Tuesday, April 20, 2010

he struck me as a hot tub time machine kind of guy...

I generally have Mondays off from work, and spent yesterday trying to enjoy Target which has been overrun with fancy designers who've never been in a Target before. The Liberty of London stuff was all gross and flammable, other than the lingerie which was adorable and the Jean Paul Gautier? My God, there is no such thing as a Serramonte shopper who would ever wear this.
While I was out there, I swung by my favorite anonymous cineplex and watched Date Night, curled up by myself pretending I don't want to bear Steve Carell's children. As a teenager, I regarded going to the movies by oneself as social suicide. Even if only strangers saw you, those strangers would think you have no friends. But now, on a Monday afternoon, with a bucket of Diet Coke and a virtually empty theater? I'm in absolute heaven.
So there I sat, ignoring any responsibilities and wasting a perfectly good day hiding at the movies, when the solo man sitting directly behind me props his BARE FOOT onto the arm rest one seat away.
I have certainly rested my feet on the chair in front of me. I may have even kicked off a shoe or two in my day, although I was probably drunk at the time. And while my feet are tended to by the lovely ladies of Holly Nails, I don't subject them to strangers in public places.
But this guy tosses his cave man foot around like it's never occurred to him that both he and the arm rest could be incredibly gross. I mentally measured the distance between his foot and my face and by my calculations, we were 14-17 inches away from each other. My shoulders tensed, I moved my Big Gulp to the other side of me and turned myself all the way around in my chair, giving him a solid and silent, "What the fuck?"
Man foot stared straight ahead at the screen and chuckled out loud. Stumped as to what to do, I considered confrontation. I envisioned each of the possible reactions to "Excuse me. Your bare foot in my face is disgusting."
Each option seemed like it would prohibit the continued enjoyment of my 90 minute cinematic vacation.
Eventually the foot and the man it was attached to departed. He was only there for 20 minutes or so, perhaps killing time for what he really intended to see. Century 20 Daly City is marvelous for sneaking in and out of movies all day. I just hope he kept his foot to himself.
We'll see if Man Foot makes an appearance when I'm back at the movies next week. I have no choice but to attend. After all, Zac Posen is coming to Target...

1 comment:

Rebecca @ Diary of a Virgin Novelist said...

Gross...but it is better than the time two people started having sex five rows behind me during 27 Dresses.