So last night the spousette and I decide that we're feeling stir-crazy after a work-intensive week for the both of us, and elect to do takeout and a mindless movie (Ocean's 13) at the local bijou. I purchase tickets and wait impatiently outside the theatre until SWMBO appears to inform me that she's left her glasses in the car (parked somewhere in the midwest) and that I should save a seat for her. In the event this involves us in about the sixth row and behind, as it happens, a cohort of about a dozen high school juniors (I estimate here) who are feeling rowdy of a Friday night, and who have cellphones. I happen to be sitting behind the alpha male of this pack, and he is apparently arranging, via cellphone, a competitive "clapout" with another group elsewhere in the theatre. He concludes these protocols and starts to explain to his crew what's required of them. I pipe up, ramping my normal voice (it would be useful for me to explain that since 1966 I have had a voice so deep that strangers remark upon it. It sounds mellow and mellifluous from inside, but when I have listened to recordings it seems a harsh croak) down a couple of stops, "You lads aren't going to piss me off tonight, are you?" The results were gratifying. "No, sir! We respect the moviegoing experience!" "I never doubted it," said I, and listened with satisfaction while the ringleader informed his cohort that they were calling off the "clapout," and then contacted his opposite number at the other end of the cellular connection to advise him of the change. I'm pleased to report that the entire dozen were silent as mice throughout the feature.

I was never remotely that obstreperous as a teenager, but I nevertheless contrived to attract a share of adult reproaches during that period. I do think, though, that my rumbled "You lads aren't going to piss me off tonight, are you?" delivered as it was with a raised eyebrow and a smile, represents an advance over the "why, you young punks" fulminations I remember.

cordially,