I don’t expect kids to respect me just because I’m a little older than them; that’s the path to well deserved ridicule and it seems that every generation tends to think the one that follows it rude. But it’s hard not to observe today’s youngsters’ inability to switch off their mobile phones in the cinema. No matter how quickly their little thumbs dance on little keypads, I’m never impressed and I’m well and truly over novelty ringtones.
So a red mist descended in the Odeon on Sunday afternoon as two girls sat in the row in front of me made clear their intention to text and chatter in the dark. Perhaps predictably, my initial request that they switch off was met with the most incredulous look. So, quite reasonably in my book, I gently removed the clamshell handset from its owner’s ear, closed it and dropped into onto the empty seat next to the offending teen.
About twenty minutes later it all became too much for them and they left giving what my generation would call Paddington Bear stares, but were probably their best ‘Am I bovvered?’ faces. But they were bothered because as I left an usher asked me if I’d had some bother and then explained that the phone call I’d interrupted was from the parents who’d dumped their offspring in the cinema. They were calling during the film to ensure the little darlings were sitting comfortably.