There are two kinds of people in
this world: those who learn the hard way, and those who learn from the first
kind.
I was in Melbourne a couple of
weeks ago, shopping, eating, exploring. On the Tuesday, my good
friend Jenny and I were at Hoyts, about to watch The Amazing Spiderman. She thought it would be wise to use the
bathroom beforehand lest she either miss a pivotal moment or wet herself; so I
waited in the corridor for her, unaware that the to-be victim of ridicule and
laughter, nicknamed Metro Man, was about to enter the scene. His get-up wasn’t
anything out of the ordinary; but the way he walked was like he owned the show,
like everyone should stop what they were doing and acknowledge him. He swung
his shoulders with every step and wore sunglasses as if no one was worthy of
gazing upon his face (I couldn’t think of any other reason. The corridor wasn’t
exactly well lit); and he took pride in his adept balance of large drink in one
hand, large popcorn in the other, and second large popcorn in his mouth. He
seemed to know what he was doing, and he wanted everyone to know about it.
Analysis complete, I turned my gaze
down to my phone where the news feed was still loading. A group of tweens
whispering to the left revealed that I wasn’t the only one who thought the guy
was too cool. They giggled as he walked past; his back was to me now. And as
I looked up to appease my boredom with the immediate surroundings, he stopped,
just for a second. But it was the longest second, and the greatest, for Metro
Man sneezed! Popcorn sprayed; heads turned; and laughter ensued. He almost
dropped the second carton, but prevented further awkwardness by catching it
between his arms. Regardless, a torrent of buttery deliciousness painted the
floor around him, and high-pitched, poorly-concealed giggles only
added to the amusement. I, however, ensured that my snickers went unheard, and
smiled only because I knew he wouldn’t see me. He asked for it.
At this point, I expected him to
embrace the awkward and join the party – of laughter. But instead, as slow motion
wound back into real time, he simply kept walking - as if the bucket-dropping
sneeze never happened; as if the heckling laughter didn’t occur, and as if slow-motion
sequences of epic awkward weren’t a thing. Yet, with an episode of unanimous
nods throughout the whole room, it was quite clear that they were, in fact, a thing. Meanwhile, the giggles
continued as the girls proceeded to mimic the disaster, turning around to make sure
mister Metro couldn’t see, and then laughing some more at their own silliness. Silly
indeed, those tweens.
Replaying the scene in my head for
maximum satisfaction, and growing more and more disappointed that Jenny missed
it, I was oblivious to the fact that Metro Man’s performance was not yet
finished. As he came to some glass doors that led to nowhere, it occurred to
him that he was going the wrong way. I aimed palm for face, but he turned
around and would’ve seen me; so I quickly and aptly turned it into a
head-scratch while pretending that something on the black screen of my phone
was interesting. He retraced his steps, traversing the sea of popcorn, then
trailed bits of it over the poor carpet as if he writhed in embarrassment and defaced
property - to which my expression was now a confused mix of disgust and
suppressed laughter. Speaking of suppressed laughter, I could feel it welling
over by the girls. Pressure continued to build; then, just as Metro Man
strutted out of sight, it burst in an uncontrolled bout of high-pitched
squeals. All this before the film had even started! Life is good.
