On a pretty normal day, a day not unlike today, I expressed midway through a movie-film that it was time for me to take my leave and empty my teeniest, tiniest bladder against the best chronological conveniences of those around me. Mind you, we've had all kinds of problems with movie theaters in Puerto Rico, but none compared in my mind to the assault I suffered unto the face upon merely not paying attention to where I was walking.
It's crazy. We were so unusually bored in Puerto Rico that we went to see at least a movie or two every week while we were there. Sometimes we'd go into town, or the other town, but other times we'd drive 40+ minutes in either direction to hit a cinema showing some something we hadn't yet seen. That's bad enough, but that's just the tale of living the outback life.
What's bad is that, of all the movies we saw, which was literally about ten different ones, we never paid the same amount twice. Sometimes it was $12 for all of us and other times it was $19.50 for the gaggle. Sometimes they'd take the baby Dominic at his age, and other times they'd call him a kid, despite his unwavering certainty to sleep through the film without any personal enjoyment whatsoever. It's not like he carries his identification around with him all the time, especially on account of us technically being within the great-48 (plus two and some territories), so we just paid the extra on such occasions, however ridiculous it may have been.
I mean, seriously, the movie studios can't possibly expect that he went in to see Hot Rod for the sake of actually seeing Hot Rod. He falls so far outside the demographic that, once he's eaten his fill of unbuttered, unsalted popcorn (the only sort available in Puerto Rico), he'd promptly fall asleep without enjoyment or memory of fairly mediocre reel-or-three of cinematic quasi-magic.
Here's an ounce better. I went out for a potty break only to find the bathroom was off-limits. Turns out that, unlike normal places where you may suffer a power outage, in Puerto Rico you'll routinely suffer a water/sewer outage… wait, what? Yep… Daddy had to drag me back out and up the ante. He said, "Your broken bathroom or your lobby floor, your call." Turns out with those choices, mini-men are entitled to pee pretty much anywhere they please short of all over the lobby.
Boo hoo, I know, but if we can't deliver a uniform product at the very-darned-least, we should at least be able to predict a uniform price. I know, I know, I'm crying on deaf ears, but if I don't do it, which ears will feel the fall of my tears?
And if you want to talk about tears, you and me should really get back to the headline at hand because that's as cry-worthy as the lead photo may suggest. I got hit, hit hard, and verily hammered, and sadly at the hands of the movie-film-cinema.
I walked out with that Mama woman I'm so often stuck hanging out with -- I love my parents, but I'm no mama's boy, so I hang out with her more for her benefit not 'cuz I need it or anything -- when I got distracted in my walking as I stared up at a poster for some upcoming movie… and yep, I bonked my handsomest face straight into the corner adjacent the bathroom.
It was bad enough I was expected to do my undue, duly un-requested, self-initiated duty in the first place, but she had me steering towards the ladies room. Last time I checked, rumor has it, and I'll confirm it right now, I'm not a chick. Crazy in-and-of itself, but then on the way in I have the misfortune to bonk my pretty mug into a shrapnelly corner? That's bad.
To our good luck, we had a lady at the concession stand who was raised in the States. She was late-teeny, pudgy and perfectly beautiful, not to mention kind. She took her time out, gave me wrapped up ice, ample sympathy, and pretty face-like distractions that almost led me to believe I hadn't been attacked by some random wall… which I had, thank you (NO thank you) very much!
So if Caribbe Cinemas wants to give me something for free to show a sign of good faith they should so totally do so now. Not because it's worth anything to me, because offering me unlimited supplies of anything
at a location I will never again show my face will invariably cost them nothing.
To wrap this already protracted piece right quick, let's say this: Puerto Rico movie theaters charge unpredictable rates, offer lackluster cinemas, and their walls will attack you in the head, even if you buy $12 worth of pop and popcorn even though it comes without butter and salt.
I know, it's a real wah-wah situation, and for that (alone) I make no apologies. For the rest, well, that's a different matter. But seriously, when in Puerto Rico, us travelers need to be on the ever-diligent lookout with watchful eye for the prominent possibility of the ubiquitous rogue wall. Should you let your attention lapse, however briefly, they'll get you, they'll knock you in the brow in a way you won't forget anytime soon.
Above - I do my best to show a stiff upper lip, but I'm all soft and spongy and not one to deny it. Still, for the sake of documenting my injury, I will be strong. I will not cry (and more).
On a pretty normal day, a day not unlike today, I expressed midway through a movie-film that it was time for me to take my leave and empty my teeniest, tiniest 
