The Red Balloon

(PRESENTED, WITH APOLOGIES - BURN AFTER READING)

There I was with a red balloon pressed immediately against my backside, my wife doing the pressing with the, um, south of the border portion of her torso. As instructed, I leaned over the seat in front of me. A crowd of more than a hundred had gathered. And then something else happened. As punishment for our most glaring, fundamental, egregious transgression. 

Welcome to a live performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. On Halloween. With a cast of actors mimicking everything that was happening on the big screen. Their leader, warming up those in attendance as we were readied for what was about to attack our senses. Our own Ed McMahon gone rogue.

I don't know why it took until my eighth decade on this planet to dip my toes in these waters. To be part of a universe clearly imagined during a bad acid trip. Nearly a half century having passed since Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon blew a tire on their lives one rainy evening.

When we arrived at the theater, for the infinitely small sum of $3 we purchased the necessary implements to become not only attendee but participant. The small brown bag filled with confetti, a playing card, two pages of a newspaper, a glow stick, a roll of toilet paper and assorted other goodies which were necessary prerequisites for fully experiencing the horror in Rocky Horror.

But about that balloon. We had been asked to stand at our seats prior to the screening. Who among us had been to at least 50 showings of Meatloaf's most unfortunate demise? At Tim Curry expanding the universe of what was unacceptable behavior?

You may sit back down.

20? Sit. 10, 5, 2,1? Sit.

Those of us still standing, which included both my much better half and me, were told to take the walk of shame to the front of the theater. 

We were the parade of Rocky Horror virgins.

I was the first, and oldest, to be handed a red balloon with instructions to blow it up. The man sitting but a few feet in front of where I now stood shook his head in my direction in obvious disgust for my waiting until this moment to awaken.

Me being me, I was unable to blow up the balloon. Our director stared at me in disbelief. I told her I didn't know how to blow. While she moved down the line and turned her focus to others similarly situated, I surreptitiously delivered my limp red balloon to my bride who performed the task on my behalf. When the leader of the pack returned and viewed my small offering, I was told it was quality not quantity that mattered most. A low blow, I thought to myself.

What happened next I leave to your imaginations. But the result was a loud popping and a number of spent balloons laying on the floor of a large room that had now been transported to Transylvania.

Welcome to the world of Rocky Horror. Where normal is a four letter word and bizarre is the mother's milk of the night.

I don't why it took this long but I am happy to report that my wait is over. 

I was no longer a virgin.

And the film had not yet even started.