Our theme for the month of June is “confessions.”
The evening is sunny and warm, but I am wearing a sweatshirt. Within its front pocket: my two hands, entrenched with monastic sternness. I maintain this posture as I stroll down the sidewalk, my attempt at a casual disposition interrupted by occasional glances at passersby. I look where they look, which is often right back at me. Is it confusion or suspicion in their eyes? I try to make my body language read as introverted rather than culpable. I step beneath the decorated overhang of my destination, Celebration! Cinema North, turning towards the door. One hand remains in my pocket as I pull said door open. I swiftly return its companion to its original position—specifically, to that which it was holding. Also within my front pocket: two Zero Sugar Vernor’s.
I walk briskly—but not hastily—towards the front counter, scanning the sparse lobby for observers, the circular desk on my right for the manager. He is staring at his computer. I wind my way through the switchback of ropes that form the line until I reach the front counter. I stand closer to it than normal. The teenage teller seems unassuming. When it comes time to retrieve my wallet, I just barely lean forward, my body pinning the cans to the counter. This movement is imperceptible as my hands now misdirect, completing the exchange and returning to their original domicile. Within minutes I am opening my contraband from the comfort of my seat in a darkened theater, shortage of staffing having removed the variable of a weeknight ticket taker. When I take the first sip of that crisp, ginger-adjacent rush, it tastes all the sweeter for the minor operation that was getting it to this very moment. I think of Linus Caldwell (Matt Damon) from Ocean’s 11 (2001), someone I understand now in a new and special way.
Said minor operation: a victimless crime?
Perhaps. But what this anecdote reveals to me upon reflection is not the gleeful victory of one consumer against the upcharging corporate hegemon nor a testament to my sleight of hand. Instead, it lays bare a contradiction. There are few social spaces I care more about than the survival of the movie theater. In fact, I am generally happy to pay what I pay for concessions because this is how theaters actually make a profit—ticket sales having very little to do with it beyond getting patrons up to the counter to buy other items. My willingness is also aided by the simple truth that I struggle to think of culinary experiences I find greater pleasure in than eating popcorn until the salt singes my lips and then easing this smoldering with something sweet and cold and carbonated and likely caffeinated.
But, like all the best of things, this cannot be indulged in. I too have finances to consider, as well as a caffeine sensitivity and a body in general. Though the Full Theater Experience, as I call it, is a ritual worthy of repetition—even frequent repetition—a Tuesday night is hardly the time for a racing mind and an overloaded stomach. One must remember that the event should be the film, and that this too must be paid for.
So I slip a can or two into my hoodie or sling backpack (my methods are always evolving), and as I begin the act of smuggling, I send out something like a prayer, one holding all of the goodwill I have for movie theaters. I can only hope that this small gesture offers something like recompense for the economic consequences of my lapse in loyalty. If someday the promised end that has dogged movie theaters for decades does come to fruition, and if in some even minuscule way that end is enabled by the failures of my patronage, know that there will be nothing I regret more. As it stands: it is Tuesday, and it looks near certain Celebration! North and I will both be here come the next one—though I will have a Zero Sugar Vernor’s (or two) and no one else will know.
Kipp De Man graduated from Calvin University in 2023, having majored in film and media studies. He is currently working towards a master’s degree in the same discipline at Washington University in St. Louis. He enjoys reading and writing poetry, rock climbing, and Coke Zero.
