Like a doctor’s office, God’s Waiting Room branches off into smaller rooms, inner chambers, if you will. One ventures beyond The Door when a nurse summons you to weigh you and see whether you still have a pulse, probably similar to the process you’ll endure when you’re measured for your wings.
In doctor’s offices, these inner sanctums are called exam rooms. In Florida, they can be called emergency rooms, bingo parlors, elderly day-care centers, all-you-can-eat buffets with early-bird specials, and discount movie theaters — especially discount theaters that also have a senior citizen discount.
Perhaps I’m being hyperbolic, but perhaps not — after all, I’m pushing the age formerly known as retirement — when I saw the traditional theater aroma of buttered popcorn must fight to get its own two scents in above the smell of Ben-Gay. This is all in good fun, so I hope these words don’t make anybody go grayer than I already am.
Besides, it’s about my entering the theater with four grandsons in tow and emerging from the cartoon movie just barely being able to keep pace with the senior citizens hobbling from the anterooms where they had viewed movies with more adult themes. So I’m in the same shape, almost needing a walker.
The Four Horsemen and I attended "Rango," a cartoon flick that kids can enjoy and Western aficionados such as I can enjoy just as much while trying to pinpoint which cowboy movies it takes jabs at, from the obvious Spaghetti Westerns of Clint Eastwood's Man-With-No-Name era, to nearly obvious ones such as "Cat Ballou," to the oh, so subtle hint of "Once Upon a Time in the West." And, for the heck of it, the flick tosses in scenes reminiscent of "Star Wars."
Although I'm a huge fan of the Spaghetti Westerns, I've always thought that they were too long, as is "Rango," Johnny Depp or no.
Concerns about length are natural when taking four lads ages 2 to 9, especially because Patrick can become restless and lobby to go home. And that happened shortly after I'd gotten the boys lined up with their smuggled candy and I'd divvied up the two large Icy drinks, when a HUGE guy came in just as the show started and plopped right in front of Patrick. Poor tot had no hope of seeing around the guy, and he whimpered immediately that he'd like to go home.
I was sitting at the other end of the boy line, so I crouched down and started to crawl past Jack, Luke and Vincent to rescue Patrick. Somewhere along the line, I tripped over a foot — I'm not sure which boy's and I'm SURE nobody tripped me intentionally, and I lurched forward.
I caught myself, kinda-sorta, and that's when the muscle pulled. I was afraid my back had gone out, as it has a couple of times doing really inconsequential things that twisted my back just a tad.
Fortunately, even though the pain pinched, I was able to maintain as much composure and dignity as a guy can sprawling headlong across a row of seats. The trip, so to speak, was in vain, because I couldn't talk Patrick into sitting in my lap so he could see better. Melissa tells me that's because he gets possessive even after he's been in a seat for only a few seconds.
As for my back, it didn't seem to hurt all that much, until I stood up, or tried to. It was a slow process, walking gingerly, but my back felt better by the time I got to the lobby. That's when I looked back and saw the legions of older folks slowly walking my way. Plodding. Slowly. Along. Like a wild stampede. Of snails.
Suddenly, I felt young again.
The real pain didn't hit until the next day. Even though it wasn't nearly as bad as some of the other times my back has gone out, it put me in my place. In God's Waiting Room.
Just a few weeks before, when grandson Avery visited, I was able to pick the 1-year-old up effortlessly. Now, it'll be awhile.
During that visit, the Four Horsemen (from left) Vincent, Jack, Luke and Patrick hammed it up while Melissa held her nephew.
P.S.: Don't ask ME why those pix are so small. Operator error plus, I really can't do any heavy lifting right now.
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