The Others

We'd been in Vancouver for about a week, and my husband and I were marveling at all things Canadian. The cleanliness of the streets; the politeness of the citizens; the feeling of safety in the dark. It was all so very civilized. America-lite. My country, without the ego. "They didn't have a revolution," my husband reminded me; "they settled their west by train."

One evening, we decided to go to the movies. "The Others" was playing in the clean new theater a few blocks from our downtown hotel. We arrived early, just the way I like to, and I congratulated myself on our terrific seats, which were midway back, and dead center. I settled into the plush cushions. Yup, we fit right in. "Canada's great!" I whispered to my husband. He squeezed my hand.

The theater started filling up, with softly murmuring patrons. I looked on in approval. So polite, so considerate, so orderly, so---The teenaged usher with the regulation-sized flashlight interrupted my elegy. He called for attention, and got it. It appeared there would be a full house, he announced politely; could those already seated please get up and shift over, so that latecomers could be seated.

I stifled a snicker. "Good luck with that," I thought. I mean, I come from the land of First Come, First Served. Finders Keepers. Beggars Can't Be Choosers. You Snooze, You Lose. What's it to me if these others came late? They can do what I do if I'm ever late to a theater--hover anxiously in aisles in the dark until their eyes adjust, and then squeeze themselves into any leftover space. It's a system. It works.

The more I thought about it, the more worked up I got. I braced myself for the revolution. "Hell no, we won't go!" I chanted to myself. I was still chanting, impotently, as the entire mass of seated moviegoers dutifully stood and shuffled right. There was no question of me individually keeping my spot. The momentum of the herd pressed me on.

Eventually, my husband and I were allowed to settle into our new, far less stellar seats. If I leaned left, past the NBA wannabe seated directly in front of me, I could still make out the screen. My husband was practically beside himself. "Can you believe that?" he whispered; "that wouldn't happen back home!" "Sure wouldn't," I hissed. I felt suddenly out of place amid these compliant, unselfish people. Very small, very mean, very American, and very ready, suddenly, to be home.