On Saturday, I went to go see Victor Frankenstein after work. It's around 10:30 at night, and like usual, I walk in, before the previews, to an empty theater. I take my seat in the top row and start crossing my fingers, hoping I'll get the rare but joyous opportunity to catch a flick solo, where I can act out my own episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 in comfort.
Ten minutes pass, and unfortunately, a group of five girls, aged about 10-16, and their guardian walk in. The cacophony is packed, concentrated in their posse; I'm getting a Doppler effect as they head up the ramp to enter the theater. At this point, my reaction isn't any different than on any other night. I expect them to sit somewhere near the front, to be able to lean their feet on the railing and chatter amongst themselves. But then, the youngest one makes something known that immediately concerns me: "Screw it, I like to sit in the top row!"
The group sits two seats to my right. They chatter, squawk text, snap selfies - typical stuff. The previews haven't started yet, so I'm on my phone too, playing games. Once the previews start, I null the brightness and tuck my phone away from them, so as not to disturb. I'm a bit unorthodox with phone etiquette. I'm at the movies so often I see the same previews repeatedly; I'd rather play on my phone. This is why I sit in the top row, so the dim light of my phone doesn't distract any eyes above me. Am I overthinking? Probably, but I'd rather not be "THAT guy".
If I'm overthinking, their brains have left the building. They continue their conversations about tacky girls (irony), eyeshadow, and the infinite spookiness of jump-scares. I'm getting annoyed, but I rationalize with myself: "It's just the previews, Daniel. They'll probably quiet down once the movie starts."
My hypothesis is soon put to the test, and my (seemingly) educated guess about common courtesy and appropriate social conduct is shot down, burned to ashes, and spit on. Their phones flash. Their voices grow louder. Their words overlap and buzz like locusts, echoing off the walls. Popcorn is spilled, and in a top-notch "prank", the rest of the bucket is dumped on the girl in the middle. The youngest one and her friend run down the stairs and perch themselves on top of the wall dividing the other set of stairs and entryway.
Two seats away, I'm fuming. My mind races to find a solution, the atom bomb of comments that will command the return of glorious silence. Are these the people who back down to a rebuke or a polite request? Do I talk to them or one of my manager friends? Do I let the guardian (and probable parent) do the gruntwork? How long will I stand this before instinct slits the throat of civility and I launch into a fury?
Suddenly, the youngest pipes up, "I bet you the guy next to us is sitting there like 'I am in hell right now', haha."
Stop everything. This comment says it all. If they were doing all the actions I mentioned before a couple rows in front of me, I could give them a defense of ignorance. But here, this little girl outs the entire group. You know what you're doing is wrong. You have enough social awareness and understanding to know that I'm probably annoyed and infuriated with your actions. Still however, you continue. You pursue your obnoxious agenda, willfully dismissive of anyone else's feelings but your own. You are happily disrespecting me. I feel like this should be the moment when I go postal, but surprisingly, I don't. I watch the movie all the way through, and as soon as the credits hit, I get out of there. I don't give them dirty looks. I don't curse. I don't even say a word. I just leave.
I'm still not sure why I didn't say anything. I'm not good with confrontation, and the last thing I wanted was to take a baseball bat to the hornet's nest and deal with retribution. However, I'd be totally justified; even the guardian tried shutting them up at a few points (to no avail). I guess I'm just aware enough of myself to know that if I spoke with that level of anger, nothing positive would occur from it. As much as I'd relish the shiver-inducing bliss that comes with a well-placed flash of righteous, berserk anger, I decided to be the bigger man.
I know the movie-watching experience is changing. Streaming services are more popular than ever. Netflix and Amazon are getting industry-recognition for their original works (Netflix's Beasts of No Nation has even been sent to the Academy for Oscar consideration). People watch new releases in the comfort of their homes, where they won't be chastised for talking or multi-tasking on their phone. Perhaps I'm an old fogey for even taking the time to write a post like this. Hell, in twenty years, we'll probably go to the movies and sit in bubbles with our own private screens.
But for me, this story isn't about the movie-watching experience. It's about respect. So I urge you, reader, be aware of your surroundings. Extend to your fellow moviegoer the courtesy you would hope they'd give, and I promise, we'll all be in a kinder, happier, better place...and we won't want to key your car in the parking lot.
Thank you all for reading, I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.
No comments:
Post a Comment