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The Naked City has been the venue of movie-related tirades before. If there's ever another "Saw" sequel made, then there will be more. Until that unsavory day comes, however, I have another bone to pick with cinemas that has probably afflicted them since as long as they've been around: the sale of popcorn for consumption during the film.
Sure, it tickles the taste buds without the risk of ruining your after-movie meal, as its glutinous supporters will likely point out. Like with the average hamburger (cows producing methane, ect.), it can still have calamitous effects on the environment that go unnoticed by the unobservant.
Even in popcorn's creation, there's a horrible amount of indecency—not all of the preparation happens by the kettle, and for good reason.
Instead, the process begins out of the public's gaze as its oil is heated. Imagine if you will, five-gallon cans filled to the brim with solid coconut oil; health benefits aside, it'll still make your heart cry, and your eyes as well, as sword-like heaters are stabbed into what appears to be Crisco in order for it to melt. Only once the oil is melted will it be carried out to be poured over the popcorn. After witnessing the process for myself in all of its unappetizing shame, I'd rather tour a slaughterhouse than see it again.
Then there's the unavoidable sound that popcorn makes when eaten. Anyone that's ever eaten popcorn knows what I'm talking about; and has probably felt annoyance at others while immersed into an especially good movie, only to be jerked back into reality by the crunching blast it makes while being shoveled into their mouth. The only reason that cinemas don't ban popcorn like phones is the insanely high profit margin the former makes.
From the time of its purchase to the movie's ending credits, about a quarter of the container's contents inevitably drop to the floor only to be crushed and ground into the carpet, making it next to impossible to move to the trash. Remembering the unwritten rule of not pissing people off that work in the service industry, it is a miracle that the phrase "going postal" had to refer to post-office and not cinema employees.
So screw you, you starchy, salty and buttery douche-bags. I'd rather go drink in public than let you ruin my next movie-going experience
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