Given the frequency with which I watch movies (an occupational hazard), and given that I often see them during the work day, in far-flung cities while traveling, or at last-minute to accommodate my overpacked schedule, I rather often end up at the theater alone.

Some people hate watching movies by themselves, and, at first, I must admit I similarly felt vaguely embarrassed about it, as if everyone pouring into the theater was taking a moment away from their crazed seat search to pity the poor friendless loser parked in the middle of an otherwise empty row. I’d glance at my watch regularly, scanning the incoming crowds as if to say, ‘now, where is my friend (or perhaps date) who’s likely arriving late or simply coming back from the bathroom, because, I mean, I’m certainly not the sort of poor friendless loser who would have to see this movie alone.”

Over time, though, the embarrassment waned. I stopped the friend-search charade (because, honestly, the only thing more loserly than being at the theater alone is being there with imaginary friends), and started simply settling into my seat. I began to appreciate pre-movie time, a rare few minutes in which I could simply sit on my ass without feeling like I should be doing something other than just vegging out.

By now, I’ve reached the point where I often prefer seeing movies alone. For me, at least, there’s something intensely personal about being immersed in a film, and being snapped immediately back into the real world as the credits roll is tough enough without gratuitous post-mortem dissection discussion. Perhaps I’m just a slow thinker, but even when I do want to critique a film, I often feel I need to weigh it mentally for a day or two before crystallizing an opinion.

Which is all to say, basically, that if you see me in a theater, parked like a poor friendless loser in the middle of an otherwise empty row, leave me the hell alone. I’m happy there by myself.