On Getting Triggered...and Taking Back Control
What do you DO in a situation like this? You’ve paid good money for a show you’re psyched to see. The auditorium’s packed, the lights are down, and the guy in front of you is — PLASTERED. Now what?
Last week, Eric and I went to the Chicago Theater to see a performance by Comedy Bang! Bang! — a fantastic live talk-show parody. Eric’s been a fan of the comedy troupe for years, but this was my first time, and I was excited.
Eric scored us some fantastic seats near the stage, and as we settled in, I hadn’t noticed the gentleman seated on the aisle one row in front of us until just before the lights went down. At that moment, as host Scott Auckerman stepped onto the stage, the guy on the aisle made his presence known — to everyone.
Almost immediately, the guy began yelling/slurring profanities that I won’t repeat here. He sat alone, with an empty seat to his right. Two-fisting it, he sipped from a full can of beer in one hand while sloshing a full cocktail with his other.
GREAT.
If our show’s host noticed all the commotion, he hid it well.
As audience members craned their necks to get a good look at this guy, I felt that familiar, triggered feeling that so many of us children of alcoholic parents know in our bones: When our adult begins acting inappropriately (or dangerously or foolishly or embarrassingly or confusingly) and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it, we want to do three disparate things all at once —
Keep an eye on the situation
Curl up in a ball, and then
Run
As Auckerman continued talking to the enthusiastic audience, I could not help but stare at the droopy-eyed man.
He looked to be in his 30s or 40s, with a clean t-shirt and a bald head that seemed heavier than a bowling ball on his wiry frame. Despite his pronounced slouching, I could tell that he was tall since his knees touched the back of the chair in front of him. The adorable couple to his right (seated in front of me) sat directly in the splash zone of the man’s wild-armed gestures.
Staring at the empty seat beside him, I wondered, Is the guy plowed because he’s been stood up by a date? Or has he been stood up because he’s plowed?
As Auckerman continued greeting the audience, the intoxicated guy kept gesturing and bellowing with increasing intensity — to the point where audience members began yelling “Shut the fuck up, man!” and “We’re watching a show!”
Eric and I exchanged silent, sideways, wide-eyed glances.
What do you DO in a situation like this? When you’ve paid good money for a show you’re psyched to see, and the auditorium’s packed and the lights are down and the guy in front of you is — PLASTERED — now what?
My adult self was immediately transported back to memories of my biological father drinking to the point of delirium, mumbling and waving his hands wildly to no one in particular. Never did situations like that end well, with things almost always ending up in either tears, fights, or handcuffs. Though I didn’t know the guy sitting in front of me, in a way, my inner child did, and I didn’t want things to end poorly for him the way they always did for my father.
Situated there in the theater, with my adult self trying hard to focus on the comedy show, my inner, triggered child kept fighting the urge to hide, to fix, to run for help.
And on this night, my inner, triggered child won.
Without thinking, the little girl inside me — feeling trapped in the middle of aisle JJ — seemed to know exactly what to do.
Just one minute into the show, I tapped Eric on the shoulder and whispered, “I’m getting security.”
“You’re…what?” he whispered back.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
Before Eric could say anything else, I smiled and rose to my feet while leaning hunched over. Scooting my way toward the aisle, I tapped the knee of the woman seated next to Eric. Her date was seated on the aisle, just behind the intoxicated man.
“Excuse me,” I apologized to the couple, trying to speak softly but loudly enough to be heard. “I’m gonna try and get security…” I was fully prepared for them to give me the ole eye roll, or a harumph, or just not move a damn muscle.
Instead, they both leaped up, stepping into the aisle and nodding their heads vigorously.
“You need backup?” the woman asked. At that moment, I swear to God, my inner, triggered child felt seen — and healed.
“Yes!” I whispered, and together, we ran up the darkened aisle toward the lobby.
As we stepped through the swinging doors, I waved to a man wearing a badge and an earpiece.
“Are you security?” I asked.
He nodded.
“There’s a man in distress in the aisle seat just in front of my row,” I pointed out. “I’m in aisle JJ. I think he’s been over-served. He’s yelling obscenities…and…”
“Thanks,” he said, walking toward the door, “we’ll check him out now.”
And that’s all it took.
Walking back to our seats, I was grateful for the woman’s company. I felt less like a Karen (apologies to all the good Karens out there) and more like the Good Samaritan I aspired to be.
I was barely seated when a security team member knelt down next to the guy on the aisle and whispered, “Hey man. You doin’ okay?”
The aisle dude nodded slowly, mumbled indiscernibly, and then waved security off. And with that, security stood up and left.
At first, I thought That’s IT???? No punitive action? No confrontation? No accusation? No shaming? No yelling? No dragging the guy out by his collar? No brute force? Just a simple question?
You okay?
This wasn’t what I was used to. In circumstances like this, I was used to someone making a scene. From what I was used to in my childhood, I was familiar with pushback…defiance…defensiveness…raised voices. I’d come to expect a performance interrupted, a beer can crushed or thrown, a dramatic exit.
Instead, the show thankfully went on.
The show must go on
I sat there in row JJ watching the performance in utter amazement.
A few minutes later, the inebriated man called out a few more times toward the stage — though quite a bit softer this time. And then, he seemed to pass out completely, eventually resting his chin on his chest. There was no intermission during this show, and he remained in this position for the rest of the performance.
Every now and then, I’d steal a glance to my left, checking to see if the man stirred, wondering if he’d woken himself to puke, curious if he’d shaken off the booze and perhaps come around.
He never did.
He stayed in that hunched-over position as the entire amphitheater around him howled with laughter and cried with joy and clapped with appreciation for the performers’ snappy, quick-witted commentary and comebacks.
During the show — which included the incomparable Paul F. Thompkins and some insanely brave volunteers who allowed their heads to be shaved onstage — I watched various members of the security team walk up and down the length of the aisle now and then, slowing their pace to check on the man.
As I allowed myself to ease into the ridiculous humor of the show, I sensed that the theater’s security team was somehow able to determine — using their tiny theater flashlights — that the aisle guy was still breathing. It felt good to let my inner, triggered self allow the grownups to take over the “watch duty”. I reminded myself I’d done what I could to try to help the guy. The rest, I decided, would have to be up to him.
During the final curtain call, the intoxicated man stood up on wobbly feet and weaved his way up the aisle toward the lobby before anyone else, leaving his empty beer can and cocktail glass behind.
It’s been a week since that show, and I’m still processing the night. I marvel at how easily I can still get triggered — and how quickly others can help me once again feel safe.
Since then, I’ve been curious not only about laws surrounding public intoxication but also about how employees are trained to handle it.
Cheers to security personnel who manage public intoxication
How do employers and venues train staff to diffuse and handle public intoxication?
I thought The Chicago Theater handled things well. They avoided chaos with the man on the aisle by not shaming him publicly or fanning flames of stigma. It’s hard to know if the man calmed down just before security arrived or because they arrived, but either way, security stayed present and acted based on what they were seeing, not on what they’d heard happened earlier. They let the man quietly work off his booze without interrupting the show, all while keeping a watchful eye on him in case things turned and/or escalated. In my book, they did everything right.
A toast to hypervigilance
Since that night, I also have a newfound appreciation for my hypervigilance. I used to think of it as a curse, a ruinous trait that often took me out of the present moment. But now, I can see how it also springs me into action, how it propels me toward acting with courage and helps me notice details of humanity that I might otherwise miss. As a writer, my hypervigilance is one of my most important tools. To be sure, I didn’t choose to experience the trauma that set my sense of hypervigilance into motion…but I can choose to harness its benefits.
For several minutes that night, before I stood up and ran for help, I experienced that awful, familiar trigger of feeling trapped and scared. I can see now that my hypervigilance pulled me out of that valley of perceived helplessness. It’s amazing how we can work through difficult moments if we’re willing to get up and walk toward help.
I know I’m not alone in hoping that man walked through those theater doors and made it home safely. I hope he woke up the next morning with a desire to change, and with a sense of self-compassion and self-acceptance. I love that no one shamed him or kicked him out for being drunk. He was surrounded that night by laughter and joy, and I like to believe that he breathed in that night’s positivity even as he slept through the performance.
Still, thanks to my ever-present hypervigilance, I can’t help but wonder how differently things might have played out if that person sitting on the aisle had been anyone other than a white male.
Prompt
When were you last triggered in a situation? What happened? What feelings were stirred up? What, if anything, were you able to do about it? If you weren’t able to do anything then, what would you hope to do next time you’re triggered like that?
Helpful Links
Examining Relationship Interactions of Adult Children of Alcoholics
Hypervigilance in Children of Adults with Alcohol Use Disorder
How to Start Drinking Less (Centers for Disease Control)
Christine Wolf is a memoir-writing coach and co-author of Politics, Partnerships, & Power: The Lives of Ralph E. and Marguerite Stitt Church. She teaches courses on Expressive Writing for Emotional Healing, and her self-guided memoir course launches soon. Get in touch at www.christinewolf.com.
The same thing happened to me and Jan in February at a Jackson Browne concert at the Beacon Theater. We were in the Mezz and about 30 minutes after we sat down, 6 or 7 women STONE DRUNK came and sat 1 row above us. They were loud, lude, crude, laughing, shouting, and as the lights went out and Browne came on, they were getting worse. The woman in back of us had a deep voice and she was outta control.
Let's back track--during our 30 minute wait, we became friendly with a husband and wife to our left and started a great conversation. They had come all the way from Brooklyn to see him. When Jackson started playing and the women got louder, Jan turned around and said "SHHH, we're trying to listen." They laughed and kept at it for 10-15 minutes, the woman with the deep voice even said "is this Bozz Scaggs? We paid all this money to see Boz Scaggs."
Sue (on my left) leaned over and said, "this is just horrific what's going on." A few minutes later I was at a breaking point. I stood up, in the dark, at my seat, turned around, looked at this row, screamed and pointed "SHUT THE LIVING FUCK UP NOW, before I jump the seats into your row and toss you out myself." The entire Mezz looked up and everything went SILENT. Hahaha. I just turned back around sat down, and carried on and listened to the music. Pretty crazy. These women were all maybe in their mid 30's and totally shitfaced beyond belief. Aaaaand security never came to find out what the ruckus was. Can u believe that one?
The women never said one more thing after that, and about 5 minutes or so after the intermission, which was about 90 minutes after he came on, they all left. And Sue & Alex and us exchanged numbers and got together a few weeks later in Brooklyn and we laughed about what happened.
Jan was like "I don't get it. People pay $100 a ticket to come to a concert and act like assholes."
Just another experience.