Ovens Auditorium

Look, I hate being hot. I bring my own thermometer to movie theaters. So when I saw my ticket said Ovens Auditorium, I was already sweating just from the name. I pictured molten chairs, sweaty knees, and a slow roast situation. But guess what? It was beautifully cool inside—like walking into a climate-controlled dream. The name is a lie, and I’m so grateful.

Now, I had an assigned seat, which was perfect, because I can’t handle open seating. Too much unpredictability. My ticket said Row G, Seat 8—even number, nice symmetry, I loved it. The usher was incredibly kind. I told her I needed to take every third step exactly or I’d have to start over, and she waited patiently as I did my little sidestep-count routine all the way to my seat. That’s customer service.

And the bathroom? Glorious. Lots of stalls—thank the heavens. I only use the third stall from the left, always. I don’t care if the others are empty, if Stall 3 is taken, I wait. But this night? Stall 3 was open, clean, and had one of those extra fat toilet paper rolls. It felt like a sign.

The show was excellent, the acoustics were crisp, and I didn’t sweat once. Five stars, easy. I’ll be back—with my thermometer, my rituals, and hopefully another assigned seat divisible by four.