I almost died three times this weekend at the hands of teenagers.
The first time was Friday evening. Having secured our favorite sitter, Derek and I went to the movie theater. We settled into our seats. We observed the fellow movie-goers around us. All was well with the world. Until a long line of teenagers filed into the row behind us.
You wanna talk about obnoxious? Oh. my. stars. Cursing and speaking loudly in crushingly obvious bids for attention. And the things the girls were saying. Aaaaah. I like to think that girls don't do that thing where they try to make out that they have an impossibly low intelligence quotient around boys, but it was either that or these girls were actually that stupid. I really don't know which I would rather. Either way I was so, so embarrassed for their future selves, who will surely cover their faces in shame when they look upon these memories.
Still, I was willing to have a little patience, extend a little grace, because I'm aware that I was not a model teenager. I'm still not entirely sure how my mother didn't kill me in the six months following driver's ed, as I had to have been the worst backseat driver in the history of mankind. ("Mom, you're supposed to put your turn signal on half a block ahead of your actual turn." "Mom, are there at least two car-lengths in between you and that car in front of you? Because it looks like one at the most to me." "Mom, did you even look before crossing that railroad track? Do you have any idea what humans look like after they've been hit by a train? Because I do." I'm surprised she didn't purposely wreck just to put the other passengers out of their misery.) As long as these hormone-carriers piped down once the actual movie started, we'd all get along just fine.
So they squealed and giggled and OMG'd and Derek gripped his armrests and scowled at the empty screen.
The previews started. The inane comments behind us didn't so much as wane.
The previews ended. The movie started. It became clear that these children were going to treat us to what they clearly viewed as commentary worthy of Mystery Science Theater 3000, which it was, except for being neither funny nor clever.
I began to fear for my life, as my proximity to Derek surely marked me as collateral damage once the violence almost visibly brewing within him finally exploded. To say that he has no patience for out-of-control teenagers would be like saying Jenny McCarthy should not be heralded as a viable medical expert: both understatements so vast they could contain their own galaxies. I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands.
I, myself, had some rather choice and scathing remarks ready for this band of merry movie-disturbers, but I showed remarkable restraint, if I do say so myself, and merely turned around, and with a tight smile, pleasantly but pointedly said, "Hi. I can't hear." I kept eye contact for several seconds with the worst offender, who shrank back in her seat, mouth open, lower jaw jutting out, obviously offended. When I turned back around, she started giggling again straight away, but this time was quickly shushed by her compatriots, who seemed properly abashed.
The second and third time I was literally almost killed by another teenage girl who was driving a driver's ed car while I was out running. She ran me off the road twice. The first time her driver's ed instructor calmly if clearly pointed to me while gesturing to her that she has to share the road. The second time he was jabbing his finger in my direction while yelling at her, and the two boys in the backseat stared openly, as if in awe that they almost just saw my guts spilled across the road. In my defense, I was on the very edge of the road, there was no sidewalk, and I was wearing bright colors. In her defense, she's a teenager.
Honestly, if it weren't for our wonderful teenaged baby-sitter Hannah, I'd have lost all faith in adolescents completely. I also hereby give all who read this permission to publicly admonish any of our children if you see them to start to act a fool in 5-10 years.