The film had only just started when the blob filled the screen, blackening the panoramic shot of the upper Amazon, the foothills of the Andes in the distance, cinematography that demonstrated why the film won an Oscar for it. The mass started on the left working its way painfully across “oompfs,” “ouches,” “watch-outs,” and “what the hells,” until it enveloped the area around one viewer and collapsed into his lap. A pained screamed that sounded like, “Oh god, my knees! I heard a crack,” was followed by a perfunctory “ ’Scuse me,” in a voice reverberating across the theater that echoed into a series of “quiets,” “shut-ups,” and a “Christ almighty.”
The mass rose, edged further down the row. He stood tall as the film rolled, taking his time to remove his coat and put down its goodies: a 32-ounce keg of soda and a bucket of artificially buttered popcorn, its chemically rich odor wafting to the balcony while murmurs of “down up front,” “sit,” and “please we’re trying to watch the movie” wafted back. At last, Stanley Polodski sat down.
The film rolled, the rain forest sounds of birds and monkeys giving way to wind in the canopy and a fierce storm. Those explained the Academy Awards for sound editing and mixing. Offscreen, those in the theater heard munching and slurping, sounds emanating from Stanley as he bulldozed popcorn into his chomping maw with one hand as he sucked up the melting residual of ice through the straw sticking out of the super-sized cup grasped in the other.
A voice came from the seat behind him. “Can you eat any louder? Jesus,” Stanley’s arm shot up, and with a backward throw, a handful of greasy popcorn spread in a wide array toward the voice.
The now popcorn-covered patrons in the rows behind Stanley started to make their feelings known. “What the hell?!,” “Animal,” “Jerk!!” was followed by, “Can’t you shut up?” and “We’re trying to watch the movie.”
Jason Evans sat quietly on the aisle seat of Stanley’s row, annoyed but patient. He tapped the arm of his wife and whispered, “What a flaming asshole.” She nodded and gave a “shh” that he barely heard. He took a few kernels of popcorn from the small box at his lap and relaxed in his seat while an immense anaconda slithered across the screen towards its prey. A tremendous eruption made him jump, made a lot of people jump, as Stanley belched most of the Co2 that had once been in his container of Dr. Pepper. A loud “Pardon my French” followed.
“Disgusting,” “Pig,” “Oh, my God,” was now heard from the far corners of the theater. Most of Evans’ small box of popcorn flew up when he jumped and much of that found its way onto the theatergoers surrounding him including Stanley Polodski, who took not one but two handfuls of popcorn and threw them in Evans’ general direction. Most landed on the people sitting between, but a particularly gooey clump landed on his wife who yelled “gross” as she used her fingers to pick through the well-distributed particles in her hair.
“Right!” An athletic-looking man, late middle-aged, whose 5’ 7” frame belied his physical capabilities, stood up. He edged through the now standing audience to confront Stanley whose bulk remained in his seat and whose elbows hogged the armrests on either side that he had obtained by steadily forcing off the arms that had been there originally. “Out!”
“Make me,” said Stanley over the angry voices of pretty much everyone in the audience.
“You are ruining this for everyone. You’re disgusting.”
Stan took one handful of popcorn to his mouth and while chewing managed to say, “I mow you tar ut hot mam oy.”
“What?”
A visible lump traveled down Stan’s throat, not unlike the capybara the anaconda has just swallowed whole up on the screen.
“I know you are but what am I?”
A crowd gathered round, yelling at Stanley. An usher with coke-bottle glasses and a hearing aid came forth, flashlight beaming into a full-moon face. “Stan. You better get going or I’ll call the cops. I really will this time.”
“Chill.”
“No, Stanley. Anyway, how many movies can you watch in a day? I can’t believe you’re eating again. Honestly.”
“Four.”
“Four? We’re only showing three.”
“I liked Deadpool. Saw it twice today.”
The film stopped, and the lights came on. A tall, thin, young man sporting a hipster beard and an ill-fitting burgundy blazer with the theater’s logo on the right breast pocket stormed down the aisle. He shook a five D-cell flashlight, looked grim, lips pursed, eyes glaring. His ears flapped back and forth like a charging elephant from the gauges as big as checkers dangling from his mutilated earlobes. Indeed, they were checkers, red and black. He shoved the usher aside and raged over Stanley.
“Dude, out, now…got it?” He pointed over his shoulder with the flashlight temporarily blinding the usher who cringed by behind.
“You almost blinded Algernon,” said Stan.
“It’s okay, Stanley,” said the usher.
“Algernon?” came from several people, including the manager with the gauges who turned to look at him.
“It’s a stupid nickname. My name’s Herbert.”
“Algernon’s better.”
“Keep out of it, Stanley!”
When the movie started up again, the manager yelled to the film booth. “Elmo! Stop the goddamn movie, you moron.” Then he said to the audience, “We’ll start from the top when Moby here leaves.”
“And no previews” yelled someone upfront.
“Can’t help those,” said the manager. “They’re in the loop.”
“I like previews,” said Stanley.
“You are out of here unless you’d like a preview of this,” said the manager waving his flashlight over his head.
“I’m not sure I follow,” said Stan. “I see a flashlight. You’re threatening me with it. Where’s the preview?”
“You’re outta here.”
Stanley stayed in his seat and much of those on either side of him. He retrieved the bucket of popcorn he somehow managed to squeeze between his thighs and threw it over the manager who was joined by a very large and solidly built black man in a rent-a-cop uniform. The people surrounding him applauded.
In one stride, the guard stepped over the row in front of Stanley. In a very loud and very deep voice, he said, “Alright, pal. Done and done. Out!” Applause rose from throughout the theater.
“I haven’t finished the movie or, for that matter, these…” he waved large boxes of Sno-Caps and Milk Duds and shook them like maracas. “Cha cha cha, amigo.”
“Eat ‘em elsewhere!”
“Alliteration. Not bad,” upon which Stanley opened the Sno-Caps, poured out a large handful, and started tossing them, one by one, at the guard who caught one in his mouth and immediately spat it out hitting Stan square in the eye. He then attempted to lift Stan out of his seat.
“I can’t budge him,” he groaned, whereupon the manager joined and managed to pull his arms up leaving the rest on solid ground. A muffled but distinct explosion, a rift of liquid rips, came from somewhere down in the seat. “Body-burp. Must have been the Indian food,” said Stanley settling back down.
A collective groan emitted from the dispersing crowd. One young woman, short, a tad heavyset, in a dusty blue business suit, stood on her tiptoes at the back of the throng. “What’s going on?” she asked a man standing next to her.
“They’re trying to throw that fat guy out.”
“Why?”
“He’s a pig and won’t move.”
“Ah,” she said, swinging her briefcase to make room and moved to stand at the exit.
“Right!” The manager then pushed three buttons on his cellphone, tapped the speaker, and held it up for all to hear.
“9-1-1. What’s the address of your emergency?”
“Bijoux Cineplex Three. We have a man disturbing the peace…He won’t leave…He’s throwing popcorn and stuff….Yeah, all over…Huh?…No, won’t leave…No this isn’t a crank call…What?…Yeah, I’d say he attacked, with popcorn. And Sno-Caps… I am serious…Do I feel threatened? Yeah, I’m threatened…Okay.”
Moments later two burly policemen parted the people in the aisle and approached the manager, guard, usher, and Stanley.
“He won’t leave. He’s throwing things.”
The one with stripes on his sleeve glared at Stanley. “Why are you throwing things?”
“I’m not.”
“HE IS!!!” shouted the crowd.
“Settle down, settle down. I’ll handle this. What’s all the popcorn doing on the floor then?”
“I spilled it.”
Again, the crowed chimed in; “He’s lying!” “We saw him” “He won’t shut up!”
“Relax! Buddy, they say you made this mess and won’t leave. Why don’t you just make it easy? You don’t want us to pull you in for disturbing the peace now, do you?”
“Is that really a crime, disturbing the peace?”
The two cops looked at each other, eyebrows squeezed. The one with the stripes took a deep breath and shook his head. “One of those nights,” he said.
Algernon stammered out. “Stan you don’t even have a ticket. You’re just going from movie to movie and that’s not allowed.”
“Tattletale,” said Stanley, tossing a Milk Dud at him.
“Trespassing it is! You’re coming with us,” said the one with the stripes. Stanley threw a Milk Dud at him as well.
It was only when he pulled out his Taser that Stanley put his hands into the air and stood, with effort, saying, “Top of the world, Ma. Top of the world.” The audience cheered as he was led out in cuffs. On the way, the short woman edged towards Stanley and thrust a card into his pocket. Holding a pinky to her mouth and thumb to her ear, she mouthed, “call me.” The usher snuck the remaining box of Milk Duds into the pocket of his burgundy polyester vest.
Stanley was taken to night court where the judge warned him he could get charged with a variety of offenses, not the least of which was contempt of court when Stanley belched, loudly, after the judge asked how he pled. Belch. “Not guilty.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, you’re honor. Not guilty.”
“Look, Mr. Polodski, this is a misdemeanor. A $100 fine and you’re out, done, go home. Stop wasting your time…and mine.”
“It’s the principle.”
“What principle?”
“Innocent until proven guilty.”
“I think an audience full of pissed-off moviegoers is pretty convincing evidence that you should just pay the fine and maybe start eating better.”
“My lawyer says otherwise.”
“Your lawyer?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“I drank a fifth!” said a swaying man who was yet to be brought before the judge on public intoxication charges.
The judge rolled his eyes, as did the policemen behind Stanley, the clerk, and the two kids, who’d been arrested for stealing a radio from a BMW, and then he set the date for a hearing. Stanley agreed, under duress, he said, to pay a $100 fine for littering.
He fingered his pocket, hoping for a lost Milk Dud but only found a business card of one Amy Resnick, Center City Defense, with a crude drawing of a well-built man in a dark suit holding a briefcase. Stanley wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a lawyer or criminal. He called the number, 462-2424, because the letters preceding it read, “IMA-BICH.” He liked that.
“Center City Defense. Resnick speaking. How can we protect you?”
“Uhh, I found your card in my pocket. I was at the movies and….”
“Stanley Polodski, right?”
“Yeah. I paid a fine but they…”
“Want you back for a hearing, pending trial on a series of petty issues that in aggregate could get you a hefty fine and a record and you need a defense.”
“I’m not sure…”
“Don’t interrupt me. You need a defense. That’s not a question. That’s a fact.”
“Okay, but I don’t want to pay….”
“Much. No one does. We’re a public service. Non-profit. We defend the innocent against the guilty. The little man against The Man, the….”
“I’m not little, I’m pretty….”
“Physically challenged. And discriminated against. There’s more prejudice against people who are overweight than any other group…race, religion, even gender. Did you know that?”
“No, I….”
“It’s not a question, it’s a fact.”
“Well, if it’s free.”
“You pay what you can afford. $500 should do it and, Stanley, trust me, the fines they’ll put on you will be far more than that. And a record? Hah. That’ll cost and in other ways.”
“I already spent $100 on the littering fine.”
“What? $100? Why’d you pay that?”
“The judge said so. I could leave if I paid, and I did throw stuff.”
“You spilled it. I heard you. It’s coercion and they won’t get away with it. We’ll get the money back and then some.”
“You’re hired!”
“You’re represented!”
Two weeks later, the court clerk asked Stanley Polodski to come forward. A sweaty, nervous, and tired district attorney read details of the events in question. The judge occasionally looked over his half-glasses and either smirked or frowned as he read, “Trespassing, disturbing the peace, malicious intent, resisting arrest, indecent conduct, threatening behavior, attempted assault, littering….”
“Objection!”
“Who are you?” asked the judge.
“Amy Resnick, attorney at law. I represent Mr. Polodski..”
“Counselor, this isn’t a trial. It’s a hearing. On misdemeanors, if I heard this fiction right.”
“Then I want these outrageous charges dismissed.”
“They are not charges yet, Ms. Resnick. This is a hearing to see if he should be charged. At your client’s insistence.”
“Oh. Well throw out the littering.”
“That’s funny,” said Stanley. “Throw out the littering. Get it?”
The judge banged the gavel. “Please keep it quiet. Now, why would we throw out anything yet, Ms. Resnick?”
“Double jeopardy! He paid a fine. Which we intend to recover.”
“Again, counselor, he’s not on trial and he paid a fine. It’s done.”
“Then why bring it up again?”
The DA intervened. “Hmm. Popcorn, Milk Duds, Sno-Caps, and the popcorn container. There are several instances.”
“It’s one instance, not several.”
“Ms. Resnick, how many hearings have you been involved with?”
“Your honor, that’s not relevant and would prejudice the jury.”
“Ms. Resnick, I’m asking out of curiosity. Let me point out there is no jury in a civil hearing. It’s just me.”
“And me,” said the DA.
“Whatever,” said the judge.
“This is my first.”
The judge looked hard at Amy Resnick. “Why am I not surprised? If this were a trial I’d sustain your objection, by the way. Listen, he paid the fine. However, if you say the charge was wrong, I would have to let the evidence go forth. Love the law Ms. Resnick…by studying it. Please continue.”
The DA raised his hand, signaling he had nothing further to add. The judge pushed up his glasses with his middle finger while eyeing Stanley. “You paid $100 for littering. I’ll fine you $100 for each of the other offenses, and dismiss assault and resisting arrest with or without the offending Milk Duds…”
“It was a Sno-Cap, your honor,” came from the DA.
“…the offending candy and let you go your own way. That’s $400. No record and depending on what I hear next will or will not add a restraining order on your attendance at the movie theater in question for a period to be determined. Are you okay with that? Fine.”
The DA pushed aside the papers in front of him and reached for a new folder for his next hearing.
“OBJECTION!”
“There’s nothing to object to Ms. Resnick. I saw your client nod his head. And anyway, it’s a hearing. There’s no evidence to object to!”
Stanley piped in, “I believe there’s no evidence to which to object, your honor.”
“Stanley, keep quiet and be done with it before I put a restraining order on you on behalf of this court.”
“Your honor, my client will behave. As he always has.”
“I hope not, Ms. Resnick.”
“These accusations are simply unfair. Mr. Polodski has a metabolic issue that is behind his physical state and is tormented by it. He’s been teased, abused, harassed and his emotions were taut that night, that very night, as he attempted to move to his seat. And he was attacked.”
“Attacked, Ms. Resnick?”
“He was hit by the guard with a Sno-Cap! The manager threatened him with his flashlight!”
“Where is this going, Ms. Resnick?”
“Bear with me, sir. He was already in an agitated state and to calm himself, he found comfort in food, in this case, Sno-Caps, Milk Duds, and well-buttered popcorn, after, again, sensing the prejudice against him as an obese person. The sound of him eating, well, he was only seeking a safe place.”
“Ms. Resnick, he snuck into that theater without a ticket.”
“Your honor, we can only imagine the contempt and derision Mr. Polodski received in each of the other theaters. He couldn’t enjoy those films under the stares and sneers. But did he object, complain, yell and make noises in those theaters? No sir, he did not. Rather he left those theaters to seek the entertainment he’d paid for but was unable to enjoy. It should be Stanley Polodski complaining. Clearly, something happened in that second theater….”
“Third. He was at the third.”
“Third then. Even worse. The poor man. Something happened that provoked him, and I put forth he was the victim of a societal view of what makes an attractive physique.”
“And the throwing of food?”
“Defense your honor. Self-defense. Beneath their cruel words and admonitions, he had no way to defend himself, and it would hardly be fair for him to have left the theater because of, because of a characteristic that others didn’t like. Have we not moved beyond such a system? Do we apply Jim Crow to waistlines? A Gentlemen’s Agreement to double chins?”
“He made obscene noises.”
“When is flatulating, yes, let’s call it what it is, a crime? What it is is a digestive disorder. Would a sneeze expelling pathogens have been more acceptable?”
“The officers who escorted him out of the theater said he refused to cooperate until they had threatened him.”
“Scared your honor. My client is a lonely, scared man. He was only trying to show the officers that he was, ahh, umm….”
“What counselor?”
“That he was worthy of their friendship, hence offering them Sno-Caps.”
“By throwing them?”
“By giving them in the only way he could. It’s hard for him to lean over. Due to his disability.”
At this Stanley leaned over an inch and groaned at the effort. “So true, sir. So true.”
The judge rolled his eyes again and looked at the DA.
“Do you want to add anything to this?”
“Sir?”
“You’re the DA. Do you have anything to say?”
“Well, no. I mean it’s about a few fines really. I was looking at the next case.”
The judge’s eyes rolled. Down went the gavel.
“Done. Counselor, please advise your client that if I see him in here again with any of this nonsense, I won’t be so generous. I’d advise you to advise him to keep away from that theater. Tell him to try Netflix.”
“I watch Netflix,” said Stanley.
“Good. Try The Crown. $400 to be paid to the clerk. And restitution to the Cineplex: three movies broken into. That’s $40.”
“I paid for one ticket.”
“$30 then. And quiet in my court.”
Amy Resnick cleared her throat and waved her hand. The judge looked up, a frown on his face.
“Yes?”
“About the first $100 fine, your honor. Under the circumstances, I think it’s only fair….”
The judge pointed his gavel menacingly toward the back of the courtroom, his eyes wide, and nodded his head at the doors. Amy Resnick smiled, elbowed Stanley, whose eyes had closed, and exited the room.
“My first case!! I won it.”
“Yeah, but I’m out $500.”
“Chump change. No record.”
She attempted to give Stanley a hug, her arms fitting only partially around his torso and Stanley reciprocated with a wet kiss on her lips, which she immediately wiped away with her arm.
“Stanley, that’s not appropriate.”
“What about attorney-client privilege?” he asked with an oddly flirtatious smile and leer in his eye. She grimaced, backing away, and said he could expect copies of the relevant court papers as well as her bill.
Some weeks later, well after the second overdue notice was sent to Stanley, Amy decided to go to the last theater in the city playing Lady Bird. She went alone, as usual, but it wasn’t all bad. She could buy a large bucket of buttered popcorn and not feel self-conscious.
The only seats available were in the middle of the rows, single seats. She bent forwards, apologizing as she squeezed through the narrow gap between the rows. Amy sat just as the lights dimmed and the coming attractions started to roll. It was during the trailer for the next Deadpool that she became aware of grunts, complaints, and a general disturbance in front of her. A mass was working its way up the row, stepping on toes, stumbling into people, and taking an inordinately long time to get to the one empty seat. It sat there, causing the metal frame to squeal under its weight as its limbs pushed aside the arms that had been on the armrests. It sat forward several times, loudly unwrapping boxes, before putting on a ski hat that stood up like a fez, largely blocking Amy’s limited view.
“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind taking off your hat? It makes it hard for me to see the movie. Thank you.”
Amy was immediately coated with most of the contents of a super-jumbo bucket of popcorn that Stanley Polodski tossed over his head.