Casandra in the movie theater lobby.
“I was there,” I told my children, “when history was made.”
The year was 1988. Or thereabouts. I was in the lobby of a movie theater with three of my friends. We were all journalism students in Metro State University of Denver, working on the student newspaper, the Metropolitan.
I don’t remember the movie we were about to see, or the names of my friends, although I can still see their faces. We were milling about, talking about getting popcorn and sodas and pooling our “meager pennies” for that, when we were approached by a woman wearing a blond, perky ponytail and a dark blue blazer and holding the ubiquitous clipboard.
“Can I ask you guys a question?” she asked us. I’m sure we all shrugged cooly, in that Gallic way of the French, or said, “Sure,” or some other awesome thing 19- and 20-year-olds do in such circumstances.
“Wouldn’t it be easier and more convenient to pay for this movie and concessions with a credit card?” she asked us.
It was then I saw the future.
And the future was fucked.
I saw no limits.
On anything.
I envisioned a cheeseburger at McDonald’s costing $10. And thought about that same movie ticket we just bought for $4 was someday going to cost $20 (just the…
