creating a web site just to catalog all the things I’d smuggled into a movie theater. Then I found a another site for someone called the Amazing Ty who “smuggles” things larger than I’ve ever even tried and in places that look a lot more painful than my baggy pockets. I figured it was kind of pointless.

I even played with the idea of strapping a TV tray to my back. I recognized, soon, that would be much better as a Seinfeld episode. I wrote the script featuring George’s quest to enjoy a full course meal while watching Rochelle, Rochelle. Unfortunately, NBC never replied when I e-mailed it to them, which I don’t understand because it was much better than every other “fan fiction” I’ve read on the ‘net, most all of them featuring Elaine having sex with Newman and Peterman at the same time.

After all these years, though, I have this bad feeling that somewhere along the line movie theaters actually started allowing people to bring in food. I think I may have even seen deliveries from surrounding restaurants. But I don’t ask. I’d rather play the game. Because for every bowl of Cream of Potato soup I spill down my leg, there is the triumphant feeling I get when people sitting around me wonder aloud why they smell hot, teriyaki chicken.