As the kid rips my ticket, he says it might start late, because they're having technical difficulties. That's fine - I'm in no particular hurry.
Five, ten minutes later, I'm the only one seated at the screen, and a manager comes in and profusely apologizes - they're canceling that screening due to technical difficulties. Fine - these things happen. She offers to let me see any other movie ("FREE!"), but I couldn't think of anything else on their marquee that really interested me. When a man's in a mood for zombies and psychopaths, "Meet the Robinsons" isn't a good replacement.
Instead of some lesser movie, I accept a refund. It occurs to me that the manager might have been able to sweeten the deal a bit, had I decided to be cranky. Perhaps a voucher for refreshments, or a discount for another show. I do have my runs of grouchiness, but I do it for the pure artistry; I don't like the idea of financial benefit from my surliness.
So, it's something like 8:30, and I'm in downtown Woodinville (woo!), and I'm probably safe to drive (yes, I had a few drinks, but hey, I'm a large guy). Probably. To be on the safe-safe side, I visited Target (woo!) and Barnes and Noble. Target on a Friday night is a grim place to be. After convincing myself that I was no menace to anybody on the road, I went home without incident.
Today, I found a different movie theater in the area playing Grindhouse, and I headed out to get a seat. Turns out, most people in line at noon on a Saturday aren't there for the walking dead - they're there to see a Disney movie in 3D. Oh, you can tell the ones that are itching for their Tarantino fix - they're the ones in line without kids. The "quiet loner" types.
So, hey - it's a fun movie event. Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino, zombies, werewolves, car chases, strippers, wall-jumping, barbecue. It's got it all. And it occurs to me that the whole "aged 70s movie" gimmick is pretty fun, and maybe that's what threw the earlier movie theater into a tizzy. ("Why is the movie so jumpy and scratchy?")
On the way home, I find myself having a hard time driving at polite highway speeds. It's entirely possible that I'm a worse driver after a violent movie than I am after a drink. I'd prefer not to think about that, though, because that might lead to even more byzantine controls placed on film.