For the most part, going to the movies is the equivalent of an expensive nap for us. We are both on the move most of the time and usually sleep-deprived, so when we slow down and sit completely still our brains signal our bodies that it is time to sleep.
We were glad to see that our local theater understands this. Their seats used to be big puffy chairs with huge cupholders that would hold a 2-liter of soda, but they have remodeled and now the big puffy chairs that hold 2-liter drinks also recline.
We found the recline quite by accident. I saw a button on the arm of my chair and said, “I wonder what this is?”
The husband said, “Don’t touch that if you don’t know—”
WHOOSH! I was in recline position. Totally reclined.
If there had been skylights, I could have been stargazing.
If a dentist had appeared holding that crooked little wire tool that makes that scratching noise, I would have instinctively opened my mouth.
“How did you do that to the chair?” the husband asked.
“I just hit this button on the arm. Look, you have one right —”
WHOOSH! He was reclining, too.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I may have vertigo.”
“I feel like I’m about to be wheeled off to surgery. All that’s missing is the IV and an anesthesiologist calmly insisting I will wake up when the surgery is over.”
Others around us are reclining as well. I can’t see a chair that isn’t reclining. My maternal instincts want to check on the younger people in recliners asking if they’re comfortable, need their favorite stuffed animal, a blankie or a drink of water.
The husband says to stay put. If they’re old enough to buy a ticket, they’re old enough to bring their own blankie.
I have no choice but to stay put. Finding how the button works to get the chair upright is not as easy as getting it to recline.
The recliners are so comfortable they are not exactly conducive to alertness. We don’t always stay awake when we’re upright in a movie theater, let alone in nap position. It doesn’t matter if it’s a car chase, buildings exploding or double-agents cliff jumping, at some point both of us will probably doze during key plot developments. We put the storyline together on the way home in the car.
The theater fills and moviegoers are clearly relaxed and enjoying the new recliners.
“They’re sitting on a gold mine,” I say to the husband. “I’ve read about businesses that set up nap rooms where employees can catch a few winks on a cot. Think how many hours this theater is not showing movies and the recliners all go unused. They could rent them out for naps. Great idea, don’t you think? Who couldn’t sleep in one of these?
“Honey?”
