Feb 20, 2015 3 min read

I love the movies. If you don’t count my six-hour shift at McDonalds, my first job was working in a movie theater. I came home from Mickey D’s smelling like I went swimming inside a pickle jar. I handed in my smock and traded it for a clip-on bow tie. I was a teenage movie usher. Dunt dunt da!

I traded pickles for popcorn. It was a much more fragrant experience. I used to rip tickets and say, “Enjoy your movie.” There really wasn’t much to it. Occasionally, I would take a flashlight and stroll down the aisle to make sure everyone was on their best behavior. Back in the Paleozoic, people didn’t chat during the film, and I rarely had to stop anyone from doing anything. Once, I did break up a couple in the back row for being too … um … amorous. Another time, during a children’s matinee, I took care of a vomit situation, or “Code Red,” as we used to call it.

I love the movies. I used to see anything and everything. This weekend is the movie lover’s double header. Tonight (Saturday, for those who have picked up an old newspaper in Wendy’s or Panera) is the Independent Spirit Awards. Tomorrow (Sunday – do try to keep up) is the Academy Awards, the Super Bowl for movie fans. Alas, I’ve only seen two of the top eight films.

I don’t see as many movies as I used to. They have gotten so loud. I don’t mean the THX sound system. I am referring to the audience. Last year, I went to see a movie and I kept hearing “beep bop dee bop beep.” I thought I was sitting behind R2D2. A woman two rows in front of me was playing “Candy Crush” or “Angry Birds” on her phone during the movie. Did I mention it wasn’t just during “First Look,” the trailers or the opening credits but during the movie? Right in the middle of the bleeping film!

That weird little vein in my forehead started to pulsate. I had to get the usher. He told her to turn off her phone. She looked at me and said, “Are you serious?” But her eyes said, “Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches!” I was ruining her enjoyment of the game. I wanted to mention she was disturbing about 40 to 50 people, but I was the bad guy in her story. Go figure.

Two minutes after the usher went back to sweeping up discarded Milk Duds in the lobby, she took her phone back out and resumed playing her game at full volume. “Beep beep bop beep.”

I was the 3CPO to her R2 and simply said, “We seem to be made to suffer. It’s our lot in life.”

Cellphones don’t ruin movies; people who use cellphones ruin movies.

If I do go to the cinema, and I see you with a phone, it better be in your pocket by the start of the first trailer. I may just finally pop that vein in my forehead, and that’s a “Code Red” I wouldn’t wish on any usher.