I was about 8 years old at the time. My dad took me and a friend (we'll call him Heath) to go see Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. We had lunch at a nearby Johnny Rockets beforehand. So we all ordered burgers, fries, and shakes, because that's pretty much all you get at Johnny Rockets. We finish up eating, head into the movie theater.
We're there a bit early, so we just sit in the theater waiting for the previews and then the movie to come on. Lights dim a bit, previews start airing, and suddenly Heath says, "I don't feel so good." My dad, being the adult in the situation, jumps to it immediately and asks what's wrong and if he needs anything. Immediately Heath says, "I think I'm gonna throw up." So of course, my dad gets up and starts walking with him to the bathroom. I just stayed in my seat. Not two steps down towards the exit of the theater, the deluge begins.
And I want to be clear here. This is a 7-year old kid. He was not a big kid. But it was a deluge. A torrent of puke. An absolutely obscene amount. You wouldn't think that a grown man who weights 300 pounds could produce that much vomit. But that was just one heave. So I just watch, in horror, as Heath takes 10-15 steps towards the exit of the theater and then conjures up some more of his lunch from the alternate dimension that was somehow located in his stomach. And it keeps going. By the time my dad and friend had pretty much reached the exit, I realized that they probably weren't going to be returning to the theater, and so I got up and followed them. Down the stairs, dodging the stuff, and out the door. And the process continued down the hallway of the movie theater towards the bathroom. Every time Heath stops, it's just a barrage of vomit onto the carpet. And he finally gets into the bathroom (stops to puke on the tile), to a toilet, and immediately says, "I think I'm done now." And he was.
We decided to get the fuck out of that theater. Neither my dad nor I had the gall to show our faces in the room where most of the vomit inundation had occurred. We figured we probably wouldn't be a welcome sight, and so we just got out of there. My dad mentioned to the ticket-taker that someone would need to clean up the specific theater it had occurred in. I don't remember the exact details, but I'm fairly confident they had just moved everyone out of the room and decided to put the showing somewhere else. In my mind, I pictured the vomit creating a toxic waste site which was hazardous to the health of movie-goers everywhere.
So we went home. And dropped off Heath. And my dad was informed by Heath's mom that he was actually lactose intolerant. Heath explained that he didn't know milkshakes had milk in them. I never did see the movie.