When I was eight years old, I went to Miller’s theater in Navasota, Texas, on a Sunday afternoon.
I guess the film was really boring and I fell asleep. When it came time to close for the day — no evening show— whoever was in charge of closing up failed to this sleeping little boy.
When I woke up, lights were off and the theater was closed, no one around.
I got scared of course and tried to get out by pushing on the doors but a skinny eight year old wasn’t match for the big heavy securely locked doors.
I was finally able to jimmy open the lock to the box office and get to the phone.
My parents were a little frantic that I had not shown up for dinner and they had called the police. Before the police got there, I called them to say I had gotten locked inside the picture show and couldn’t get out.
My dad called the owner, Mr. Wallace (he was always chewing on a cigar), and he came down and let me out.
My dad wasn’t angry or anything but more amused as this was just another mishap I had gotten into.
But the post-script to all this was when my brother found out what had happened, he said, “you were alone in the picture show and you didn’t raid the candy counter? You’re a dumbass!”