I almost sat down to write another episode of, “People are Goddamned Annoying,” but as I started typing, I noticed something.
Here’s the backstory: The other week, three rude women did their best to ruin a comedy show; they talked and texted through several comics before the establishment threw them out.
Time was, I would have ripped them a new one the instant I hit the stage. But ever since my daughter was born, I’ve been trying to do a better job of controlling my irritation with the insolent few who walk among us. Instead of attacking, I watched silently as employees, the other comics, and audience members continually tried to quiet the disrespectful three.
After my set, I sat at a table to watch the next comic, and though the women talked and texted and made entirely too much noise during his set, I vowed to let the situation to resolve itself without me. Two tables surrounding the women tried to quiet them to no avail. When one customer finally said he was getting management and left the showroom, one of the trio said, “Jesus, what’s his problem?” This prompted a woman at another table to respond, “You’re being rude is the problem, and I wish you’d shut the fuck up.”
A manager arrived and asked them to pay up and leave; the women were belligerently surprised by the fact their loud talking and texting was bothering people: “Us?! We’re just trying to have fun! What’s wrong with having fun?”
As they stood to exit—making a show of it, of course, disrupting the show again with their actions—one approached the man who complained to management and got in his face: “You know, we were just trying to have fun. Maybe someday you’ll be a good person and learn what it’s like to have fun too!” she slurred, leaning in on him.
The man put his hands up defensively—palms out to prevent her from pushing in on him too far—so the woman yelled, “You touched me! Maybe I’ll press charges for that!”
I had had enough, and snapped: “Maybe he has witnesses who saw he didn’t do anything.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business!” she yelled at me.
“Maybe you should go be fat and obnoxious somewhere else,” I responded.
Her jaw dropped. She was stunned for a moment, but when she recovered it was like the detonation of a nuclear bomb. “What did you say?” she shouted. “What did you say?!”
“Please leave,” I said, bored with the proceedings. “Just please leave.”
She put her middle finger right up against my nose, shouted “FUCK YOU,” and stormed out.
The people around me golf-clapped their appreciation of my action.
The show continued, and I sat and pondered my words; had I gone too far? Maybe. Had the woman deserved it? Yes. Because she deserved it, did that mean I had to stoop to her level to deliver the slam? No.
And therein is the problem: just because someone deserves poor treatment, doesn’t mean I want to be the karmic come around. I didn’t feel bad about my actions, but neither did I feel proud; there was no “I sure told her!” high-fiving going on in my mind.
After all had ended, while standing in the bar outside the showroom, one of the more-polite women from the trio approached me. We began a nice conversation regarding public etiquette; she still didn’t understand why they had been asked to leave: “I hadn’t seen my friends in a year, and we were just trying to catch up.”
I felt it somewhat confusing and sad that I had to explain, to an adult no less, that talking and texting during a live performance was inappropriate. She seemed to come around, and she and I got along famously throughout the dialogue. I admitted that I had lobbed my insult at her friend because I was overly annoyed by her behavior, and since civility hadn’t been able to burrow it’s point into her noggin I wanted to say something mean to provoke a reaction. The woman agreed they should have quieted down and remained silent after their first warning. A resolution to the whole sordid event was in the works, when the rude one returned and started calling me an asshole. I shrugged and walked away; no one wins a shouting match, so I try to avoid them as much as possible.
So.
At the beginning of this, I sat down to write about how clueless people can be, how some people shouldn’t be allowed in public and so on and so forth, when something dawned on me: the last time I witnessed audience members as disrespectful as these three was almost one year ago.
One year.
I wondered how many people I had been in front of since then, how many thousands.
I wondered why I wanted to focus on the negative, the offensive, and the clueless/classless, when the obvious focus could/should be the majority of people who were wonderful. Hell, that night alone I had been in front of 250 people, and of that only 3 were bad. And of those 3, only 1 could be completely written off. That’s less than 1% of the audience. That means 99% of the people in attendance were upstanding, there-to-have-fun folks.
Considering the last time I wrote about an event involving obnoxious audience members it also involved 3 people, that means that out of—and I’m just spitballing here—6,000 people I’ve been in front of in a year, only 6 were really, really obnoxious. Yes, there were drunken louts, and idiots, but when it comes to people who had to be removed from the showroom: 6.
The percentage of shitty people becomes microscopic.
Yes, one drop of poison can ruin water for everyone, and that’s the problem. The minority can disrupt the majority; the few can harm the whole. But overall, people are good. And personally, I’m getting better. As said, time was I would have begun the proceedings with an inappropriate, cutting remark, but these days I’m waiting until the bitter end to pull out the big guns.
More proof: I saw The Monuments Men in the theater with my Mrs.
(Side note: I don’t recommend it. Love me the George Clooney, but not this time around.)
Behind us was a couple, talking.
I granted them the previews, because, fine, they’re the previews.
When the movie started and they continued their chatter, I turned and gave them a very hard look. They responded with confusion and slight embarrassment; “Why is this person glaring at us?”
And then they continued talking.
So I whispered very politely, “Excuse me, could you please talk after the film? Thank you.”
Again, they looked slightly confused and embarrassed…
…and continued talking.
So I turned around and said, firmly and somewhat loudly, “Seriously, shut the fuck up.”
And they did.
For the whole movie.
After looking at me in shock and horror for my rude action.
Two years ago, that would have been my opening salvo, not a final straw.
I may not be the tyranny of evil men, but I’m trying real hard to be a shepherd.
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