Can You Believe the Nerve of Some People?

Tonight I experienced the most miserable evening at a symphony concert I’ve had in a long time.

Not because of the orchestra itself, or the programming. In fact, the evening had promised to be both exciting and lovely.

The first half consisted of pieces by Stravinsky -- my favorite composer, if I may be said to have one; and the headliner was the L.A. Guitar Quartet performing Rodrigo’s “Concierto Andaluz.” Plus, the concert would finish with the seldom-performed “Suite from The Incredible Flutist” by American composer Walter Piston, to be recorded live for the Oregon Symphony’s next CD.

What made the evening an ordeal was the young woman sitting in the next row in front of me, and her obsession with her smartphone.

About 15 minutes before showtime I settled in my seat and studied the program notes. In the row ahead and one seat to my right I noticed a striking young woman -- sharp-featured, well-coiffed, and showily dressed. Based on her appearance, I guessed she might be an Eastern European or Russian/Ukrainian “import bride,” especially since her companion, further to the right, was a much older white gentleman, heavy-set, white-haired, and balding.

She was busily taking photographs of herself with her smartphone, trying to get the concert stage in the photo behind her. Is being at the symphony such a big deal for her, I wondered, or is she just vain? Stage announcements included the usual admonishments to shut off one’s electronic devices, and then Oregon Symphony Music Director Carlos Kalmar spoke for several minutes about the evening’s program.


Although I had observed the woman slide down the volume control on her phone, she continued to fiddle with it: tapping through screens and trying to get a good shot of the entire orchestra and its conductor. Once the music started (Stravinsky’s Circus Polka; a four-minute ballet for elephants), she seemed to have put the device away, although it lit up when she checked it a few times over the next half hour.

The second, longer Stravinsky work was the orchestral arrangement of “Pétrouchka,” which I had heard often in recordings, but never live. When the piece reached its climax (which, following the slashing of the title character with a saber by his romantic rival, the Moor, is very quiet), the woman actually popped some gum she was chewing. Then she pulled out her phone and began to shuffle through the photos of herself that she had taken before the concert. There were about a dozen.

What is the feminine version of “asshole,” I wondered to myself.

The piece soon ended and it was time for intermission. I told my wife I was fed up with the woman and might well move a few seats down our largely empty row to put some distance between us. But I didn’t . . . though I noticed with amusement that the two women right next to her, one of whom had been directly in front of me, had moved a seat away, to the left.

Following intermission, the L.A. Guitar Quartet came onstage and began the Rodrigo. And the woman started to text . . . slowly, and at length. Trying unsuccessfully to relax with that bright little screen in my immediate field of vision, I grew increasingly furious. Working up my resolve, during the break between the first and second movements I leaned forward and said, “Could I ask you to put that away, it’s very distracting.”

Her response seemed very polite and accommodating, though all I understood was the initial “Yes” and not the short explanation that followed. It took another minute or two for her to finish up what she was doing and shut off the phone.

Not two minutes passed before the screen lit up and she was texting again! Totally distracted from the quiet movement of the Rodrigo by my anger and calculations in my head (why is it so hard to work up the courage to inform someone he or she is being a jerk?), I made up my mind to say at the next break in the music: “I am asking you politely a second time to put your smartphone away. If it lights up again, I will take it away from you.”

But the guy in the row BEHIND ME and to my left couldn’t wait that long. He leaned forward and said to me, “Would you smack her for me?!” So I started to speak to her again, whereupon her date/husband/whatever said “we have a medical emergency.” The guy behind me -- and then me, like a domino – replied: “then take it out in the hall.” Which they did. And fortunately, through an encore by the LAGQ and the final orchestral work, that was the last we saw of them. If anyone from the symphony administration is paying attention, this couple was in Row AA between aisle 2 and 3, possibly seat numbers 8 and 9.

Was she a health care professional or just a concerned relative? Was it really a medical emergency or was that their cover story/excuse?

I leave it to you to speculate.

But the incident left me wishing that, along with a coat check, concert halls had a mandatory check-in for smartphones (and all other electronic devices) for the duration of the show, as well.