Superheroes just don’t get enough respect.
Recently, a group of friends assembled at my apartment to watch
“Spider-Man 2.” The behavior of my buddies during the
film appalled me: they talked over the movie, answered their cell
phones, and generally disregarded this masterpiece of modern
cinema.
“How can they neglect Spider-Man this way?” I
wondered incredulously.
Then it hit me ““ my friends couldn’t fathom the
grave obstacles regularly facing costumed crime fighters.
One does not really appreciate the difficulties of being a
superhero until he or she spends a day in a superhero’s shoes
““ or more specifically, a superhero’s tights. When the
first Spider-Man film debuted a few years ago, I was hired by a
comic shop to dress as the Webslinger to hand out fliers at the
local theater. I thought it would be an easy 200 bucks.
My costume was a skintight, full-body suit. It was revealing,
but this was no problem ““ I didn’t have anything to
hide, or so I thought. One annoyance, however, was the persistent
itching caused by the tight polyester. I felt as if I were
scratching somewhere on my body ““ arms, legs, often
impossible-to-reach places on my back ““ throughout the entire
duration of my superhero career. Still, I was going to be
Spider-Man for eight hours ““ I couldn’t imagine a
cooler way to make some quick cash.
The first few hours in front of the theater were pleasantly
uneventful ““ hugging children, signing autographs, taking
pictures, and handing out fliers for the comic shop. My archnemesis
was not the Green Goblin, but rather a group of teenage girls who
kept asking questions about my romantic life. Did they not realize
Spider-Man ““ even a movie-theater version ““ has no time
for such trifles?
But generally, things went smoothly all afternoon. Then came
dusk.
As the temperature dropped and a cool wind began to blow through
the air, I learned of another problem with the superhero costume
““ it doesn’t conserve heat. The only thing between my
body and the harsh elements of that May evening was a thin layer of
polyester. Shivering slightly, I continued at my task. If that was
all I had to deal with, I would be fine. But the cold and the
tightness of my costume would combine to produce a far greater
dilemma.
Approaching a hip-looking young couple to inform them of the
great deals available at the comic shop, the boyfriend began to
smile and dropped a bombshell: “Hey Spider-Man, it looks like
you just lost a battle with Mr. Freeze.”
Looking down below my waist, I realized what he was saying. The
tightness of the suit, already an annoyance, now became a much
greater and far more embarrassing problem, for it revealed a newly
acquired diminutiveness to the world. Now I’m not saying
I’m Mr. Fantastic, but the paltry specimen visible to ticket
holders was not at all representative of the true me. Alas, the
cold temperature had caused significant shrinkage in that most
delicate of body parts.
With the crowd ““ now aware of my “small”
problem ““ giggling around me, I frantically considered ways
to rectify the situation. Run inside and warm up? They were paying
me to stay outside with the customers. Take off the suit? They
hired me to act as Spider-Man, not T-shirt-and-jeans-Man. I needed
to stay out in the cold in my all-too-revealing suit. There was no
escape.
It was one of those nightmares all adolescent males dread: their
physical inadequacies ““ even temporary ones ““ revealed
to a world of laughing strangers. And this was no quickly corrected
belt malfunction ““ I still had nearly two hours before my
shift as a movie-theater superhero ended. Those knowing smirks of
the customers haunted my every step.
Fortunately, such suffering was not long endured. My salvation
came in the unlikely form of a hooded sweatshirt someone left in my
car. Sprinting across the parking lot, I grabbed the sweatshirt and
tied it around my waist, with the entire front side of my body from
navel to knees covered by dangling cotton. Perhaps it was not a
classic Spider-Man accessory, but at least I could endure my final
hours as a superhero without suffering unbearable shame.
I can’t imagine fighting crime with such a wardrobe. It
was hard enough to hand out fliers in that outfit and not lose my
mind ““ and a great deal of my self-esteem ““ in the
process. My admiration for superheroes was enhanced even more as I
learned of the hidden obstacles faced by those wearing tights.
Forget about defeating Doc Ock ““ I’m more amazed
Spider-Man can maneuver around a cold New York City without feeling
the intense need to drape a sweatshirt over his waist. That really
takes courage.
Kearns believes “Spider-Man 2″ should be a
general education requirement for all UCLA students. E-mail him at
bkearns@media.ucla.edu.