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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.