God, that makes me feel old. The fact that I can divide parts of my conscious and mostly-rational life into lumps of ten.
It probably started about eight or nine years ago when cell phones started to become cheap enough that parents who worried too much yet were too weak to parent properly bought one as a leash for their 15-year-old.
Or perhaps it started four years ago when we watched as first the Malo Majestic theatre, then the Paradiso, then even the Desoto16 in Southaven were overrun with boisterous, ego-centric, inconsiderate fucktards.
My name is Ginger. I'm 27. And I pick fights in movie theatres.
None were actual throw-downs, although I've been nervous several times that they might turn into one. I know I've threatened to "beat the shit" out of a fourteen year old punk. To explain for those who may not know me personally, I'm a heavy-set, 5'2", see-the-world-from-others'-eyes, everything-can-be-handled-diplomatically,
The last few years, my friends and I have had more miserable movie experiences than good ones. Jimmy doesn't even like going to the movies anymore, partially because I often make us late but mostly because of the environment. These prolonged negative experiences have turned me into a one-woman crusade to destroy all jerks, punks, brats, ghetto-politans, busybody-bitches, schmuck puppets, parents who bring babies and screaming toddlers to rated R movies, people who can't find the OFF button on their cell phones, and general movie-going-mankind.
I don't have a problem with normal movie noise, i.e. the occasional whisper, rummaging through a popcorn tub, accidental knocking of my seat. However, if there is someone being genuinely and persistently rude, and all attempts at ignoring them and immersing myself in the movie have failed, I give the normal, polite, Southern request:
"Please, could you keep it down." or just a plain "Shhh."
I've been known to cross the room and sit down next to a woman whose child is screaming and explain to her politely that her child's screaming is making it hard for us to hear the dialogue.
If they quiet down, it takes me another 10 minutes, but I calm down and go back to watching the movie.
But if they decide that they're entitled to be an asshole and continue to ruin the movie for everyone around them, my anger-enhanced hearing, like some mutated babel fish, transforms my frustration into courage. I then speak to them again with as much condescension as I can muster.
"If you are physically or mentally incapable of being quiet, then you need to leave." or "Would you please kindly SHUT THE FUCK UP." or "You just don't know what to do without a dick in your mouth, do you?".
After I embarrass them in front of their friends and neighbors, most people do indeed shut up. However, there are some who even still prevail in their desire to waste my time, money, and breathable air.
During Inside Man there was a well-dressed, long-nailed, ghetto-politan cunt with her boyfriend who spoke incessantly in a just-under-normal voice and intentionally made more noise (shaking the ice in her drink directly behind my head, faux laughter, and more talking) after I asked her politely to keep it down. When I rounded on her again she responded with, "No, what you need to do is turn back around. I paid for my ticket..." with one finger up and her nose higher than Denise Richards'. Instead of saying "Touche" (which she undoubtedly would not have understood), I simply got the manager and his cop side-kick who pulled her out of the theatre and asked her to pipe down. She didn't make another sound.
Thankfully the staff of the new Oxford Malco Cineplex actively tries maintain a pleasant environment.
Movie theatres, traffic, and telemarketing make me hate people. They're turning me into a bigot. They're sabotaging my adoration of the human race and poisoning my outlook on life. I don't want to hate people and I don't want to hate myself for what they bring out in me.