I went with Jessica to the theatre and bought tickets for a movie–can’t remember which one; but I looked down at them and specifically noticed that the tickets were unripped. We made our way to a lobby that looked more like a furniture store with a fifty foot ceiling. Couches sat at all angles. We decided not to go into the theatre itself, but instead watched the movie projected on the enormous wall of the lobby. I don’t even remember the movie we watched–I was busy working on my laptop.
Next thing I know, a British man who I assume is the manager but looks nothing like one strolls around the corner and confronts me in a stuffy brogue. He accuses me of pirating the movie. I protest, only to be dragged into a corner office where the contents of my hard drive are promptly searched by a technology-challenged blonde. I kindly explain that I don’t pirate movies, only music, and not often. She lectures me about the cost of piracy and I get mad and kick her mouse. It wraps around my leg and I fall over, then wake up ten minutes after my alarm was supposed to go off.
Steak will do it every time.
