Memorial Day Matrix
May 29, 2003
by Michael Walls

I saw The Matrix Reloaded this past holiday weekend. (Don't worry – I’m not giving anything away within this story.) Now, I'm a big Matrix fan. I’m one of those fans who has been chomping at the bit for this sequel since the minute I finished watching the original Matrix. I’m also one of those fanatics who know all about the "making of the Matrix," all the behind-the-scenes stuff, all the Wachowski Brothers gossip, etc. Just a complete nut.

So when it was determined that my wife and I would have guaranteed babysitting services while visiting the in-laws for the memorial day weekend, we made plans for a Saturday night at-the-movies for The Matrix Reloaded. Very exciting.

In addition to being a big Matrix fan, I’m also a big "movies" fan. I love going to the movies. And it's not so much "the movie" itself – it's more of the preparation and anticipation of going to the movies.

So for the big night out to the movies, I wanted everything to be perfect, so I insisted on leaving 15 minutes earlier then necessary. I wanted good seats and there might be a line (even though the Matrix Reloaded has been in theatres for nearly a week already). On the drive there my wife informs me (rather casually, I might add) that she needs to run into the drug store, right next to the movie theatre, to get some children's cough medicine for one of our kids.

"What! We won't have time!"

"Oh, it'll only take a minute," she says.

Christ.

We get to the shopping center and the parking lot is packed.

"We're never gonna get good seats."

"Oh, we're twenty minutes early. Just relax."

Christ.

I find a parking spot and we walk towards the theatre. In front of the drug store my wife says, "I'll be right out."

"Okay," I say. "I'll get the tickets. Meet me out front."

I get in line and impatiently watch a family of five argue about whether to see The Matrix Reloaded or Bruce Almighty. I finally get to the window and get my tickets. As I turn to go wait for my wife, the ticket lady says, "Ah…sir? Your change?"

I take the $4 and wait outside the movie theatre for what seems like an eternity. I hear person after person say "The Matrix" to the ticket window lady, and watch through the windows, group after group enter the theatre labeled "Theatre #3 – The Matrix".

I finally see my wife exit the drug store, across the parking lot. She stands there for a second, than looks around. She finally sees me – standing in front of the movie theatre (like we agreed). I give the universally-understood, shoulder shrug, hands out to my sides, palms up, "what-the-frick-are-you-doing?" gester.

She takes – what seems like – her sweet-ass time walking over to me.

I don't even bother reaming her out for taking forever. I just grab her hand and walk into the theatre. I'm practically dragging her through the lobby on my way to theatre #3. We enter and to my relief it is only half full. I relax my grip on my wife’s hand a bit and navigate to a pair of aisle seats halfway down the aisle. There is a short, middle-aged couple, not talking or moving around too much, in front of us. Perfect. Nothing ruins a movie like a gigantic fat guy, or lady with big hair, or a group of giggling teenagers, or some jackass who jumps up every fifteen minutes to get something. So after determining that all of the movie elements are near perfect, satisfied that we’ve traversed all of the possible movie-going pitfalls, I relax in my seat – eagerly anticipating the start of The Matrix Reloaded.

My wife atones for her drug store fiasco by pulling out a box of Crunch n' Munch she smuggled into the movie theatre.

The lights dim, and the previews start, and I lean back in my seat with a big smile on my face. And when the movie finally starts, I break into the Crunch n' Munch (because I can't eat movie snacks until the actually movie begins).

Forty-five minutes into The Matrix Reloaded, a movie I’ve waited two years to see, something happens to me that has never happened to me during a movie.

I have to go to the bathroom.

For the past twenty minutes, I’ve been feeling a strange pressure on my bladder. I tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away. But now, the symptoms are undeniable. I have to piss, and it’s starting to distract me. I look around me – as if there might be a urinal at the back of the theatre.

My wife sees me fidgeting and asks me what's wrong. I tell her and she give me a look of horror, followed by a stifled laugh. I wait until there seems to be a lull in the action and I get up and head to the back of the theatre, trying not to run.

Once in the hallway, I break into a casual jog down to the men's room. There is no one in the bathroom, and I practically piss on myself trying to take care of business. I consider flushing and washing up, but realize I'm barely able to zip up before I'm already pushing out the door. With no one in the hallway, I sprint to the theatre, convinced I'm going to walk into the middle of some elaborate fight scene.

I pull open the door and the theatre is dark and quiet and the scene on the screen hasn’t changed much – just some people talking. I fumble down the aisle until I recognize the form of my wife and sit down next to her. I know I haven't, but I still ask, "did I miss anything?"

She's got a big smile on her face and whispers, "You've only been gone 60 seconds. Did you pee in the hallway?"

I scrap the bottom of the Crunch n' Munch box and enjoy the rest of The Matrix Reloaded without incident.

(Michael Walls is a volunteer staff writer for 2 Walls Webzine)