Spider Prophet

I sat in fear tonight at the Cosi’s on Union Square.

My friend Adam and I had gotten together to find him some new Magic: the Gathering cards (they get old so fast. Damned marketing schemes!). After finding our first location, Neutral Ground, closed for the day, we headed down to Forbidden Planet on Union Square. Finding exactly what we were looking for, we left Planet and tried to figure out a place to eat. I’d just finished designing some icons that I wanted to show him and upload, so I suggested the Cosi’s across the street.

I found out a few weeks ago after stumbling upon a Cosi’s on 8th Street that I love this latest chain-restaurant. Slowly growing for the past few years, more and more locations have been popping up around the city. I frequent one at one of my internships, and trek purposefully to this one between 6th & Broadway. Playing a lot of alternative/soft rock (reminded me of how much I like Dave Matthews Band), free wireless internet and it’s inception being the creation of a new kind of flat bread (that is delicious), it was destined to become a hit with me and my carb-craving self.

So we walk over to the Cosi and it turns out to be like anything but the places I’m used to. The lights have been dimmed down to the point where everything just looks like it’s a shade of gray with a hint of color. We have to wait to be seated, and once we are, for a waiter to take our orders. And though this is the usual deal at a restaurant, this is not how Cosi’s is usually run. After our drink orders are taken, we’re served our soda in plastic cups and were given a plastic knife and fork, along with out paper napkins. The internet would not connect to my laptop, and the waiter would disappear without checking on us.

I’ve only ever been to one other restaurant that does this, Atlanta Bread Company in White Plains. They do the restaurant turn over at night, but you order your food at the register and then stick a card with a number on a stand on your table and that’s it. That’s the most interaction you have with a “waiter.” you’ve already paid and you don’t have to worry about anything else. The lighting has been dimmed, but only enough so that they can bring out candles to put on all the tables. I sit down knowing that my chair is red.

Adam and I stared at each other, and then he started preparing to take the waiter down with the plastic knife. And though this would probably have been funny in any other situation (and I did laugh a good chunk that night), upsetting a vegetarian on a diet who usually does not like waiters (or waitresses) is not a good idea. Especially when he believes that the food you served him turned out to be the most unappetizing he could have expected.

It became my job to get us out of there, though I failed miserably at it as our waiter continued to dodge in and out of a back section and look anywhere but in our direction. Adam finally flagged down a waitress and asked her for our check. And though she said “Yes, of course,” nothing arrived. About five minutes, after many assurances to my comrade that we would be leaving shortly, our checked arrived with a big “Thank You!” written on the top left of the check. I can’t help but smile at it and point it out to Adam who gives me a look of disdain.

- Spider

“What’s your name?” the younger woman from earlier asks the now bespectacled woman.

“Lorraine. And this is Allan” Lorraine says, gesturing toward her companion. Allan makes no movement in response to his introduction.

“I’m Linda.”

“And you?” Lorraine asks, turning her gaze to me.

“Jose” I say immediately. I have an issue with giving out my name to people I don’t know, so I use my given name as a personal defense. I look down at her, wondering if she will pull some womanly intuition on me and read into my mind to discover that I’ve technically lied to her. But eventually she just nods and continues to discuss how much she knows about the free movie process.

“They’re happening all over the city every week. The key is to get on their mailing list” she says. I take this as my opportunity to go back to my graphic novel, or at least let it seem to everyone else that I am.

I’m relatively undisturbed until the ticket takers come. Thankfully no one gets thrown out of line, but there is a rush to make sure that everyone gets a ticket. Everyone begins flashing their computer print-outs and variously colored fliers. I try to remain still, but the line is reforming as people receive tickets. Eventually I get my ticket and move over, only to feel Lorraine’s hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s go, Jose.” The line hasn’t started to move yet, but it’s about to. I get ready, and try to figure out how to inform Lorraine that I do not want her hand, which has now moved to my arm, on me. But instead I remain silent and assume that it will disappear once we get moving. It does, though not until we’ve nearly reached the escalator. We go up two escalators, being reminded by event workers that we must have our tickets out or we will not be let in. I hold onto my little white raffle ticket and search for a seat once I make it into the theater.

I end up in the lower-top middle, a decent seat for this side of a theatre. The center seats have all been roped off for the press. As I made my way to my seat, I hear Lorraine telling the usher how rude it is to hold of seats for the press, even if it is a press screening. I make it into my aisle in time to hear the usher breathe out in exasperation.

I reach my seat and I think, Safety at last! By luck I’ve winded up next to Linda and her husband, who seem content to keep to themselves. That is, until the person behind us starts to speak and Linda turns back around in her seat.

“Hey! Didn’t you sit next to me at the screening yesterday?!” she says, a smile spreading across her face. Indeed, this  is the very same man. They continue to speak and I bury my eyes and thoughts deeper into Fables, wondering if there will be previews during this screening.

The press arrives and the movie begins, and we all laugh at the wonder of live action Disney. I forget that I’m alone and remember that I came because I thought I would enjoy the movie. An hour and forty-five minutes later, the movie ends and people begin to get up and walk out of the still dark theater. In the cloak of darkness, no one speaks to one another, choosing to leave in silence instead. I see my chance and grasp it, before Lorraine catches me in the lobby after and asks me if I want to join her and Allan for an after movie coffee. I walk past her seat, but she is so engrossed in the soundtrack and credits that she doesn’t even notice that I’m there.

I consider waving goodbye for a moment, but decide against it and continue to descend the stairs. I should make sure to bring someone next time, I think to myself. After all, human shields are a lot less noticeable.

- Spider

There is a sub-culture in New York. Yes, making that statement is pointing at the obvious, but I just recently had an encounter with this particular group: Free Movie Goers.

Working a 9-5 schedule, and at two offices in midtown, I find myself around Lincoln Center frequently. As I walk to Barnes and Noble, the streets are filled with people heading home from work, going for a stroll with the baby, or doing some early-evening shopping. Prime time for Green Peace, HRC, and jug carrying UHO volunteers to hit the streets. However, among the money collectors and outreach workers, there are also people yelling into the crowd: “Free Screening of “American Gangster” this Wednesday!” They are, what I will call, the Movie Leafleteers.

Spotted along the block wherever a movie theater is present, these young men and women withstand the chilly, and soon to be wintery, weather and give out passes for free advance screenings around New York City (usually at the theater that they’re standing in front of, but occasionally at specific locations). Passersby are drawn to Movie Leafleteers for their non-uniformed and broke appearance. They stand there hanging out passes, trying to get as many people as possible during this high-traffic period of the day. Now, one screening may be for your feedback, others just to provide a full audience for a press viewing. But either way, you get a free movie, weeks/months in advance that you won’t get in trouble with the FBI for watching.

I picked one up on Sunday for today. I called the number on the flyer to reserve my place and just showed up at the theater address. I happened to get out of work early that day, so I showed up 30 minutes before lines were scheduled to start. I figured that there was some time to be wasted, and that perhaps I would read one of the comics I had supplied for myself. I quickly realized this was not the case when I was greeted by a line that was about 40 people deep. This is not shocking, however, considering that seats are not guaranteed though you may have RSVPed for the screening. I took my place in line and pulled out a copy of Fables to read as I planned my hour-and-a-quarter wait before the scheduled showtime.

Slowly, more and more people showed up and the left side of the theater’s lobby was congested with us. As I looked up from my reading, I watched people talking to each other, not really paying attention to what was being said. That is, until I heard the penetrating voice of the woman behind me: “I always say I’m 49.”

I try not to look up and show that I’m paying attention to the conversation, but she’s got me hooked, and I think she knows it.

“That’s the age range they’re looking for. Eighteen to forty-nine. I can’t pass for thirty anymore, but I can say I’m forty-nine,” she says, winking at the man standing with her. She goes on to talk about how she heard about this particular screening, through her e-mail. “I know everyone who does this” she says. “But they’re not here today.” Nobody bothers to point out the problem with her statement. “What kind of a pass do you have?” the woman asks, pointing at my folded sheet of lavender paper.

“Oh–It’s a pass that I picked up on 66th,” I quickly respond, unfolding and showing this imposing woman the paper. Though I’ve been deemed a social butterfly for years now, my roots are firmly based in social awkwardness. Inside, I’m quivering to the core and I’m sure that she must know.

“Oh, this is the one that kicks you out if you’re black or too old” she said, remarking to the screening company’s name. “I was at a screening with a friend a few weeks ago and they started to pull people out. All they’re concerned about is having the right demographics. They let me stay in the line, though.” She made no comment on whether her friend ended up seeing the movie or not, and again, no one questioned her.

“What movie was that?” asked a younger woman from further back in the line.

“You know, I don’t remember. It may have been Big Mama” the older woman responds as she pulls out a pair of glasses, that clearly hint at her actual age, and slips them on. “Yes, I think so. I saw Rendition the week after that.”

“Oh, I saw that this weekend,” I say without thinking.

“Did you pay for it?” she asks quickly. I can hear the “tsk-tsk” at the end of the question.

“Yeah. I went with a friend who came to visit me.”

“Oh, I never pay for movies anymore. Either I make a showing or I don’t go at all” says the woman in front of me in line. She has three kids with her. I smile weakly realizing that I’ve made a mistake by admitting to paying for movies. But how can paying for movies be so bad? I think to myself. Isn’t that how most people see them? I mean, they can’t gross millions unless people are buying tickets.

I take the lull in my sentencing to look around the crowd, and that’s when it hits me. Everyone is talking to one another. Though they all showed up separately, and didn’t really pay each other any attention in the beginning, everyone who was present was now chatting up a storm. This side of the lobby suddenly fell victim to a tumult of chatter. They know each other. Suddenly, I feel even more singled out than I did arriving alone. Here I was thinking that I’d arrived a carefree individual in the mood for a free movie. Little did I know that I was infiltrating a secret society with magnitudes similar to that of going stag to your high school prom.

- Spider