Open Letter to Regal Cinemas

Dear Regal Cinemas,

This afternoon my husband and two children and I went to see WALL-E at the UA Court Street Cinemas in Brooklyn.  We've been going to these theaters for a long time and have a good idea of what to expect.  We know that the food will be expensive and the theater will be noisy.  We know that because this part of Brooklyn does not have enough movie theaters, we need to fork over an extra dollar per ticket in order to buy them in advance, online.  We know the drill.

My husband and I have pretty much stopped going to the movies.  While our TV at home does not deliver the same experience that your theaters do, we know that our living room will be quiet, our microwave popcorn reasonably priced, and our couch blissfully still, not being kicked from behind.  And nobody will be on a cell phone.  And even though we have to wait a bit to see new movies, we don't care.  We almost always choose to trade the benefits of going to your theater for the benefits of staying home.

But for our kids, it's a different story.  They love the experience of going to a movie, and we don't want to deny them that.  We suffer for our kids' enjoyment.  But we make some compromises.

First of all, we stop at the drug store down the street to buy candy and water.  That saves us $15-20.  In most aspects of my life, I consider myself to be a rule follower.  The fact that I, Miss Goody Two-Shoes, repeatedly flout your "outside food" rule proves just how ridiculous your prices are.  I feel not one bit of guilt for taking that money out of your corporate pockets.  I understand a markup to pay for the building, the maintenance, and the staff.  But a 700% markup isn't even within sight of reasonable.  Especially when I've already handed over more than $40 just for the tickets.

I pack big Ziploc bags in my purse, so that we can all share a $7 popcorn instead of having to get more than one.  With such a small difference in price between a small, medium, and large popcorn (usually fifty cents), you're practically forcing us to share.  If the price differential made sense, say $3.50 for a small, $5 for a medium, and $7 for a large, well, the prices would still be outrageous.  But at least we would each get our own, paying a little extra for the privilege of not passing the big tub back and forth or scooping it out into plastic bags, with people looking at us like we're strange.  Having bought the kids' waters down the street, my husband and I share a large drink. Again, the price differential is moronic.

Today, waiting in line, I noticed the "Combos" on your price board.  I thought maybe getting the number 1, large popcorn and two medium drinks, would make sense.  Those items separately would be $17.  I decided that if the combo cost $15 or less, I would get it (naturally, there were no prices on the sign).  What can I say, I was feeling reckless.  So when I got to the front of the line, and asked the price, I was told it was $17.  No, I said, for the combo, not individually.  Yup, $17.  Now I understood why the prices weren't listed.  People waiting in line would have time to do the math and compare ahead of time.  Well, I'm pretty good at math,  good enough to add three things anyway, so I foiled your little plan of getting me to buy the combo before realizing that I wasn't saving any money.  Needless to say, I didn't buy it, going instead with my large popcorn and large drink, which cost $12.50.  You could have gotten $2.50 more out of me for a discounted combo, which would have cost you a very small amount in materials and pop, and an extra 20 seconds in labor.  Oh well.

The movie itself was great.  Although based on the number of crying babies in the theater, nobody had one of those gizmos you've been giving out to alert the staff of a problem.  Or you gave it to a person who really likes to hear a baby cry and a toddler scream for minutes on end.

After the movie, my daughter and I had to use the restroom.  The one on our floor had a long wait, and you can't really count on a four-year-old to hold it.  So we went to another floor and found a nearly empty bathroom.  However, even though there were four stalls, not one of them had toilet paper.  Not a square.  Each stall had one of those dispensers that holds two rolls, and every single one was empty. I don't know how long it takes to use up one of those rolls, but that bathroom was ignored while roll after roll ran out.  It had to have taken hours.  Or maybe there's a toilet paper shortage I haven't heard about?  You didn't get your delivery?  We're talking about toilet paper.  In an emergency, you send one of your employees down the street to the same store I got my candy and water from, and you get some toilet paper.  No, they won't fit in your dispensers, but you'll figure something out.  I had to go into the mens room to get toilet paper, which had plenty.  You could have just moved some.

And of course, finding a manager to complain to about the lack of tissue was impossible (although every employee I spoke to was very nice, and one vowed to take care of the problem immediately).

So, while I should have left the theater uplifted by a very special movie, I left it annoyed by a system that is designed to suck every last penny out of its customers, virtually assuring that those who can watch movies in some other way will.  If profits don't climb this year the way you want them to, if ticket sales are the same or less than last year, don't blame the economy, don't blame DVDs and downloads, and don't blame the quality of the movies.  Blame your own greedy selves.

This is an original post to NYC Moms Blog. Amy also blogs about parenting in Brooklyn, trying to lose weight, and keeping herself sane and comfortable at Selfish Mom, and attempts to keep one step ahead of the stalkers and paparazzi at  Filming in Brooklyn.