Within my circles of friends we’ve often had the discussion lately about the manners of people. Rather, the lack of manners. Midwesterners, by most standards, are kind people and the things I’ve witnessed lately tell me that they are absent of those things taught to them (hopefully) as children. (Complete aside: I’m going to Boston soon and three people have mentioned how unkind Bostonians are! Why is that? Represent, Boston.)
Failing to offer seats for the elderly, not holding the door when people are within a reasonable range, and deserting the common decency to say, “Excuse me” when they want to pass by you. Liz just happened to write about this the other day to which I replied:
I’m so fed up with rudeness that I’m becoming a police officer in my daily life while out and about. It’s pathetic. Normally, my family thinks I’m going to get stabbed over chastising children in public but that’s the educator in me who corrects kids all the time.
But the one that gets me (and I’m sorry if it’s been said) is people failing to say “Excuse me” when they’re trying to get around me. They just stand there.
Yesterday, Mason and I were getting some summer shorts and there was a woman behind him and she assumed I would ask him to move. When he started to move, I pushed him back in place and mouthed “No. Wait.”
She never said it. She moved a different direction.
Served her right. If she doesn’t want to say it, she has to change direction. That was my point anyway.
Later, a lovely woman (I can only guess she’s lovely. It’s my optimistic hope that she’s lovely. She probably has cute feet, too.) named Brigitte commented back (to me):
Mocha, I’m often AFRAID to say “excuse me”, being pathologically shy and sick of getting the big evil-eyed glare and (if I’m lucky) a huffy, grudging move-over to let me by. I figure polite people would anticipate my need on my own, otherwise it’s just easier for someone like me to find another way around.
Well, being an overt Alpha Female myself, I can (miraculously, perhaps?) sense when people are shy and if I meet their eyes I have no problem smiling at them and using the silence of body language to determine that they want to get around me. In fact, smiling seems to help, does it not? One would hope that this small gesture tends to relieve some of the tension or fear that the timid seem to have.
I’ve had some run-ins with acquaintances and co-workers lately that remind me that not everyone is kind. Lately, I’ve been setting firmer boundaries with those who would prefer that I simply behave and comport myself according to their standards. Even in my work life I think I’ve been done dirty but that’s not even a battle I’m going to fight because I have a higher purpose there and it isn’t to engage in fisticuffs with the adults. Because of the small-town nature of my side of the hood, I run into people quite frequently. So much so that I give myself a pep talk before venturing out to places in the event that I see them. Alpha Female or no, when I am caught unawares my behavior is less than stellar. Confidence doesn’t negate the fact that I can be fragile on occasion.
My manners, however, are more prevalent than my Strong Woman Persona lets on and it’s possible that they aren’t always noticeable. I shall have to work on that. Even when I am a bitch I can do it with enough sugar to produce a cavity. Or raise your voice to new heights and point your finger in my face. Both have been done equal amounts of time.
Once, when a parent came in to sling mud my direction after her son received a lower grade than she wanted I was mortified to be in the same room alone with her. Unfortunately, at the time she also wanted her son (an 8th grader) present as well and she was, in essence, giving him permission to be a total shithead to me for the remainder of that school year. The principal at the time stayed with us at my request and intermittently interrupted her to remind her of civility. But, I refused to change the grade he had earned.
“So, you’re saying you won’t change it?! You’re going to keep it a D?”
“Yes, because that’s what he earned. I can’t change it just because you’re asking me to do so.”
“Oh, yes you WILL. You WILL change it.”
I’d had enough by this time, but she took it a step further and called me a racist right after that.
I nearly fainted from the absurdity of the accusation, but I took a deep breath and blinked extra long.
“I’m so sorry.” I started. She thought I was talking to her. I wasn’t. I looked past her at her son sitting on the other side and caught his gaze and uttered the boldest words I can recall ever having left my mouth.
“I’m sorry your mother is teaching you that to be black means you can be lazy and still get what you want. Nothing in the world will ever remotely resemble that. You still have to work hard and do your best.”
That doesn’t mean I didn’t have manners. In fact, I looked at the principal and, like a child requesting permission to leave the dinner table, asked, “May I be excused now?” He agreed.
It is possible that as an educator I have learned to chastise adults, too. Because those were the best manners I could muster at the time.
