The Rules of Being a Person: When a Trip to the Movie Theater Showcases an Utter Lack of Humanity

“Remember last time we were at the movies and we got kicked out for talking?”

This is not something you want to hear 12 seconds before a movie starts. But I do hear it from the girl sitting a few rows above us at Landmark Theaters. All I can think is, this does not bode well. I turn around and see four teens, two girls with long, straight brown hair and two boys who I can’t really make out, sharing videos on their phones, talking as if the lights hadn’t dimmed. I can feel my body clenching, my heart rate increasing. My husband and I have wanted to see The Revenant for weeks and we’re finally here. Being off from school for President’s Day has given us a break in our schedules. And now, these four little fuckers are going to destroy it. I think, they’ll have to stop once the movie starts, right?

And as the movie officially begins, two of the teens, a boy and a girl, get up and plop themselves down in the empty couch in front of us. They seem like a couple, 15 years old or so but there’s no kissing or touching. They just have their heads together. I would prefer a make-out session since it would most likely shut them up. They throw their legs up on the railing in front of them, their feet blocking the view for others in the audience. The blatant texting and talking continues with absolutely no regard for anyone around them. Their entitlement is palpable. I glance at my husband and, even in the dark, I can tell we’re on the same page. A page that reads, “This is totally fucked”. My hands begin to shake with the realization that I’m going to have to file an official complaint. My teacher brain tells me to confiscate their phones. But I’m not a teacher right now. I’m a patron who’s trying to watch what will most likely be the film of the year. Confrontation in any realm is hard for me. I’m a people pleaser by nature. I want everyone to be happy. I’ve been this way my whole life. So for me to so abruptly make the concrete decision to tell on these kids, it’s unexpected but needed since no one else is getting up to do it.

I catch a glimpse of the “burgundy shirt guy” wearing the Landmark uniform standing against the wall and get up and walk over to him. I’m short of breath and sweating. In fact, I have to pull my navy cotton skirt away from my ass as the moisture has sucked it against my skin.

“These kids in the front are a fucking disaster.” I say...clearly beyond the point of censoring my words.

“Okay.” He says. Not much older than the “fucking disasters”, I worry that he won’t have the appropriate balls to nip this in the bud.

I sit back down, trembling and pissed off.

“Good job, sweetie.” My husband leans over and whispers in my ear. He relaxes back into his seat and I’m temporarily relieved.

For a few seconds, I feel good. I feel like a hero and remember my Wonder Woman bathing suit that I had when I was 8. But then something shifts and I spend the next 12 minutes contemplating my actions. I wonder, is this an age thing? Am I just old? Is this something I would’ve done if I were a teenager? Am I that 44 year-old woman bitching about “these darned kids these days”?

And even with the burgundy shirt guy asking them to put away their phones multiple times, it’s becoming abundantly clear that these kids just do not give a flying fuck about anyone. I’ve dealt with entitled and privileged kids before but they’re at least aware of their surroundings and that other people actually exist.

So, I’m distracted. I’m distracted by their utter selfishness, acting as if they’re just lounging around at home and expecting people to wait on them. And I begin to ponder what it means to be a human being. Since I’ve already given up on enjoying this movie that everyone in the world has deemed Best Picture, I’m stuck with a constant nagging thought, just what the hell has happened to human decency? To common courtesy?

I recall my earlier movie years when the worst thing that happened was a kid sitting in the front row throwing red vines at the screen or people sticking to the floor from spilled sodas.

Nowadays, we’ve got a whole slew of distractions. And it’s not just these “darned” kids, it’s the adults who talk out loud, the people who don’t silence their phones even though they’re told to, the people who clear their throats every 3 minutes with so much gusto that I feel as if I need a shield to protect myself from anything that may fly out of their mouths, the people who leave all of their trash on the floor of the theater when we’re supposed to be in an age of recycling and protecting our Earth from exploding. I mean, what the hell is going on?

Perhaps I’m too sensitive. Perhaps my movie expectations are too high. You see, movies are my thing. A perfect day for me is to take myself to the movies, a documentary preferably. I bring my own soy chai latte, I sit down, I turn my phone off, and I sit quietly ready to be transported for the next two hours. So the fact that this major joy in my life has become so tainted, fills my very soul with utter rage. To witness these seemingly simple rules of etiquette so shamelessly ignored, well, it’s just wrong! To paraphrase Liz Lemon from 30 Rock, “Am I the only one who remembers the rules of what it means to be a person?”

I glance over at my husband who’s covering his face. I’ve seen this before. It means he’s miserable.  Hating the movie. As am I. Disappointing given all the hype. I mean, what are we not getting? Are we the only two people in the world who aren’t liking The Revenant?

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

“I’m just gonna suffer through it.”

“Well, we’re both suffering through, just FYI.” I say, wondering if this is one of those moments when we pick ourselves up and leave. It wouldn’t be the first time.  And it’s at this moment when the “fucking disasters” just get up and leave. And they don’t come back. I don’t question it, I just take is as a sign that I can now release the anxiety, unclench my fists, lower my shoulders, and try to find something about this film that I like.

As the lights come up, I unstick myself from the seat and walk next to my husband. I’m still processing that fact that it was me, little shy, anxious, scared to make waves Hali, who stood up...stood up for the rights of mere movie folk. My desire to please everyone in the room is an ever-prominent force in my brain. And knowing that these “fucking disasters” were on their way to ruining everyone’s movie experience, I couldn’t ignore the stirring inside my gut that needed to speak up. It’s exciting in a way, to think about what more I can do.

I’ve started simply. A movie matinee. Perhaps my next conquest will be the people standing in the Starbucks line speaking loudly into their phones. I mean do we really need to hear your personal conversations? We’re just trying to get our drinks here, guys. So look out, you may see a curly-haired woman in a Wonder Woman bathing suit instructing you to silence your mouths...and your phones. Then I’ll fly off in my invisible plane, seeking out more of those entitled souls who have either forgotten or never learned how to be mindful of others.