Nine Minors Trapped in Shaft

ine Florida teens were trapped in a St. Petersburg dollar theater Sunday after local hooligans wedged numerous pennies between the theater doors and doorframe, theater officials said. Pounding noises and loud complaining from inside the theater indicated at least some were alive as theater employees wandered around and stared at the ceiling in a vague attempt to rescue them.

The pounding and cries of “What the fuck, man?� created “a glimmer of hope� that the teens, who had paid $1.75 each to see the disappointing 2000 Samuel L. Jackson vehicle Shaft Sunday afternoon, were safe, said Betsy Mulroony, a spokeswoman for Gulf Coast Cinema.

“It is a race against time because the movie is still playing in there,� she said. “The last thing we want is for these kids to have to sit through the film’s gratuitously violent, unsatisfying finale. We’re doing everything we can to get those doors open.�

Theater employee Jared Wenham first realized that something was not right when he walked by the theater doors at around 3:30 p.m. and heard a loud pounding noise. Jared attempted unsuccessfully to open the doors, then brought the problem to the attention of his supervisor, Dickie Nelson. Nelson recalled hearing the pounding upon passing the theater doors minutes earlier, but had assumed the noises were part of the film’s THX soundtrack. “Like I’ve seen fucking Shaft,� Nelson explained, obviously annoyed by the implication.

Nelson pounded a tentative “shave and a haircut� on the theater door, and when the answering knock came back “two bits,� his worst fears were confirmed. Nelson went outside for a smoke break, then came back inside fifteen minutes later to begin coordinating the rescue efforts.

The theater’s three employees proceeded to work in shifts to free the teens, alternately tugging at the door handles and putting their weight into trying to push the doors open, as no one could recall whether the doors swung in or out. While one employee worked on the doors, the other two stood nearby to shout encouragement and tactical advice such as “lefty loosey, righty tighty,� that was of little practical value.

After twenty minutes of concentrated rescue efforts, the theater employees were taking a hard-earned Icee break when approached by local teen Brandon McFie, who told a harrowing tale made even more chilling by the theater’s overzealous air conditioning system and the freshly squeezed Icees. McFie explained that he had been one of the nine teens trapped inside the theater, but he had managed to escape after noticing the lighted exit signs to the left and the right of the screen, which indicated doors leading to the theater’s parking lot.

Theater employees raced against time to relay this new information through the jammed doors to the teens still trapped inside, but their task was made nearly impossible by the film’s pounding soundtrack and frequent gun battles. Morse Code was suggested as an ideal solution, but was then scrapped when minutes later it was discovered that “S.O.S.� was the only message the on-hand personnel knew how to signal, and this wasn’t especially useful given the situation. Workers resorted to old-fashioned yelling and eventually succeeded in conveying the news.

The eight remaining teens emerged from the dark theater to the scattered ironic applause of theater employees and derisive comments from a topless man wearing jogging shorts in the parking lot.

“I thought we’d never get out of there, yo,� said 16 year-old Ricky Niebolt of their 80-minute ordeal. “I had to piss like a racecar.�

“Man, I wasn’t even here to see a movie,� insisted acne-scarred Chad Runion of Brooksville. “Especially not this Shaft bullshit. I was on my way over to knock up some little 15 year-old slut or some shit, you know? Gettin’ my thang on, ba-bang. I just came up in here cuz I thought it was a condom store. Yeah. Not like I use the things though.�

Though the teens all escaped the theater unharmed, authorities are looking at suspects in the theater door penny-jamming, and are investigating Gulf Coast Cinemas for taking advantage of the poorly informed and suicidally bored by charging admission to see two year-old movies that are readily available on cable and as gas station rentals.

Observers site the incident as the worst movie theater mishap since dozens of people were extremely bored during a screening of Gremlins 2: The New Batch in New York in 1990, when theater employees thoughtlessly left several large trash bins in front of the exit doors.

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I'm here to talk to you tonight, to tell you that this bogus shit has gone on long enough. You know what I'm going to say, don't you? Well you're wrong, this isn't about turkey thermometers and how come they don't work for people too. This is about some serious shit this time, no foolin'. Tonight I'm here to talk about Nostradamus.

Now I hear a lot of people going on about how great this guy was and how he saw into the future and all that. Well I'm calling his bluff. Let's hear him stand up and defend himself if he don't like it. That's what I thought.

Historical fact proves that Nostradamus was a punk-assed bitch. It's true, look it up yourself.

I mean, name for me one of his predictions that actually came true. Yeah yeah, I know you're going to go on about how he predicted world war two and all that shit, well I don't buy it. Who did he say the bad guy's name was going to be? HISLER! Nice try, Nostradumbass! Any school kid knows the dude's name was Adrian or some shit like that. Strike one for our pal Nostradamus.

I'm sure he predicted a lot of other shit that almost came true, I don't know, the thing I saw on the Discovery Channel only talked about that Hisler thing. I'm not impressed, you know? 'Cause like close only counts in horseshoes and some other lame-ass shit.

So why is everybody going on about this guy? Where's my kudos? I can bet you dollars to Dolly Parton that Nordstromsdamus never had to deal with having Amy Grant's "Baby Baby" and the disco version of Beethoven's fifth symphony stuck in his head at the same time. That's some real triumph in the face of advertising if you ask me.

You want some real predictions for the future? Fifty years from now, I bet they'll be beaming up commercials onto clouds and the sky, we'll all have those X-files chip thingies in our necks and easily impressed folks will still be going on about Nostrildamus while they hum "Baby Baby" under their breath. And you can quote me on that.

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I'm certainly glad people have come back around to pop music once again—it was too long and too often I would find myself in a bar, with friends, defending the merits of artists like the New Kids on the Block, or Debbie Gibson. True, those stars have faded into sweet yesteryear, but at least pop music remains strong. Stronger than ever, one might say.

Yes, for those who would denounce Hilary Duff as a second-tier Taylor Dane, let me, for one, confess my enthusiastic glee for today's pop star. They are more engaging, more attractive, and I dare say, even more enduring than the pop stars of days gone by. This year marks Britney Spears' seventh as a top-of-the-charts entertainer. Does that sound like a flash in the pan to you? I think not.

Still, the press coverage of the modern pop star leaves something to be desired. Yes, Rolling Stone may put Britney on their cover, and People may tell us she owns a nightclub and is moving into the foray of films. But what about the music? How is it we so easily forget it's the songs that made us love her, not her beautiful features and her body. Why are more magazines and television interviewers not asking her where she gets her ideas? I want to know where those songs come from. I, for one, want to know what goes through her mind when she sings "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman." I'm always reminded of the Bob Marley classic "No Woman, No Cry" when I hear those aching notes she sings. For that matter, how does she choose those songs she interprets? Why is it she knew, instinctively, her version of the much-covered Stones hit "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" would stand out as a hit, and not fade into music history as a forgotten note?

Of course, some would challenge, quite fairly, that most modern pop-stars are overproduced; the studioesque sheen is too thick to hear the tremendous textures of their voices and the individual instruments. I agree, and yet I disagree. I can't turn down a good Jessica Simpson album, no matter how slick and manufactured it initially sounds to me. But to some extent, I'm with you—the only way to hear these pop performers is live. Oh, the glory! To be sitting front row at an N*Sync concert, to hear those fluid notes sail over the audience, it's as close to heaven on earth as we get in this life.

Not that I can afford concert tickets these days, for what TicketMaster charges. So mostly I just pick up bootlegs. I have a few I've recorded myself, but like most bootleg collectors, I receive more by trading those already in my possession. Not that I'm adverse to buying them outright, even if it goes against the spirit of the true pop music bootleg collector. Just last week I traded two separate Aaron Carter bootlegs I own (one at the Hard Rock Café, London, the other at the Fillmore) and a Spice Girls at Budokan just so I could get a tape of demos and outtakes from Lindsay Lohan's debut album. Did I get ripped-off? I don't think of it like that. I have my copies, and the sound quality is quite spectacular on them, but what is most important is that I avail myself to the most recent pop phenomenon available, and Lindsay Lohan is it right now. As an actress and a singer (a regular double-threat), I firmly believe Lohan will be the most popular breakout media star since Jennifer Love-Hewitt.

And I needn't tell you, it makes me embarrassed to be a pop fan when you see something like the Ashlee Simpson "Saturday Night Live" scandal from a few months back. I'm sure she was sincere in her excuse for it, but it did make all of us Ashlee Simpson fans look quite the fool.

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