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Tuesday night, I took one small step for me and one giant leap for womankind. I went to watch a movie by myself. PGP.
I didn’t just watch any movie. Oh, no. That would be too simple and kind to the gray hairs sprouting from my scalp. I did the most masochistic act I may have ever done–I went to see “The Fault in Our Stars.” By myself. After work. On a Tuesday.
For those who are curious, I am devoutly single. There’s just something about the dating scene and me–we don’t get along very well. I break out in this allergic reaction called feelings…it’s some scary shit. But, for those who were also in attendance at the 6:20 showing last night, you are fully aware that I am single. How? Because people were coupled off like it was Noah’s fucking ark. And then there was me.
My game plan this entire time was to go alone. I had heard things about the movie and how sad it was, and there is nobody in this world who could pay me enough U$D to watch me ugly cry. I sat to one side of the theater, as to not draw too much attention to myself and the ugly crying that was about to take place, leaving one seat between me and the aisle, at least giving the impression that some gallant knight could potentially show up with popcorn, Sno-Caps, and a giant Dr. Pepper Cherry that I’m too poor to buy from the concession stand.
The previews began to roll, and I should have known that I wasn’t emotionally stable enough to handle the next 125 minutes of my life when I started to tear up during a Google ad.
So I don’t spoil the movie for you, because you need to see it (OMG, YOU HAVE TO SEE IT AND CRY THE UGLIEST OF TEARS) I will instead explain to you the moment that I realized I had lost my humanity. Yeah, this just took a turn for you, didn’t it?
There’s a scene in this movie where you will straight up sob. There are many scenes that will make the tears flow from your eyes like the mighty Mississippi, but this one scene in particular is full of quiet sobs and an even quieter theater. You could honestly hear a pin drop. The only sounds were those of the sobs of at least 25 overly-hormonal teenagers and myself. And, though the ugly crying was expected, I began to do something not-so-expected: I started to laugh.
Let me reiterate: I LAUGHED at the sound of every heart in my direct vicinity breaking. I stopped crying to laugh at everyone else crying. I assume this is because I am clearly the spawn of Satan, as that is the only plausible excuse for finding joy in a moment of absolute devastation during a movie that will crush your soul.
Voluntarily watching this movie means you will never know happiness again. It means knowing that the chances of having a love like the one depicted in this theatrical masterpiece are slimmer than Jen Selter’s waistline. It means knowing that Shailene Woodley could never be Jennifer Lawrence, yet you make room and accept her into your heart anyway. It means ugly crying in an audience of complete strangers and not giving a single shit because you caught the damn feels. And it could potentially mean realizing you lost the last ounce of humanity you had at the expense of John Green silently killing the hopes and dreams of those around you.
My name is Lindsay Sayers, and I am a cold-hearted bitch. The line forms to the left, gentlemen.