Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Please and Thank You

What the hell ever happened to please and thank you? Now, don't get me wrong, I am no Miss Manners. But growing up, I was taught that when you bumped into someone or otherwise invaded someone's personal space by proximity or accident, you said “excuse me.” When you were given a gift or someone gifted you with an act of kindness (holding a door open, etc.) you said thank you. And, when you asked for something, even if you are paying for it, you say please. Common courtesy goes a hell of a long way.

Now maybe because I have been spending a bit of time in New York lately, I am finding myself on edge, but I swear to God the Father, his Son Jesus, their pal the Holy Ghost, Mary Magdalene, Mary Mother of God, and Maria Fuentes the tranny working girl from down the block, if one more person is unnecessarily rude to me, I am going to go Miss Manners Commando and start cutting bitches with impunity.

The latest rude moment I encountered was perhaps the single most perfect walking and talking example of irony I have ever experienced. I was sitting on my return flight from New York to Minneapolis and the flight attendants parked their goodie cart right by my seat. Now I was attempting to sleep as was the gentlemen in front of me. And the guy across the aisle from me was trying to read his book. The female flight attendant is talking in the loudest most obnoxious New York accented English possible telling the male flight attendant about a rude experience she had with a passenger that was yelling at her in Spanish because she did not speak French and they were on a flight to Paris. The female flight attendant was going on and on and on about how rude this woman was being all the while not giving a good two shits that she was running her damn mouth at decible levels that usually require a permit.

If it wasn't likely to get me shot by an air marshall in our post 9-11 travel world, I would have gotten up and shoved a pair of my dookie stained underwear from my carry on bag in her mouth. If you are going to embrace diarrhea of the mouth, then I am going to help you experience it literally. I absolutely love New York, but I do not love the lack of manners. Maybe I am getting a little more Midwestern as I age, but I just can not see any excuse for not engaging and respecting your fellow movers through life with a little basic respect. I mean, we all screw up now and again. We all have bad days once in a while. But, I refuse to believe that ten million people are living such rough lives that they are at BitchCon Delta 24/7.

Don Miguel in the Four Agreements says to not taking anything personally. Lord I am trying, but some of the folks with whom I have interacted lately would push Ghandi to consider mass murder. Namaste ya'll. Namaste.

1 comment:

  1. OK, this post taken together with your post about the soapy wok and the roommate banging on everything...I think I have proven my comment regarding your sleeping issues.

    Don't knock the flight attendant with the New York accent because she is loud. I am loud and you are loud. We are loud even when we don't know we're being loud. We don't have "inside" voice and "outside" voice, we just have loud. Don't tell me different. I live in Jordan, where everyone is highly educated on decible etiquette. And I have to live and work and ramble through life with decible conscious people...and it KILLS ME.

    Seriously, I have to tell people a million times...I'm Latina...I'm loud and proud...I don't care what they think, I don't know them, etc.

    Brandon, admit you have sleeping issues. Own it and leave loud folks alone. You can continue to out the pot bangers...

    Miss you while reading your blog. I like how much your posts reflect your actual communication style. I feel like you are chatting with me.


Thank you for sharing your thoughts, feelings, and insights. And thank you for reading!