In the chapter entitled “Food” in my new childhood memoir, I tell a short story about an embarrassing moment in a movie theatre. Here goes:
My appetite had no limits (except for the aforementioned green stuff), until one day it reached its embarrassing maximum at the worst possible time. This was circa 8th grade, and we had a youth group outing to the cinema. It must have been a depressed time for youth-group appropriate films because we ended up seeing the immensely forgettable “FATSO” starring Dom DeLuise. We settled into our seats, and I munched on a snack as usual. However, my stomach had no idea what pratfalls awaited it courtesy of this film. A little background. The premise of the movie is important here. Dom DeLuise plays a fat man—thus the name “FATSO”—who is desperate to lose weight. His doctor goes to extremes by chaining and locking all his kitchen cabinets shut so the fatso can’t access his food. The movie itself shows an endless stream of images about food—cakes, cookies, candies, meats, and everything in between. This became the problem because, as I started watching the film, my stomach felt a little off-kilter. I felt unsettled, and as the endless images of food continued unabated minute after minute, I became nauseous. Each time Dom tried to cheat on a donut or grab a leg of fried chicken, I just wanted to hurl. I couldn’t, however. Not in a movie theater, not in front of my youth group friends, not in front of any girl I wanted to impress. My stomach sauntered back and forth like an anchor-less boat adrift at the whims of the sea. When will this movie end? When can I stop looking at food? The rest of my group had no idea the amount of suffering I endured from Dom Deluise. Sure, they had suffering too, just trying to stomach the movie, but I had to stomach the movie on a bad stomach.
As the flick mercifully concluded, I stood up and smiled at everyone in our group. They chatted about their thoughts on the movie. We walked up the sloped aisle toward the exit into the foyer. The box office was to the right and there was an exit to the parking lot straight ahead on the other side of the foyer. As I emerged from the theater, a long line of theater-goers stood behind the red velvet rope ready to enter the next showing. As they watched us emerge, my stomach said enough is enough. And as I was still fifteen feet from the parking lot exit door, I bent over and vomited every piece of food I had just watched on the big screen. Voluminous streams and chunks spread out all over the theater tile floor in front of the dozens of patrons waiting to see this movie. In that moment, I didn’t think about embarrassment, I thought only of purge. Purge the demons which tilted my normally rock-solid stomach on edge. Purge them all. Out with them. Now. More. Heave. Gag. Repeat. Once again.
As I finished, I stood up, ashen white, gasping for air exactly like the look on the theater employee’s face, who would have the pleasure of cleaning up my mess. My youth group leader came to my side and asked me if I was all right.
“I am now.”
The puddle of goo on the ground was massive, but there was nothing any of us could do about it. I walked around its circumference and pushed open the door to the cool autumn evening air.
“I feel so much better,” I said.
I looked back and noticed a mop started doing its duty, as the waiting patrons looked away in disgust, trying their best not to gag and add to the mess. I like to believe I added authenticity to the movie they waited to see.
The Logic of a Gen X Appalachian Boy is available now in paperback and ebook. I think you’ll find the simple stories humorous, poignant, and nostalgic. Thanks for reading.
