Yes, I mind. Sometimes I mind a lot.
There are different levels of minding, but generally, unless the person asks me specifically, 'Do you want to know what happens in the end?' and I say 'Yes, tell me, please', well, yeah, I mind.
Level 1 Minding: Movies I'm not interested in. I don't want to see the movie anyhow and the spoiler is one of those sad people who can't help but tell you the entire film, beat for beat.
Jeez, people, I didn't want to see it up on the big screen, professionally made - I certainly don't want to listen to it told in your drunken slurring, punctuated by um, ah, you betcha and ka-BOOM!
Level 2 Minding: Movies I am interested in. This happens when I'm with a group of others who have seen the film and are so enthusiastic, they blurt out major plot points or even the ending before I can put my hands over my ears and shout, 'Lalala!' I still hate this but I consider it a crime of passion - tragic, but occasionally unavoidable given the circumstances.
Level 3 Minding: I am with someone who is a compulsive movie spoiler, who knows I want to see the film and yet can't help but tell me what happens. It makes them feel like they know something I don't. I shun these ego maniacs anytime there's a big release coming that I want to see.
Level 4 Minding: The person who quite simply gets a sadistic kick out of telling you the ending. They also blab the football score to people who have to work during the Big Game, before they get a chance to watch a re-run.
There is a Spoiler's Hell awaiting these Devil Spawn. In it, they are super-glued to a cramped vinyl seat in a perpetual rerun of Battlefield Earth. There's a lady with a crying baby that has crapped its nappy on one side, a man with B.O. and halitosis on the other, someone with no teeth and a bottomless bucket of popcorn behind and a woman with a Guiness Book of Records winning bouffant in front.
Check out my novel: The Anzac Girl
