THE STAGES OF ANNOYANCE : Or, 25 Distractions That Can Ruin a Theater Outing

First, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I love theater. I love writing about it, I love going to it. But lately, I’ve been noticing more and more distractions--all real, but perhaps some less pitiable than others--that are taking their toll on my playgoing experience.

They are, in no particular order:

Bad plays . Needs no explanation.

Crying children . Who takes an infant to the theater? Ask the charming couple who brought their small but ever-so-noisy baby to Los Angeles Theatre Center’s “Boesman and Lena.” And stayed.

People who interfere with one’s exit at intermission . Actually, this happened only once, as we bounded toward the car during the intermission break for “Angel City” and the cast members in the alley implored, “Don’t go. It gets better.”

People who talk. Older folks are the most common offenders here, often spending the evening in a nonstop back-and-forth of “What did he say?” and other unnecessary comments. (I’m sorry if they’re losing their hearing, but why should we have to suffer it too?)

Of course, seniors do not have the monopoly on the conversation racket. Recently at “Tango Argentino,” the young woman to my right jabbered through most of the performance, and when I finally objected, she coolly informed me that she was discussing the dance technique. (Well, that’s different!) And, after all, at that very moment her husband--apparently a light technician--was working the spotlight shining on one of the singers.

Groupies . This happens more and more, as heartthrobs such as Andy Gibb, Gregory Harrison and Jack Wagner take to the local stages. The most appalling display came at LATC’s “Triumph of the Spider Monkey,” where a quartet of front-row teens ooh ed and ahh ed and giggled at Shaun Cassidy until an angry hand (mind) descended on their shoulders. Better behavior followed.

Worrying about your car / car radio being stolen. This happens when there is no theater-provided lot and you have to walk three dimly lit blocks to the theater.

Too-long drives . The pits came earlier this year, with a rainy week-night trek from Westwood to “The Iceman Cometh” at the Doolittle. Seventy-eight minutes one way!

Lines for the restroom . Can you believe the queue that stretches out the door of the ladies room at intermission? Painful business, indeed.

Restrooms outside the theater , but sharing an attached wall . This happens rarely, but it is very disconcerting to be sitting in the bathroom and hear the audience two feet away (through the wall). That means they can hear me too, right?

People who applaud too much. This only happens when there are big, big stars involved. My favorite was the hand they gave Claudette Colbert upon her entrance in “Aren’t We All.” That was OK. But the next time she came in, they started clapping again. Really.

People who giggle at nudity onstage. Grow up!

Uncomfortable seats. Small-scale, the prize goes to the Valley’s Whitefire Theater. On the expensive end, the Westwood Playhouse.

Water fountains that barely trickle. Perhaps this is to discourage those lines in the ladies’ rooms?

Candy eaters. Some people bring individually wrapped caramels and crumple the cellophane mercilessly. This, at least, is preferable to those who bring little tins of wrapped goodies, which they then pass out to their entire party.

Latecomers . Of course, we’ve all been late once in a while--accidents happen, emergencies happen. But there seems to be a whole breed of people now who couldn’t care less that they’re putting out everyone around them, stumbling in anywhere from 10 to 45 minutes late. And stepping on me.

People who leave mid-performance. I’m not talking about leaving at intermission. (An awful play deserves a discreet getaway.) I’m referring to those who just get up while the action is taking place. A mass exodus of this sort happened at “The Garden of Earthly Delights” when one of the ghouls impaled another on his cello. Still. . . .

People who leave before the curtain call . How rude! I feel especially bad for the actors, coming out to take their bows--and being greeted with the sight of people scurrying out to beat the crowd in the parking lot.

People who invade my space. Putting your coat over the back of the seat (onto my lap) is not nice. That goes double for the girl at the Odyssey who recently did the same thing with a long mane of hair.

Time discrepancies. The ads say the play starts at 7. You get there and find it starts at 8. What fun! This challenging situation recently befell us at the Beverly Hills Playhouse for “Split.”

No parking . This is different from the item about worrying whether you’ll get ripped off. You can’t get ripped off because you can’t find a space. Literally. This happens on a regular basis at Santa Monica’s Powerhouse Theatre (where most street parking is restricted to neighborhood permits).

No intermission . How are we to escape a bad play?

People who gape at celebrities. And point and whisper and crane around to see if that’s really John Travolta in the fifth row. (It was.)

Too-long curtain calls . At “Tango,” we applauded all 32 members: first dancers, then singers, then musicians, then as a group, then individually. Hands do go numb.

Ego bows . A recent example was “The Normal Heart.” Everyone came out to take their bows, then, suddenly, the stage was dark, and when the lights came up, there was Richard Dreyfuss, modestly acknowledging his private applause.

Snorers . The bad news is that they usually start 10 minutes into the first act. The good news is that they can’t talk, eat or step on you in their sleep. So be grateful.