One Does Not Simply Walk Into A PG-13

It was opening weekend for “The Fellowship Of The Ring”. We had HUGE crowds (like, lined up into the STREET huge), and almost every showing was sold out. I’d been running around like a crazy person because I was one of the few cross-trained at every station other than projectionist, so I helped sell tickets, I helped with concessions, I helped throw stupid teenagers out, all of it. I worked double shifts that day and was on about my twelfth hour there, running HIGH on caffeine from my dear friend, the Double Espresso, when two young, handsome men approached me hand-in-hand.

I put on my best smile and asked if I could help them. Then, I realized that both of them had tears in their eyes.

Customer: “Yes. We want a refund, please.”

I assured them I could do that (they were only a short way into the movie) and asked what reason I could put down for the refund. They looked at each other, and the second young man took a deep breath and spoke with what seemed to be controlled fury.

Customer: “It was too violent.”

I admit, I blinked at him in disbelief. Bad move. 

Customer: *Now yelling in my face* “You should be ashamed! There are children in there! You shouldn’t let them see people being stabbed and hurt and burned like that! I want my money back right now!“

His partner started to hush him (probably because he saw the very well-armed security guards walking their way), and I caught the last bit as I walked to the back to get their money. 

Customer: “They’re aiding the corruption of children! They should be ashamed. We’re never coming back here!”

I returned their money to the first young man and noticed that the second was standing by the door, waiting with a red face and a very sour expression. The first young man thanked me, and they left.

We have ratings for a reason, and on this day, we had a unicorn blessing: everyone going in was seemingly of the acceptable age for the rating (PG-13). No parents were taking their underage kids in because they “gave permission”, etc. 

I peeked in the theater at one point and no, there were no screaming babies or sobbing young children; from the glimpses I could see when the screen lit up enough to show, the youngest were young teens. While they were riveted. No one seemed traumatized. When the movie let out, no angry parents stormed up to berate us.