So, I was planning on doing a post about how my new, part-time job at the Arizona Renaissance Festival was going, along with fun little tidbits that just make me smile when I remember them.
However, something happened, something which has deterred me from that post I just mentioned above. This momentous, ominous,
something, happened this Saturday night, when my best-friend and I went to the movies.
This is how it began.
As you all know, I have been attending ASU, living at the Tempe campus. My best friend, who I call Babs, has been going to a local CC, getting her Associates, and is planning to transfer to ASU afterwards, in which we shall get an apartment together and insane merriment shall commence!
Anyway, Babs and I both work, go to school, and live in separate cities. That being said, since the AZ Ren Fest is only on the weekends, it means that we try to cram in every available second we can to hang out, catch up and just be best-friends. Since the San Tan mall is literally five minutes from my house, this usually means going to the movies.
Hello Harkins! Oh, the memories!
So, Saturday evening found Babs and I at Harkins Theatres, buying tickets for the 10pm showing of the new movie,
Beautiful Creatures. If you haven't heard of it, or if you haven't seen the trailers, or if you HAVE seen the trailers and are concerned that this will be another chick-flick, I got to say, this was an amazing movie. The acting and characters were memorable, and I was shocked by how funny it was.
*Link*: "Man, my mom is bat-shit! I mean, seriously bat-shit crazy!"
Anyway, we buy our tickets, under the impression that since it is A) Saturday Night, B) 10:00 PM and C) A relatively mature/young adult movie which we are seeing, that we should have no problem. And any other day, this would still be true. Unfortunately, fate decided to throw us a curve-ball.
Now, disclaimer: I, like most people, do not appreciate going to the movies, and paying an obscene amount of money (although student discounts help), only to not be able to watch and enjoy the movie due to some obnoxious laughing/giggling/squealing/talking/making-out/etc. It is rude, End Of Story.
I, in general, am a social person; this means I need to interact and talk to people. I am also a Type A Know-It-All and control freak, which is beneficial to Babs, since I can then enlighten her to the plot-lines of the different trailers going by as we wait. It is a mutually beneficial relationship, and one that has never been questioned.
My need to talk (I blame both my Italian genetics and my East-Coast upbringing), also continues during the actual film, but it is brief, quiet and infrequent. More often than not, Babs (or my family, depending on the day, time, and film), will ask a question, a question that I have the answer to, and as is compatible to my nature, I shall answer it.
So it came to be that during our voyeurism of
Beautiful Creatures, I made a mention of Emma Thompson's character looking like a Civil War Era hooker (as she was meant to look like!!). I mentioned this softly, covertly, and with a suppressed smile, conscious of the packed theater around me. And then, I was shushed.
Shushed.
The woman who shushed me was a middle-aged mother, out with her other middle-aged mother friends, and three, count them, THREE children, ages ranging from 4-8 years old. I don't know about you, but I know that when my parents took me to the movies, it was not to a 10 pm show, on a Saturday night, to a young adult film (all ingredients for, hello, a young adult atmosphere!)
Babs and I looked at each other, shocked, and then smiled, watching the rest of the movie (which is very good, if I haven't mentioned it already). The credits rolled and, rather than get caught up in the midnight dispersing hoop-la, waited a good ten to fifteen minutes to leave the theater.
We should have waited longer. Or gone out a back entrance, whichever worked best.
Waiting for us, like some 1950's greaser gang, was the pack of middle-aged mothers, their children half asleep and crumpling to the ground. Babs and I, seeing no way to escape, began to walk passed them, talking to ourselves and generally ignoring them. We were cold, and tired, and ready to leave.
But, you know, middle-aged mothers in the Gilbert/Mesa area just don't seem to be able to do anything but storm into other people's business, because no sooner had we walked outside than they began to condemn us with their glares and their voices.
"That was really rude, talking in the middle of a movie. Why don't you grow up?"
At this point, I had cast the shushing thing as a funny story to relate at a party or a dinner. But this woman's audacity, the nerve she had to not only reproach me for my behavior within the theater, but to wait outside for TEN MINUTES to tell me to GROW UP, was too absurd for me to remain silent.
I stopped, looked at her, and arched my eyebrow, a skill I've perfected over the years. The one that says, "You talkin' to me?"
When the woman put her hands on her hips, a satisfied smirk on her lips, I lost my sense of humor, my East Coast blood boiling.
"Well, excuse me, but the last time I checked, late night movies to a PG-13 movie usually implied that teenagers and young adults would be around. So
, sorry, if we offended you by our whispered comments."
The woman's friends all gasped in shock and indignant outrage, in a move so choreographed I wondered briefly if Ashton Kutcher was going to pop out and tell me that I'd been PUNK'D.
"Your behavior was very immature," the woman continued, obviously flabbergasted that I, a 19 year old (I just celebrated by birthday on the first weekend of February), had replied with more tact than she.
"Riiiiiiight," I drawled, rolling my eyes (okay, yes, this was being a bit immature, but I was standing up for myself and Babs, and the gloves were OFF). "Because waiting outside of a theater for two teenage girls is real mature behavior. Looks like we're not the only ones who need to grow up."
At that point, I was done, so Babs and I walked away, leaving the twittering pack of busy-bodies to busy-body away.
Let me just say, yes, I am a teenager, yes I talk a lot, and yes, I can often be immature (although I tend to be the most mature of my friends). But really? You walk onto our (our being the whole young adult collective) turf, cause trouble, and think we won't fight back?
I don't know about you guys, but my parents raised me to stand up for myself, to treat others with respect, and to dish it as its served, with a sweet smile to soften the blow. The last thing that you want to do is piss me off.
At least the movie was good.
