Open letter to to the Gentleman who sat next to me at the theater last night.
Dear Gentleman who sat next to me at the theater last night,
In the excitement of getting seated and reading the program of Miss Siagon, a Broadway show I had never seen, I failed to notice the sound you made with your dentures. No worries for me though, you continued to smack your dentures through the entire first act. So annoying was the smackity-smacka-smacka-smackity-slurp, that I almost missed the Janet Jackson wardrobe moment in the second scene. Thank the gods the tenor was loud enough to almost cover the wet noises you continued to make. When his microphone cut out I nearly cried. "Oh PLEASE!" I thought to myself, "don't let the tenor die in this one. Dammit, why did I not read the synopsis before the show?". Luckily for me there were two tenors, and both charactors managed to survive the entire play. Too bad you did not learn from your parents, teachers, or wife (yes, we know you came with him, he brought you coffee just the way you like it). In the theater, you are supposed to be quiet so the other people can hear the show. Even Twizzler Man removed the objects of his affection from the crinkly plastic before the act began. Thank you Twizzler Man.
Just in case you had some fantasy that you keeping time to the music, Denture Smack Man, let me be the one to point out that you were not. The noises you made were not rhythmic. They were just random enough that I could not tune them out. When you left during intermission, I considered following you and locking you out of the area until the end of the show. I feel sure the ushers would have found you by tracking down the smackity-smackity-slurp-smacka and freed you in time to get to your seat before the second act. Damn their well trained and efficient staff.
Much to my sorrow, you returned at the end of intermission bearing hot decaf coffee and enough unfiltered Marlboro reek to just about knock me out of my chair. Unfortunately for me, it was not enough to make me loose consiousness and miss out on the emissions from your mouth. Coffee and cigarrette smoke continued to waft over me and the person next to me every time you smacked. When you sprayed enough Binaca in your mouth to take down a hippopatomous, there were tears of joy along side the tears from the mist in my eye. The hankerchief I brought with me allowed me to filter some of your stench, but Denture Smack Man, the noises continued until the end of the show. These were not your only offenses. When you spread your legs and began bouncing your leg against mine half way through the second act, I almost lost my patience. You can thank my Good Southern Upbringing that I did not turn and speak to you about your annoying proclivities.
The stairs at the Mulliens Center are steep. I considered pushing you down them, but I feared that like the Tell Tale Heart, the sound of smackity-smackity-smacka-smacka would follow me to my death. You may thank my over active imagination for your luck. To prevent visitation of violence on your person, might I suggest either not wearing the dentures if they bother you, or using some denture adhesive so they do not slide around in your mouth.
In Service to Quiet, Considerate, Patrons of the Arts I remain
She Who Enjoyed the Show and Will Be Bringing Fixodent to the Next.
In the excitement of getting seated and reading the program of Miss Siagon, a Broadway show I had never seen, I failed to notice the sound you made with your dentures. No worries for me though, you continued to smack your dentures through the entire first act. So annoying was the smackity-smacka-smacka-smackity-slurp, that I almost missed the Janet Jackson wardrobe moment in the second scene. Thank the gods the tenor was loud enough to almost cover the wet noises you continued to make. When his microphone cut out I nearly cried. "Oh PLEASE!" I thought to myself, "don't let the tenor die in this one. Dammit, why did I not read the synopsis before the show?". Luckily for me there were two tenors, and both charactors managed to survive the entire play. Too bad you did not learn from your parents, teachers, or wife (yes, we know you came with him, he brought you coffee just the way you like it). In the theater, you are supposed to be quiet so the other people can hear the show. Even Twizzler Man removed the objects of his affection from the crinkly plastic before the act began. Thank you Twizzler Man.
Just in case you had some fantasy that you keeping time to the music, Denture Smack Man, let me be the one to point out that you were not. The noises you made were not rhythmic. They were just random enough that I could not tune them out. When you left during intermission, I considered following you and locking you out of the area until the end of the show. I feel sure the ushers would have found you by tracking down the smackity-smackity-slurp-smacka and freed you in time to get to your seat before the second act. Damn their well trained and efficient staff.
Much to my sorrow, you returned at the end of intermission bearing hot decaf coffee and enough unfiltered Marlboro reek to just about knock me out of my chair. Unfortunately for me, it was not enough to make me loose consiousness and miss out on the emissions from your mouth. Coffee and cigarrette smoke continued to waft over me and the person next to me every time you smacked. When you sprayed enough Binaca in your mouth to take down a hippopatomous, there were tears of joy along side the tears from the mist in my eye. The hankerchief I brought with me allowed me to filter some of your stench, but Denture Smack Man, the noises continued until the end of the show. These were not your only offenses. When you spread your legs and began bouncing your leg against mine half way through the second act, I almost lost my patience. You can thank my Good Southern Upbringing that I did not turn and speak to you about your annoying proclivities.
The stairs at the Mulliens Center are steep. I considered pushing you down them, but I feared that like the Tell Tale Heart, the sound of smackity-smackity-smacka-smacka would follow me to my death. You may thank my over active imagination for your luck. To prevent visitation of violence on your person, might I suggest either not wearing the dentures if they bother you, or using some denture adhesive so they do not slide around in your mouth.
In Service to Quiet, Considerate, Patrons of the Arts I remain
She Who Enjoyed the Show and Will Be Bringing Fixodent to the Next.