Dirt, Kiki and I went to a movie yesterday. About an hour in, I was blinded by the apocalyptic glow of a smartphone being used. But not merely used.

"Hi, how ya doing?" the man answered. His wife told him to say hi for her.

While we listened to his banal conversation from six rows back, Dirt and I glared at one another murderously. Had Kiki not been seated between us, the man would already have been pummeled into a grease spot. In this fission reaction, she was the control rod.

I fumed for the rest of the film, which I'm told was awesome. And then as we exited, Kiki headed to the restroom, leaving Dirt and me unsupervised, positioned between the theatre exit and the man's pickup truck.

The man exited the tiny theatre. We glared at him. His wife held her purse a little tighter. Yeah, lady, we're the lowlifes here.

"Your call," Dirt growled at me.

I considered my gamut of options, from vivisection to a cheery "I sure hope your lab results were okay, 'cause I can't imagine another reason for taking that call." Whatever we did would very likely end in some sort of confrontation. Anyone this rude typically responds badly to having a mirror held up to his face.

I decided that the pleasure I most wanted was to not converse with such a person.

"Fuck it. Let's just go," I said. Yeah, I know. I was even disappointed in myself.

Then the man opened his truck and removed the largest chainsaw I have ever seen. It had to be five feet long. It was positively terrifying to look at. Having just considered a confrontation with this asshole, I experienced a fight-or-flight rush of adrenaline.

As he placed it in the back of his truck, I pondered what could have been.