Sunday night my sister, friend and I went to the movies in Anderson to see “The Martian”. I liked the movie a lot … at least what I saw of it. 
What I DIDN’T like was the noise and disruption produced by about eight junior-high aged boys and girls on the other side of the theater. They clomped in and out. They ran back and forth to their seats. They laughed, talked loudly and horsed around in one form or another from the beginning to the end of the movie. Like a lone mosquito in a tent, it was impressive how much discomfort a relatively small group of kids could wreak on one spacious theater.
I kept thinking that surely someone on the noisy kids’ side of the theater would take charge and shush the kids. Nope.
OMG! Either people are growing numb to this stuff, or I’m getting extra old and cranky, made worse by the fact that I’m cursed blessed with excellent hearing.
About half way through the movie, when I couldn’t bear one more minute of the racket, I left my seat and went to the other side of the theater. I asked the kids to please pipe down so the rest of us could enjoy the movie. Be quiet or leave, OK?
They stared at me as if I were a Martian.
That’s the first time in my life I’ve done something that confrontational with total strangers, and kids to boot. Not only did I not enjoy it, but I resented it.
The kids’ “good” manners lasted a few minutes, and then they were at it again, clowning around.
That did it. I left the movie in search of any employee. This was not easy because the lobby looked like a ghost town; not an employee in sight, and nobody behind the counter. So strange. I mean, what if someone needed a popcorn refill? I finally knocked on the Employees-Only door and reported the kids to someone who looked in charge.
He walkie-talkied a young employee to go investigate, which entailed standing alongside the theater’s inside wall for about five minutes. As soon as the guy left the kids resumed their noise.
After the movie, when I confronted the kids, a boy-girl couple from the group insisted it wasn’t them, that they were with those kids, but these two weren’t among the noisy ones. Hard to tell.
As I talked with the kids, my sister talked with the manager. He said theater staff was well aware of that particular group of kids, and they’d had trouble with them before. When he gave my sister tickets to compensate us for the disturbance, my sister said everyone in the theater should receive tickets. He replied that nobody else complained. No complaint, no comp tickets.
When I realized the kids were all waiting for rides from their parents, I decided to wait for the parents, too.
While I waited, I told the kids how their noise had spoiled the movie for others in the theater. I asked if they cared. Although a couple of the boys seemed contrite, the overall attitude of the kids was brazen, unremorseful and defiant.
I used my cell phone to take a group shot to show the manager, which, in hindsight, was not a good idea. (Moot point. The photo didn’t turn out.)
When Mother No. 1 arrived to pick up the girls, I told her about the kids’ behavior. She said she was sorry to hear that, and would pass along the information to the other mothers.
Mother No. 2 arrived to pick up the boys, and when I told her what had happened, she said that wasn’t how she raised her son, that he knew better. We had a nice conversation.
I had no doubt those women are good mothers. This made me think how even the best of parents are sometimes rendered clueless how their kids really behave once the car pulls away from the curb and the kids are left on their own for a few hours.
Really, the only way for parents to truly know the truth of what happens in their absence is to try some recon scheme where they “drop” <wink, wink > the kids off, but then sneak into the theater or wherever to observe their kids from a distance. Sounds rational to me.
We know kids’ brains aren’t fully developed until a few years into official adulthood. And we know adolescents are impressionable and emboldened by their peers. It’s why the law frowns on teens driving with other teens.
But what bothered me most about these kids’ rowdy behavior was how they had zero care that they were messing up the movie for a bunch of strangers. It was as if someone stepped on your foot, and when you pointed it out the foot-stomper answerd So? in the place of an apology. They just didn’t give a squirt.
For what it’s worth, the theater manager recommended that the “next time” we observe problem patrons, we should immediately report the troublemakers. He said the theater’s policy is to not kick someone out at the first complaint, so if the complaints happen multiple times, then the staff can take action.
Next time?
Who’s wants to leave a movie theater to rat someone out at the first unwelcome sound? When I hear an outburst of rambunctiousness in a theater or any performance, I assume – hope – it’s fleeting, an unpleasant isolated sound that won’t recur. I give the person the benefit of the doubt and assume it won’t happen again. Usually, that’s the case.
Besides, I was there for a movie I really wanted to see. I was not there as the theater sheriff, babysitter or adult supervision for a bunch of inconsiderate kids. I didn’t want to leave my seat, track down staff, explain the situation and then return to my seat after I’d lost a hunk of the movie, especially when all that hassle did nothing to stop the kids.
Of course, missing-valuable-movie-time aside, there’s a whole other reason that may explain why many of us are less willing to jump in, stick our necks out and get involved. There’s the risk that the unpleasant person – of any age – might come completely unhinged.
Case in point is a story I almost wrote a few years ago about a young couple, their little girl and the wife’s father, all having a nice dinner at a Redding restaurant. Meanwhile, an obnoxious guy in the next booth was dropping F-bombs left and right. When the husband asked the man to please watch his language in front of his wife, young daughter and the girl’s grandfather, the cussing man beat the holy crap out of the family man, and threw him through the front window. Then the cussing man’s lady friend got involved and went after the young mother. The family man was injured, and almost lost an eye from the cut glass.
I say I almost wrote the story because by the time the man finished the interview, he’d changed his mind about allowing the story to be published. He wanted no more trouble. He said that although he was raised to be the kind of man who stood up for what was right, he learned that sometimes, standing up for what was right could get a person nearly killed.
Granted, that’s an extreme, horrible case. And my movie encounter was with a bunch of bratty kids, not psycho cussers.
But as they challenged me and mouthed off and argued about how they did nothing wrong, I was struck by – wait for it – the contrast between how those kids behaved and how I behaved around adults when I was their age.
Let me ask you: When you were a kid, how would you have reacted if an adult corrected you in public for something you knew was wrong? Me? I would have been mortified, and even more terrified of what might happen after my mother found out.
Sunday night as we drove home, my sister and I talked about the incident, and how unfazed and unintimidated the kids were by adult criticisms.
That led us to wonder what kind of an adult could have shut those kids up, and motivated them to be quiet, apologetic and respectful. Certainly not the movie staff. And not a woman of any age, I’m afraid.
My liberated side hates to admit this, but I think the most effective person to trouble-shoot that situation had to be a man. But not just any man.
Carl Bott
My ideal candidate would be someone like Carl Bott, a smart, assertive, classy, charismatic retired Marine. Bott exudes an air of confidence and authority that would make anyone — even those kids — sit up, pay attention and behave. He’s old enough to be their grandfather, but fit enough and no-b.s. enough to be intimidating. Best of all, he looks like someone who could kick ass if he wanted to, but he has enough maturity and restraint to save serious ass-kickings for more dire situations than snotty kids disturbing the peace in a movie theater.
Sadly, every theater can’t have a Carl Bott sitting in the back row, like an airline marshal, keeping things safe and pleasant as we eat popcorn and watch “The Martian”.
So what’s my protocol for the next time? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll skip the heartburn and wait for my favorite movies to come out on Netflix.
Or maybe I’ll find out when Carl and Linda are going to the movies, and tag along, a few rows back.
