The Longest Two Minutes of My Life

An idiotic tale of me braving sub-zero temperatures to watch a mediocre movie.

I needed to go outside.

I was a twenty-two year old working my first big girl job in Toronto. For the first time in my life, I was living away from home and had money to burn.

I could stay out until four in the morning, I could party until the sun came up. I am a self-professed introverted extrovert. I love my alone time, but I also need to be around people to feel like myself.

Alcohol could comprise half of my bloodstream for most of my social gatherings, as it does for most twenty-two year olds — it’s a rite of passage, after all. One does not simply be a twenty-two year old with freedom without engaging in some idiotic behaviour.

I needed to go outside, but the weather said no.

It was the third day in a row where blustering winds and snow sent temperatures into a plummeting spiral. It was -30 degrees Celsius, plus the wind chill. The sharp, dry air made going outside nearly unbearable.

But I was going crazy. The cabin fever was intense. I had to see another human being or I would go bananas. I was trapped inside. I was warm and safe, yet slowly losing my mind.

So my coworker and I devised this elaborate plan to attempt to socialize in this wintery madness: we would go to the movies after work to watch the Oscar-worthy production, Pitch Perfect 3. It would be aca-awesome.

The movie theatre was across the street from our office in downtown Toronto, a solid two-minute walk. No biggie, we just had to layer up and run right?

I didn’t expect to turn into a White Walker from Game of Thrones once I stepped outside.

It felt like a hundred thousand tiny knives were stabbing every exposed area of my face. No matter how much I wrapped my scarf to cover any layer of skin offered as a sacrifice to the soul-sucking demons of winter, it was impossible to feel warm.

My coworker foolishly left her jacket unzipped as she thought it would be a short walk and she could bear the cold. Oh, what a sweet summer child.

She held her hand up uselessly to try and block the wind as the invisible winter demons blasted her with the full force of a Dyson hair dryer (why would I spend $500 on that thing when the Toronto air gave it to me for free?).

We were both from Vancouver, the other side of Canada, where the wet cold seeped into our bones and drenched our sweaters. While the rain was miserable, it was predictable.

I could do squelchy boots and water that pelted off my umbrella. I was clearly not Canadian enough to handle this windchill bullshit. I hate snow with every fibre of my being. It turned into black ice that I would slip on since I had the balance of a baby deer.

I didn’t know it was possible for two minutes to feel like twenty lifetimes. I could’ve gotten married and given my parents grandkids, and it would still feel like I was on that crosswalk, trying to reach that goddamn movie theatre across the street.

Why did we ever think this was a good idea?

Nevertheless, we pressed on, until we finally reached the sanctuary of the movie theatre doors. Anna Kendrick and her plastic cups she made a song out of welcomed us with open arms.

I wish I could say the movie was good, but like most sequels, it was pretty forgettable. Nothing to sing about.

After that debacle, I never “needed” to go outside anymore. Being trapped sounded pretty good to me.

This story was inspired by The Memoirist’s January writing prompt:

January Memoir Prompt: Trapped Inside

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