Dear Audience at the Mike Birbiglia show

Much like morons who talk and make noise through a movie, I have no respect for someone who goes to a show or play and disrespects those onstage.  You paid money to see this a professional do their job, so why do you feel the need to interject your own "wit" every few minutes, or get up to get another beer every half hour?

I spent a good bit of money to go see one of my favorite comedians, Mike Birbiglia, at the Warner Theater in DC last night.  DC folk think that since I come from the Eastern Shore, I must be some sort of Podunk redneck that can't handle the city life.  The rednecks on the Shore put the mouth breathers in DC to shame in the manners department.  I should have been wary when the line at every beer stand was at least thirty people deep.  I should have been more wary that doors opened at 7PM, the show started at 8PM, and at 8:10 people were still filing in, talking loudly, and dicking around. 

The opening act had to deal with more and more people wandering in to find their seats.  There was a large sign at the entrance telling people that if they arrived late, they would not be allowed to sit until a set break time.  The Warner Theater staff decided that they must have been drunk themselves when they posted that, because repeatedly ushers with flashlights kept ringing people in all the way through the opening act. 

Finally, Birbiglia took the stage, and people still hadn't all taken their seats.  To his credit, he was quick to point this out.  "Well, I was here on time" he intoned to the people in the front row showing up 15 minutes into the set.  He then would stop his act whenever anyone was coming down the aisle and sarcastically thank them for coming to the show. 

This wasn't enough for the crowd though.  Trying to ruin the night of one of the most genial comics around suddenly became the united goal of the crowd.  Three rows behind me, a drunken frat troll from UMD began screaming "MIKE BIRBIGLIA" anytime there was silence.  Apparently , this cretin's $40,000 a year college experience failed to help him understand that comedy is a fragile thing that depends largely upon timing and delivery.  When both of those are interrupted by a backwards hat wearing pillow humper, it ruins the experience for everyone.  Birbiglia pointed out how ludicrous it was that this pillar of academia could think of no better heckle than the scream his name, and the grunting dillweed drunkenly murmured in self satisfaction for a few minutes.  He grew listless being out of the spotlight soon, and started yelling again.  Wisely, Birbiglia started to ignore him.  Frantic that his newfound fame was slipping away, the drunken crapweasel pleadingly degenerated his yell, until it was almost unintelligible.  By the end of the set, he was screaming "Mym Berblglera", most likely while high fiving the other members of his high school lacrosse team that he brought with him.

Next, a woman's cell phone went off.  Rather than quickly mute the call, she thought it was best to answer it, then loudly exclaim, "Hey!  I'm at a comedy show!" for all to hear, because nothing else had been nearly ludicrously ignorant enough up to this point.   

The final straw of the night came because of the ignorance of the venue itself.  As I stated, they were selling beer.  Ok, fine.  Let the asshats get drunk.  Problem is, they were selling very large glass bottle of beer.  Anyone ever loosely associated with something I can "rational thought" might realize that giving out glass bottles to an event that is largely based around hundreds of people being able to hear what one person was saying might be a bad idea.  Time after time, someone would stand up to go buy another beer in the middle of the set, and they would end up kicking their empty bottle.  It would spend roughly the next six minutes and thirteen seconds rolling down the aisle, pinging and clicking on everything it passed.  After the fifteenth time this happened, Mike simply lay down on the stage, wishing himself away to a place where people have even a modicum of social grace or respect. 

Bottom line is, Mike Birbiglia has never gone down to the Dairy Queen and screamed "DILLY BAR" at you until he was hoarse.  He has never gone to the Hooters your mother works at and completely ignored her while she tried to tell him what the specials are, and he has not banged pots and pans while you try to check people out at Walmart.  That being said, why would you go to the place where he works and be an ignorant fool?