Lewis Grizzard Wednesday: Don’t touch my popcorn

Don’t Touch My Popcorn

NEW YORK – This is incredible. Here I am in the entertainment capital of the world, and I go into a movie theater on Broadway, the entertainment street of the world, and I can’t buy popcorn.

There was popcorn in the movie theater. There was just nobody behind the counter to sell it.

“I would like to speak to the manager,” I said to the man who had taken my ticket. “There’s nobody to sell the popcorn.”

“The manager’s not here,” said the man, “but I can tell you why there’s nobody to sell the popcorn. The popcorn girl didn’t show up for work.” All the kids have zits

“What’s the problem with her?” I asked. “She has a new zit?” (Ever notice that all kids who work for movie theaters have terrible acne.)

“No,” the ticket taker replied, “her boyfriend, Julio, lost his earring in a gang fight and she’s helping him look for it.”

“Why don’t you sell me some popcorn,” I asked.

“No way,” he answered. “The union won’t let me.”

I’m dying for a bag of popcorn and I have to run into Samuel Gompers.

The reason I go to movies in the first place is for the popcorn. A movie without popcorn is like a punkhead without an earring.

I always buy the largest container of popcorn available, so if the movie is long and boring, like Amadeus, I still have a good time eating all that popcorn.

I’m also very stingy with my popcorn. If I take a date to the movie, I always ask her politely, “Will you have some popcorn?”

Most women answer that by saying, ” No, I’ll just have some of yours.” Nobody can eat a little

I never fall for that. Nobody can eat just a little popcorn, so what happens when a woman doesn’t have her own is she starts eating yours, and pretty soon, it’s all gone.

I say, “Listen, you can have as much, or as little, popcorn as you want, but you must carry it to your seat in your own personal container. Try to get some of mine, and you’ll draw back a nub.”

I rarely have a second date with a woman I take to a movie, but a man must have his priorities in order.

The movie I saw sans popcorn was Rob Reiner’s “Stand By Me.”

It’s about four twelve-year-olds who go looking for a dead body, and nearly get eaten by a junkyard dog, run over by a train, drained dry of their blood by leeches, and sliced by bullies’ switchblades. It’s a comedy.

But that’s about all I remember. I was too busy thinking about popcorn to pay much attention to the movie.

As I was leaving the theater,the popcorn girl finally was showing up for work with Julio and his relocated earring in tow.

You’re both a disgrace to the good name of Orville Redenbacher,” I said, wishing on both the dreaded curse of large, red zits on the ends of their noses.

Harsh, perhaps, but popcorn is my life.

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