I know, with the cinematic magic out there like The Hangover, The Proposal, and Year One, it’s no one’s fault but my own that I went to see My Sister’s Keeper.
So, I go up to the candy counter and order two small popcorns. The well meaning girl with a jagged part and tilted visor says brightly, “For twenty five cents more you could have a medium.” No thanks.
Then, I order a water and a small iced tea. “For fifty cents more,” she says, still upbeat, “You could have a large.”
What’s up with that? Why can’t I be trusted to know what size beverage or popcorn I want? How many people actually “upgrade” upon hearing of these tremendous savings?
Then, she asks me what movie I’m seeing. Why? For a quarter more could I run the fucking studio? For fifty cents more sit on Robert DeNiro’s lap? For seventy-five cents more tell Hugh Grant that it’s really okay if he doesn’t want to star in my screenplay. I’m over it, really.
Filed under: Film, The End of the World as We Know It
For thirty-three cents more, maybe they’ll change the ending of the movie for you.
So actually, they almost always talk me into the larger size. But I can’t really be trusted to know what I want.
And they wonder why half of Americans are obese.
A movie popcorn seller once told me that she would be fired by her manager if she did not try to upgrade EVERY sale. She told me she smiled brightly with each sales pitch so that she might overcome the desire to stab herself in the hand during every customer interaction.