So on Friday I went to go check out what turned out to be a not-very-interesting play. Yet there was some intriguing drama — co-starring me and very capable actor Mark Ruffalo.

Let me just say from the outset that I’m a fan of Ruffalo’s work. He was great in You Can Count on Me and more recently, Zodiac.

In any case, while the audience was still arriving before the show, I had my nose in my program. Because I was close to the aisle, I had to stand up a few times to let people into my row.

Some guy dropped next to me and started fiddling around with a smartphone. A lot of people were. I didn’t pay much attention to him and kept reading the program.

When the lights came down, there was much fidgeting in the audience as people turned off their devices and socked them away. But I noticed that the guy next to me had left his device on and it was blinking.

A minute later, it was pretty clear that the blinking wasn’t a part of a shutdown sequence. Because the offender had his hand on top of his device, he couldn’t see the blinking, although I had an unobstructed view of it.

I hate people who don’t turn their shit off — more so those who continue to text friends during movies and plays. I don’t even care if it’s new and you thought you hit the off switch. You paid for it, so at least learn how to use it!

So in the second minute of the play I turned to the guy and said, not too kindly, “Could you please turn that off? It’s very distracting!”

He leaned out of the shadows and I could see his face by the light of the blinking smartphone. Gee, I thought, that guy kinda looks like Mark Ruffalo.

“I don’t have anything on!” insisted the Ruffalo-look-a-like.

“Dude, it’s blinking!” I said. Gee, I thought, that guy even kinda sounds like Mark Ruffalo. I saw a measure of scrutiny in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t used to being spoken to in that way and he was evaluating my face that was surely illuminated by the blinking light of his smartphone.

Who the fuck is this guy, maybe he was thinking. Chow Yun-Fat? Damn, he kicked some ass in The Killer!

Suddenly he looked down, moved his hand and literally saw the light.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry!” he blurted.

I turned back to the play.

Damn, I thought, I just put the hammer to Mark Ruffalo.

At intermission and at the end of the play, I thought I caught some sullen looks from him. Maybe he wanted to say something. Introduce himself.

“Hey, I’m an actor myself, so I know all about being a respectful audience member.” Something like that.

It didn’t happen. I could’ve approached him, but for what? It would have merely extended an awkward exchange to an awkward conversation.

I left the theater, got a can of Dr. Pepper and went home.