I’m one of those people.
You know, the people who commit hideous crimes against humanity, like talking on the cell phone while they’re shopping. I have done this. Mind you, I don’t text while I drive, because while I am obviously evil, I also value my hide and have no wish to die young. There is, no doubt, a special place in Hades set aside for me, and I wish to avoid going there for as long as possible.
But I’ve done worse than use my phone in the supermarket.
In fact, I’m about as evil as you can get, because I talk at the theater.
Yes, that’s right, folks, I’m the one leaning over in the row ahead of you whispering to the person next to me. I’m one of them.
Usually when I talk in the theater, it’s about something in the movie that strikes me as strange or reminds me of one of my family members. In Iron Man 2 I found my mother and I having a brief (whispered) discussion about how much the main character, who had so many thoughts he couldn’t complete a sentence, reminded us of a family member with attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder.
Sometimes I just quote other movies, interjecting "Look! The cliffs of insanity!" or "I have got to get me one of these!" or even "Your lack of faith disturbs me," only I’ll substitute "pants" or "kittens" or "fruitcake" or whatever is in the movie for "faith."
I even laugh at inappropriate times at the theater, something which has earned me hisses and dirty looks in theaters across Minnesota.
I am the one who dissolved into badly-stifled giggles when, in Titanic, Kate Winslet told Leonardo DiCaprio "I’ll never let go" and then promptly shoved his corpsicle off the raft. Priceless timing! How could you not laugh? The teenyboppers in the theater probably believed I was the meanest woman since the Wicked Witch of the West cackled her way through Oz, but I just can’t help myself.
I am the one who cracked up watching Iron Monkey in the theater, when the title cards announced the sadly beseiged province had been plagued by "floods and warlords." Because what popped into my mind? The image of a heavily-armored Chinese warlord in a kayak, waving a paddle around. A film geek turned around and shot a glare at me that would have curdled milk. I straightened up and tried to put on a serious face, but as soon as he turned around again, I couldn’t help but giggle again, this time imagining the kayak was sinking because of all that heavy armor.
But I do have good news for all you people who hope to enjoy going to the theater: I have subscribed to Netflix, so your chances of hearing me giggle hysterically in the middle row or whisper "He’s dead, Jim!" have been sharply reduced.