Story 82: Interactive Film Experience

            I have seen the movie Throw Stuff at the Screen 199 times – tonight marks my 200^th viewing, and it will be extra special because it also is the movie’s 10^th anniversary, which means so-called “mainstream” theaters finally will be screening it.  Time to introduce the uninitiated masses to what watching this film is all about.

            As with every great interactive movie, the plot is negligible: what really hooks the dedicated fans is the borderline acting, the awkward directing, the random editing, and the intrusive soundtrack.  Individually, each detail is an isolated abomination, an assault upon the senses from which there is no true recovery; together, they create a terrible magic that draws in the observer like a fly to a pitcher plant, and the destruction is bliss each and every time.

            My pal and I always make sure one of us brings the props, or else the viewing doesn’t count.  By props, I mean the stuff we throw at the movie screen at appropriate moments (hence the title).  The 200^th viewing is my turn, and I fully restocked our supply: tissue packets, paper airplanes, and rubber erasers are just several of the items in our celluloid arsenal.

            It takes a while for the movie to get there, but at about 30 minutes in is when it’s our time to demonstrate our devotion.  Once it cuts to the blue sun in the orange sky, my friend and I throw our rubber balls, aiming for dead center and just missing them bouncing off the screen (better luck next time).  I notice that we’re alone in our participation at this viewing, but no worries: the crowd will warm up to the festivities if given enough motivation by us.  During my musings, I almost miss shouting “Don’t do it!” when the main character walks into a dark room, without a flashlight, where the killer is waiting, for the third time – good thing my friend reminds me with our predetermined signals (we’re each other’s backups in case of such distractions).  I can’t believe it when someone “Ssh”s us – don’t tell me they’re actually watching this for the story!

            After the fifth launch of our gear, we have to promise the usher that we’ll clean up afterwards and that we won’t hit anyone else in the back of the head (a rare occurrence, but unavoidable).  It boggles the mind how everyone is this unaware of the requirements for watching this movie.  You cannot sit through it unaided by projectiles and/or phrases to shout at it – the movie is unviewable otherwise.  Once it finally ends on an abrupt cut to a peanut and my friend and I start collecting our belongings to be used at the 201^st viewing, I briefly wonder if the filmmakers are depressed that their passion project has become fodder for people such as us.  I then realize that I need to buy a new slingshot – I’ve had this one since my 23^rd viewing, and it’s all worn out.

Story 81: The Warning

                                   [Not based on a true story - just a bit of fun]

             The 17-year-old student was doing homework at the desk in her room when her 40-year-old self materialized in front of her, looking a little worse for the wear.

            “Whoa, are you me?”  17 asked the one-eyed scarred mess.

            “I am, and I’m glad you figured it out yourself so I don’t have to waste time convincing you,” 40 answered.

            “Nah, I know how these things work.  So what happened to me?  Or should I say, to us?”

            40 shuddered.  “I can’t go into too much detail, but I’m going to tell you exactly what to do to avoid the whole thing.  May I?”  She pointed to a bean bag chair (how she missed that chair).

            “Sure, it’s still yours.”

            40 sank into the chair with a sigh.  “All right – pay attention, because I won’t have much time now that I’m altering the course of my own history.  First thing to keep from becoming me: get out more.  You have friends, use them.”

            “But I’m working on my final papers, and my job at the theater – ”

            “I DON’T CARE!”  17’s eyes bugged out at this.  “Sorry, I usually have to scream to get my point across.  What I mean is, all that stuff is important, but it’s not everything.  You need to see more of the world, so you can face what’s coming down the line.  Get it?”

            17 nodded.  “Yeah, that makes sense.  What’s next?”

            “Two: in three days, that guy you’re crushing on, oh what’s his name – ?”

            17 blushed.  “Tom.”

            “Yeah, that.  In three days, he’s going to ask you to prom.”

            “He is?!”

            “Do not, under any circumstances, go to prom with him.”

            “But I’ve been crushing on him forever!  I thought he didn’t even know I'm alive!”

            “He doesn’t until tomorrow.  It’s the same old story: he realizes he needs you for his master plan, he emotionally manipulates you into thinking you two could have a future together, and then when he achieves his diabolical goal he turns on you like a bad cheesecake and leads to this,” 40 pointed to her torn ear.

            “Tom did that?!  Ewwww!”

            “Well, not him specifically, but he leads you to the incident that does it.  All you need to know to keep your ear and your sanity intact is to steer clear of him.”

            “Does he give me my first kiss?”

            “What?  Seriously, that’s all you’re getting out of this?  He made me get a torn ear!”

            “Fine, I’ll die unkissed if that’ll make you happy.  So what about the eye?”

            “I’m getting to that.  Three: when you see a job posting for the print shop on Main Street, do not apply for it, no matter how tempting it looks.”

            “I don’t think I ever would apply for it – I’m going to go to pharmacy school.”

            “Not in six months you aren’t.  Long story short, working there led to a series of international events where I lost the eye.”

            “Gross.”

            “Yeah.  Finally, four: in two years when the bombs hit, make sure you’re in Alaska.  Trust me, the best survivors came out of there.”

            “What do you mean, the bombs?  Like buildings blowing up?”

            “The A bombs.  One’s bad enough – there were seven, one for each continent.  The poor penguins never stood a chance.”

            “Wow.  I thought we didn’t have to worry about atomic bombs anymore, you know, they were so last century.”

            “History always repeats itself.”

            “Isn’t there a way we could stop it, though?  I mean, it hasn’t happened yet – we could stop it!”

            40 laughed wryly.  “Let’s just say, it’s not the worst thing to happen to this planet.  So, you’ve got everything?”

            “I think so: get a life, no to my crush, no to random job, and move to Alaska.  That certainly went from trivial to world-ending.”

            40 stood.  “Great.  All those tragedies I faced should now be undone, hurray!”

            “So why are you still here?”  17 asked.

            “Hm?”

            “You’ve told me everything to avoid becoming you, so you should cease to exist.  Why are you still here?”

            “You’re right!  Let’s see, if I go back in time to avoid my fate and never exist, then how could I have gone back in time to avoid my fate…?  I see now.  I didn’t go back far enough.  Sorry, kid!”

            “What do you mean?”

            40 jumped back to the night she was conceived and burst into her parents’ bedroom, greeted by them screaming at her in fright.

            “It’s all right, Mom and Dad,” 40 said as she dissolved into the space-time continuum.  “At last, all will be well.”

            The resulting paradox disagreed.

Story 80: Convention Crashers

            “Did you doze off during that last lecture?”

            “Was it that obvious?”

            “I wouldn’t know – I think we were all unconscious.”

            They surreptitiously glanced around at their fellow conference attendees and saw the same blinking, bleary-eyed look that they felt on their own faces.

            “Want to take a walk?”

            “Please – my rear end is still napping and needs to wake up.”

            The two women walked out of the conference room and continued on down the hall.

            “What’s that?”

            The spread before another set of conference rooms featured balloons, a buffet table, and signs pointing to a carnival.

            “Looks like another convention.”  She walked over to a stand and read the poster on it: “State Chapter of Fun-Loving Party People.”

            “That sounds AMAZING.  We should go in.”

            “What?  We can’t just walk in; we’re not members!”

            “No one will know!  It looks like they’re not doing registration anymore, and we have badges that can make us pass as members if we just flip them over!”  She did so to demonstrate her point.  “Anything is better than sitting through another two hours of pedantry, and this is a real-live party.”

            “I don’t know – ”

            “I do!”

            She grabbed her colleague’s hand and dragged her to the other set of conference rooms, dumping their vendor logo-emblazoned swag bags on the way.  The main conference room was filled with people and dim lighting, which made the insinuation of their non-member selves into the affair all the easier.

            “Perfect – we can sneak in like it’s a rave,” the instigator whispered.

            “If you say so,” her companion whispered back.  She felt as if her association’s seal was stamped on her forehead, advertising her deception.

            Once their eyes adjusted to the black light, they could see that the conference rooms had games of chance and actual amusement park rides spread throughout.  Overlooking the enormous power drain, the two infiltrators circulated the room, ate some popcorn and cotton candy, and rode on the mini-roller coaster.  They had started with “Fool the Guesser” when the main doors burst open, letting in too much of the hallway light for everyone’s pupils to handle.

            “You!”  The silhouetted figure pointed at the two undercover attendees.  Everything fun ground to a halt and everyone else started at the strangers in their midst.  “You left our conference before all the sessions were done!”

            “Yeah, well, the speakers on the line-up are all dull, dull, dull!”  The instigator felt the need to point out.

            “Your lecture’s up next!”

            “Right.  Just give everyone the two credits, with my blessing.”

            “That’s not how it works!”

            “Oooh, I don’t want to talk about my topic!  It’s as boring as hanging wallpaper!”

            “Excuse me!”  A man who appeared to be in charge materialized next to the two stowaways.  “Seeing as you’ve crashed our party, hand over any uneaten food and go suffer at your own conference as punishment.”

            “But I’ve just resuscitated my inner child here!”

            “Out!”

            So the convention crashers were led back to their proper conference in shame, the instigator had to present her mind-numbing lecture, during which she nodded off in mid-sentence, and the Party went on all night long.  The crashers vowed to join that organization no matter what the membership criteria actually entailed – anything to free themselves from the monotony of their annual conference of the State Association of Office Drones.