Biscuits
Posted: February 16th, 2024, 4:53 pm
Went to see Le Passion de Dodin Bouffant yesterday, which was one of the most enjoyable and engaging films I have seen for some time. Its moronic, misleading and insulting English name is The Taste of Things, though why they thought they had to dumb it down for an English speaking audience I don’t know. The original title is far more apposite.
Anyway, so we go for the 4.30pm showing, which is a “Silver Screen” showing. Another insult. As you can probably guess, this is for old people, the assumption being, old people have grey hair, which is untrue for myself (I don’t have much) or my wife, whose hair is the same beautiful shade of burnished red-gold that it was the day I first clapped eyes on her. I suspect, at age 68, her hairdresser does more than cut it nowadays, but I am too much of a gentleman to enquire.
“Two old people tickets please”
We get our two discounted tickets
“Silver screen clientele get free tea and biscuits” says the young man.
“Excellent, thanks we’ll take two” so he gets us our teas, and proffers us the box of biscuits for the old people: little packets of three shortbreads each. Perfect.
We go in. The seats are nice big comfy ones with cup holders in the arms. I put my tea in the arm, put my packet of biscuits on top of the tea lid, take my coat off and sit down. Turn to take my biscuits – they’ve gone. My wife is just opening her packet, but mine’s gone. I look on the seat, down the side. I get up and start looking under the chair.
“What are you looking for” my missus says
“I’ve lost my biscuits”
“Well they can’t have gone far”
“I know!”
“Honestly, how can you lose a packet of biscuits in ten seconds. I’m going to have you tested.”
A nice young lady sitting a couple of seats away says, “Can I help you? What are you looking for?”
“What?” I had my head under the seat so didn’t hear her properly.
She repeats very slowly and deliberately, “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR?”
“I’ve lost my biscuits”
I suspect she probably thought I meant “mind” but she very kindly says, “Oh! SHALL I HELP YOU LOOK?” and she’s got her phone light out and scrabbling along the aisle.
A few other punters are looking on
“What’s happened?”
“He’s lost his biscuits”
“ARE YOU SURE YOU HAD THEM WITH YOU?”
“Yes, yes”
“HAVE YOU LOOKED IN YOUR POCKETS?”
I have but I recheck.
“HAVE YOU EATEN THEM?”
For a split second I did wonder if I had, but dismiss the thought. After a few minutes, when the entire cinema seems to have been searched by the entire audience to no avail, I thank everyone and trudge back to the young man in the foyer, and fess up. He promptly offers me another packet, and I trudge back, holding on to my biscuits like grim death, where I am met with a smattering of applause, sit down, eat my biscuits, drink my tea, and watch the film.
On the way out, my missus finds a packet of biscuits in her coat pocket. Clearly she had sat down, absent-mindedly trousered her own biscuits, then took MY biscuits off the lid of MY tea and proceeded to polish them off.
So now who’s the one who needs testing?
Anyway, so we go for the 4.30pm showing, which is a “Silver Screen” showing. Another insult. As you can probably guess, this is for old people, the assumption being, old people have grey hair, which is untrue for myself (I don’t have much) or my wife, whose hair is the same beautiful shade of burnished red-gold that it was the day I first clapped eyes on her. I suspect, at age 68, her hairdresser does more than cut it nowadays, but I am too much of a gentleman to enquire.
“Two old people tickets please”
We get our two discounted tickets
“Silver screen clientele get free tea and biscuits” says the young man.
“Excellent, thanks we’ll take two” so he gets us our teas, and proffers us the box of biscuits for the old people: little packets of three shortbreads each. Perfect.
We go in. The seats are nice big comfy ones with cup holders in the arms. I put my tea in the arm, put my packet of biscuits on top of the tea lid, take my coat off and sit down. Turn to take my biscuits – they’ve gone. My wife is just opening her packet, but mine’s gone. I look on the seat, down the side. I get up and start looking under the chair.
“What are you looking for” my missus says
“I’ve lost my biscuits”
“Well they can’t have gone far”
“I know!”
“Honestly, how can you lose a packet of biscuits in ten seconds. I’m going to have you tested.”
A nice young lady sitting a couple of seats away says, “Can I help you? What are you looking for?”
“What?” I had my head under the seat so didn’t hear her properly.
She repeats very slowly and deliberately, “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR?”
“I’ve lost my biscuits”
I suspect she probably thought I meant “mind” but she very kindly says, “Oh! SHALL I HELP YOU LOOK?” and she’s got her phone light out and scrabbling along the aisle.
A few other punters are looking on
“What’s happened?”
“He’s lost his biscuits”
“ARE YOU SURE YOU HAD THEM WITH YOU?”
“Yes, yes”
“HAVE YOU LOOKED IN YOUR POCKETS?”
I have but I recheck.
“HAVE YOU EATEN THEM?”
For a split second I did wonder if I had, but dismiss the thought. After a few minutes, when the entire cinema seems to have been searched by the entire audience to no avail, I thank everyone and trudge back to the young man in the foyer, and fess up. He promptly offers me another packet, and I trudge back, holding on to my biscuits like grim death, where I am met with a smattering of applause, sit down, eat my biscuits, drink my tea, and watch the film.
On the way out, my missus finds a packet of biscuits in her coat pocket. Clearly she had sat down, absent-mindedly trousered her own biscuits, then took MY biscuits off the lid of MY tea and proceeded to polish them off.
So now who’s the one who needs testing?
