I Am Iron Man. And You’re A Jerk.

This takes place back in 2013. I am a petite nineteen-year-old female. My boyfriend and I are on a double-date seeing “Iron Man 3” on premiere night. We arrive at that theater well before it starts to get good spots.

A few minutes into the movie, my boyfriend gets a bloody nose and goes to the restrooms to take care of it. The movie is about twenty minutes in when a man and his date walk into the theater. The theater is full and there are no seats together anymore. They spot the seat next to me with my boyfriend’s jacket in it and walk over.

Man: “Is that seat available?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

Man: “No one’s sitting in it.”

Me: “My boyfriend is.”

Man: “Well, he’s not here right now. We want seats together.”

Me: “He’s coming back.”

Man: “There are no more seats next to each other. Get up and find somewhere else.”

Me: “No. We were here an hour before the movie started to get spots and you just now walked in, with concessions, on opening night, and the movie has already been playing for twenty minutes.”

Man: “I want that spot. Get up.”

I ignore him.

Man: “I said get up, girl! Don’t make me move you.”

I ignore him again, which results in him reaching toward me to grab my arm.

Me: “Woah, dude! No! Not okay! Don’t touch me.”

This has now gained the attention of my boyfriend’s friend, who is 6’2″; the guy is probably 5’8″. My friend gets out of his seat.

Friend: “Is there a problem? What are you trying to do to my buddy’s girlfriend?”

Man: “I… uhhh… Nothing, man. We’re all good.”

He slunk off to his girlfriend, and thankfully, we didn’t see them for the rest of the night.