When Is It Okay to Complain . . .

I, as a general rule, try to be very polite, and excuse people's rudeness and inconsideration. I know that I, myself, am probably rude and inconsiderate at times, and that I am probably unaware of my actions.

But there comes a point when I feel compelled to speak up, to say, "Hey, cut it out!" or something else that makes the point that my patience limit has been surpassed. But I struggle, sometimes, with exactly where that line is, and exactly what to do when it has been crossed.

Case in point. Friday night Mike and I went to a movie. We went to the theater in Market Street where unaccompanied teenagers are not allowed to go. (You might think that sounds unfair to teenagers, but if you have ever been to the OTHER movie theater in The Woodlands on a Friday night, you would know how WONDERFUL it is that we have options.) Anyway, we went to see Appaloosa. Everyone in there was probably our age or older. So you would think it would have been a fairly sedate evening. Unfortunately, the woman sitting directly behind me had two problems. She had new shoes that squeaked horrifically everytime she moved her feet, and I'm pretty sure she had restless leg syndrome. So throughout the entire movie I heard, "squeak, squeak, squeak . . ." quiet. "squeak, squeak, squeak . . ." quiet. It was maddening. I tried clearing my throat (after about 30-40 minutes of squeak, squeak, squeak). I tried looking back at her. I did everything but turn around and say, "HEY LADY! QUIT MOVING YOUR FREAKING FEET. YOUR SHOES ARE FREAKING ANNOYING THE HECK OUT OF ME!"

I wanted to do that. But I didn't. And oddly, I felt trapped by the whole situation. Should I go get the manager and have him help me? Should I disrupt everyone else in the movie by saying something to the woman? So, I did nothing. I miserably watched my movie and was so glad when it was finally over.

Other Case in Point. Last night I went to bed at 10:30 and a woman in the building behind my building (not even the same building as mine) had her music up so loud that my windows rattled. I could hear her voice and that of her boyfriend and they sounded like they were standing right outside my bedroom window. So Mike got up and walked onto our back porch and asked her if she would mind turning down the music. "WHAT?" she yelled. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU" she yelled. I laughed. Mike said, "You can't hear me because your music is too loud. Would you mind turning it down?" "OH YEAH. SURE!" she yelled again. So Mike came back in and climbed back in bed and the music softened. . . for about 60 seconds. Then it started again.

He got up, put on his clothes and left the apartment to go talk to her. This is the second time this has happened. She doesn't even live in our building! What do we do? Do we just go talk to her every time it happens?

All that to say, YIKES! People, have some consideration. YKM (You're killing me).