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03/06/2004: "A Date with my Dunce"
Every once in a while, I like to remind myself exactly why I don't take the Bald Wonder places. Today was such a reminder, and I took him with me to spoil the ending of Monsieur Ibrahim. We approach the ticket window, and figuring he's painfully shy, it would be cruel to make him talk to the theatre employee. (Megan was her name, a sort of cute, bespectacled girl with brown hair.) He asked for one ticket (I'd be smuggled since he was here), to "that film, y'know... that one. I don't speak French, sorry." She wore a blank stare, obviously confused either at what he was talking about, or what was being said. He finally stuttered out "that subtitled French film, something I-bra-ham-im-in-something." She traded him money for ticket (matinee, only $5.75), and was very nice about telling us to follow the yellow line into the theater within the mall. Thus, my new phrase will be, "... that y'know, I don't speak French, sorry." Egads.