Seriously, Shut The Frak Up!

This was not the blog I intended to write today. That blog will have to wait another day. Now the title of this blog could apply to many things. First and foremost politicians. I mean let’s face it. Every time they open their mouths you have an urge to stick a piece of dynamite in. It could be about that idiot Tosh who thinks rape is funny. I won’t say what we should stick in his mouth. I will leave that to your imagination.

Alas, the blog refers to how I felt yesterday while seeing Les Miserables in San Francisco. I have seen this musical a few times but this staging was breathtaking. This is a pretty hard thing to do. Make an old musical seem fresh and new again. Especially one I love so much. I know every word of every song and I was into it.

This is despite the couple who were sitting in front if us and their constant chit chat. While it was merely annoying in the first act it became unbearable in the second. They actually started laughing and cracking jokes. This would have been bad anywhere in the theater but they were in the first row. This means the actors on stage heard everything. As everyone around them began to give the evil eye to no avail, I decided enough. I quietly reminded them, “we are not in your living room,” this elicited a small chuckle from the woman sitting next to me.

It got me a stare from the fucking noisy nimrod. The woman actually turned around and pointed at me. As if I was the one doing something wrong. The comment got them to at least settle down to their merely annoying first half chatter.

As the musical ended the crowd erupted into a standing ovation. The nimrods turned around to stare at me some more. I didn’t care. I wasn’t looking at them. I was clapping for the actors who had poured their heart out into the stage.

The nimrods began discussing loudly with each other the idea they should say something to me. I ignored them and Sheri and I began to exit the theater. It was at this point the woman jabbed me in the shoulder with her hand and began to berate me. I actually smiled at her as I uttered the words, “Don’t you touch me.”

I think there must have been all kinds of crazy in my eyes because the woman and her now silent nimrod date began quickly moving past me. There was a time in my life I would have completely lost my shit. I mean bad. In my head the words were flowing like lava. Outside I was self-editing like a pro.

I knew if the words came out she would probably try to slap me. For fucks sake she had already touched me. I wouldn’t have let her touch me again. I imagine there was a good chance the shit would have gone down hill quickly from there. This would have ruined what has been a great week. Sheri does not do well with confrontation. It would have crushed her psyche inward like a house of cards crumbling to the ground.

Sheri was on cloud nine this week. She had a great time at Comic-Con. Met a lot of wonderful new people. Bought a steampunk outfit so she could come back and cosplay. I stood on the precipice of ruining the whole week. Taking away every good feeling. I sucked it up. I kept my shit together. I smiled at Sheri and we went and found a house manager (we were at the Orpheum in San Francisco). The house manager was wonderful. A few minutes into the conversation we were all mocking the idiot nimrods. He took our information. The theater asked us to write-up the incident and we left.

I am happy I held it together. I would like to say it’s a new sense of maturity but anyone who knows me knows this isn’t true. Mostly, it was caring about my wife’s comfort more than anything else. I lost my shit in my head and this time it was okay that it stayed there. It doesn’t change the moral of the story. You want to talk, stay home. If you come to a live event, shut the frak up!

About csdaley

C.S. Daley was born in California but has spent most of his life in his imagination. His first short story written in third grade, the now classic "Close Encounters of the Turd Kind," was sold to his next door neighbor for a quarter. The neighbor promptly demanded a refund. An unhealthy obsession with the writings of Neil Gaiman, Christopher Moore, and Terry Pratchett have left his mind warped and broken. He spends most of his evening swilling down coffee while tapping at a keyboard under the watchful eyes of his kittens. They are there to make sure he doesn't snap. He likes to write fantasy for adults and teens.

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