It was 1989. I was living with my mom at the time and everyone at my school was going ape shit over this movie about some kids who get shrunk and have to travel across their backyard on the back of an ant. Being the age I was (around 8 years old or so), I guess I was kind of excited too.
But my mom was never a theater-goer. It was bloody hell to try and get her to take me to see a film. My dad always took me though, whenever I visited him. For Honey I Shrunk the Kids though, she made a bold exception.
I lived in some small town in New Jersey at the time and there was no theater there. We had to travel about 30-45 minutes away to find one. When we got to the theater, and found our seats, my mom sent me out for some popcorn before the movie started.
Now, when I was a kid, I was very much like the way I am now. I simply didn’t care about too many things, especially when it came to appearance. I even knew then that this is what I am stuck with and there is simply nothing I can do about it. My hair is absolutely crazy. Nowadays I keep it super short but back in 1989, it wasn’t so short. I probably looked Silvio from The Sopranos, if he got struck by lightning. Or Oda Mae Brown from Ghost.
I made my way to the popcorn stand and a typical 80s teenager was running the show. He was engaged in a heavy conversation with another employee, also probably in high school.
“Can I get a medium popcorn?” I asked the kid, while the other kid just kept staring at me.
“Sure little guy, you want butter on that?”
I nodded my head ‘no’ and he disappeared to go make it. The other kid kept staring at me. After a few moments of utter silence, he took a toothpick out of his mouth and said, “You know, they sell combs at Acme.”
Firstly, Acme was a really crappy grocery store in the same plaza as this movie theater. Secondly, I didn’t know how to respond. The kid making my popcorn told the douche to shut up. I finally got back into the theater and sat down.
I wasn’t quite hurt but it certainly ruined my viewing experience of this Rick Moranis classic. I couldn’t help myself from wondering why people gave a fuck about others so much. Perhaps, this being the 80s and all, my hair didn’t have enough hairspray or I wasn’t wearing enough neon to compliment it or something. Or maybe this kid was upset that I wasn’t wearing a Poison shirt.
Some things we can never be too sure of.
Posted on May 17, 2007 in Blogs by Michael Ferraro
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