We went to see the biggest movie in the world starring the biggest recently-dead celebrity in the world in one of the biggest cities in the world. So why the FUCK was the air conditioning off?

Heath Ledger apparently channeling a hungover Casey Spooner.

We went to see the biggest movie in the world starring the biggest recently-dead celebrity in the world in one of the biggest cities in the world. So why the FUCK was the air conditioning off?

We got there an hour and a half early and waited in line with people way fatter than your average mid-westerner (which is rare in Brooklyn). I’ve never seen people actually order the nachos at a movie theater but I’d say that was about a third of the portable buffet they were holding in their turgid hands.

Anyway, about a third of the way through the movie it becomes impossible to ignore the fact that the temperature in this giant, black room is the exact same as the inside of my mouth. Nobody I was with was man enough to do anything about it (including Curtis Brown) so I got out of my chair and went over to the first uniform I could find. After quietly explaining our predicament, dude said he would talk to the manager and the AC would be on presently by and by. Well, he didn’t say “Presently by and by” but he would if he had the command of the English language that I have.

Another 40 minutes or so went by (this movie goes on forever by the way) and it became clear my complaint recipient had swallowed my chagrin and shat it into the toilet bowl of his memory like a sad turd nobody should have to see. This is not unlike the time my wife called a smoothie place on Ave A to complain they gave her food poisoning and the response was a gum-chewing Puerto Rican saying, “Thank you for your call” before hanging up.

So I got up AGAIN and breezed past all the nearest uniforms to try to get to the boss. Three flights of escalators later, I pushed my way through the popcorn line and spoke to a “manager” who was replenishing the “butter.” She told me she would take care of it but warned it would take a while to get the room cold. I walked back to the theater feeling pretty good about myself until it dawned on me she hadn’t asked which of the 13 United Artist Court Street Theaters I was sitting in. Fuck.

So now it’s been about an hour and a half and people are literally using pieces of cardboard as fans to try to break the nothingness that is air temperature in a dark pit during a heat wave. I mumbled the mantra “Fuck this” and was BACK down the three escalators to the ground floor. Now, if you explore the Court Street Theater long enough you will find a door that says, “This is not the manager’s office. Do not knock,” then a bunch of shit about picking up a Theater phone and dialing extension 231 or whatever. I started feverishly knocking on this sign until an off-duty employee ran over and asked me what the hell I was doing. I told him knocking on the door and he said, “Oh man. You’re not supposed to knock on that door” and he was shaking his head in a “You really did it now, didn’t you?” kind of way. What is it with people and rules? It’s like they love being told what to do and are happy to follow any 8.5 x 10 piece of paper if it’s been laminated and taped to something at eye level. So this black lady opens the door and she looks PISSED. She tells me I can’t knock on this door and her angry voice is so fast and furious it almost threw me off my complaining game. ALMOST. So I come back at the bitch with a “face full of verbal” as Steve Jones would say and she recedes back into her hole while telling me the real manager is behind the ticket counter and I shouldn’t stop until I find her. As she closes the door a blast of freezing air hits me in the face.

So I get to the ticket counter and ask the previous manager, the butter one, to take me to her leader. No bullshit this time. She looks to the left and then to the right and then up at me and says “follow me” by cocking her head. After walking through about 100 people in line ups I end up at a beautiful ticket counter that appears to be reserved solely for aristocrats. A very busy, chubby woman with a believable weave comes out, apologizes for the inconvenience and offers to give me coupons to come back in exchange for my party’s ticket stubs (which I had). She didn’t argue with me but she didn’t say the air conditioning was coming on. I couldn’t help but get the feeling everyone was in on this No AC Scam and had purposely kept it off to save money. Everyone I spoke to seemed caught red-handed and acted like a kid who had refused to mow the lawn all summer but realized there was no longer any other way around it.

After getting the coupons and holding them safely in my hand, I insisted she up the ante and give me a cash refund. She conceded and I was done. Victory. The air conditioning was not on but at least I hadn’t been ripped off.

By now it was too late to go back up the stairs so I walked around Court Street for another 20 minutes waiting for my friends. I thought it would be about 5 minutes but I’m telling you: This movie is at least three hours long. Factor in how early you have to be when it’s a premier and you’re basically spending a full work day at the theater. After everyone got out, I gave each of my peers their respective coupons and kept the cash refund for myself. It was mine. I earned it.

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