"He looks at the other security guard. His name tag identifies him as
Doctor. He’s also a total pro. Doctor enters my row. "May I get past
you?" he asks. I move my legs, and he passes.
I pick up a book
I’ve been carrying with me, my jersey, and the contraband, and I raise
my arms so they can get a grip under my armpits. "Is that cool?" I ask.
They nod. And lift me out of my seat.
I don’t help them. I let my legs drag on the carpet as they carry me up the stairs.
Some guy says, "Throw this fucker down the stairs! I wanna watch the fuckin’ movie! Throw him!"
Some girl says, "Jeez. Save your protests for something worthwhile, like saving the whales or something."
Lofty says, "Take him out!"
outside, I write down everyone’s name in my little black Moleskine.
Lofty refuses to give me the phone number of the cinema. Another
assistant manager arrives, and I ask him for the number. He gives it to
me. It’s (011) 8.. 4….. Write this number down. If you ever find that
the movie’s out of focus or the aircon is set wrong, or the sound is
messed, phone this number. Tell Lofty Roy gave it to you. And tell him
that if he doesn’t rectify the problem, you’ll be glad to get your
money back, or a voucher for another movie. And he’s compelled by
distribution agreements to give you that voucher."
Johannesburg, South Africa
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