If You Don’t Care, I Don’t Care

When I was a teenager, there was a local cinema where the lady at the ticket counter didn’t give a f*** about age restrictions — or anything else, for that matter. They had two price categories: under twelve, which was the cheaper one, and the rest.

Once, my friend, my brother, and I went to see a Stallone movie that was rated R. Somehow, my friend and I (both eighteen) ended up in the popcorn queue, and my brother (who was sixteen but looked younger) was in the ticket queue.

Suddenly, he turned and shouted through the lobby:

Brother: “Hey, this movie is rated R! Maybe it’s better if you buy the tickets!”

By the time I walked over, he was already at the ticket counter.

Lady: “How many tickets?”

Brother: “Three.”

Lady: “Over twelve or under twelve?”

Brother: “Two over, one under.”

Lady: “That’s 16DM.”

My brother paid and she didn’t even blink. I don’t know if she owned the theatre and didn’t care or if she was just so old and jaded that she didn’t care.

On our way into our movie, I asked my brother:

Me: “Why did you claim to be under twelve?”

Brother: “I just wanted to see what she would do.”