The Death of Etiquette

Photo by Brett Jordan for Unsplash

At the risk of sounding like a crotchety ninety-year-old, what the heck happened to manners? You know, those goofy rules that your mother used to drum into your head. Stuff like writing thank–you notes for birthday and Christmas presents. Stuff like never interrupting adults when they are speaking. Stuff like knowing your neighbors. I thought that this kind of behavior was pretty standard, but apparently, I am a dying breed.

Ah, thank you notes. I swear I still have a permanent cramp in my right hand. I grew up in a Catholic household, which meant thank-you notes for First Communion and Confirmation, every birthday, Christmas, Graduation, and so on, ad nauseam. I really envied my Protestant friends after the 100,000th card. As far as manners went, there were also the all-important telephone lessons. When you called someone else, you always identified yourself before you asked for the other person. When you answered the phone, a simple “hello” just would not do. It was always, “Hello, Sickmon residence.” (Yes, I’m Gen X. We still had home phones, dadgumit.) My brother and I sounded like miniaturized IBM salesmen before we were old enough to go to kindergarten.

Once I got old enough to date, things got even more structured. The young man in question (henceforth to be referred to as “the torture victim”) not only had to get out of the car and meet my parents, but also had to put up with a sadistic grilling by my tall, muscular brother. The FBI has nothing on my brother. A large, overprotective brother is one of the best forms of birth control on the planet. Pharmaceutical companies really need to look into the potential benefits of older brother death threats in the reduction of the male libido.

I don’t know about the rest of you out there, but I had the stern Rose Kennedy kind of Irish matriarch who thought nothing of smacking me silly whenever I showed a dearth of ladylike comportment. (Please, Mom, if you’re reading this, don’t slap the bejeezus out of me. I swear I am just trying to draw a hyperbolic example for humor’s sake.) These rules do vary from family to family, mind you. What my mother considered a heinous crime against etiquette (i.e., being a smartass in public) might be considered adorable by another family. Heck, the Olsen twins have made an entire living out of being cutesy little brats who talk back. Apparently, I am in the wrong field.

Now I am not saying that we could have hung out with the Vanderbilts or anything. For the most part, we were pretty normal kids, complete with skinned knees and bad eighties clothes. We certainly didn’t summer in the Hamptons or attend prep schools.

I am not disparaging these things. Children who were fortunate enough to have enjoyed such fantastic childhood benefits are not bad; I simply cannot identify with them. Having lots of money is certainly not an indicator of class, breeding, or manners, however. Tara Palmer-Tomkinson was a prime example of that. (Maybe her mother didn’t smack her enough growing up. I’m thinking a few well-placed spankings might have nipped all future skankiness in the bud.) All I know is if I had tried to leave the house in a skirt short enough to show my tonsils, my mother would have tied me to a chair until I had grown up enough to dress appropriately.

The point of this exercise, TPT’s cheesiness notwithstanding, is a sociological investigation on the death of basic good manners. I don’t know whether the sheer pace of the electronic age has given everybody an excuse to throw decorum aside, or whether the sheer noise of modern society has drowned out the quiet voices of decency, respectability, and politeness. Either way, you don’t see many of the basic rules followed anymore.

For instance, I can’t recall the last time I received a thank-you note, except from my niece and nephew. (And this may be only due to the influence of the aforementioned scary Irish mother.) I give a lot of presents each year, whether to friends, relatives, or coworkers. I try to put time, effort, and thought into each gift.

Now, I’m not saying they have to bow down before me for their gifts in the manner of Wayne and Garth, but some form of modest identification that you appreciate the hard work that went into your gift would be grand.

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I’m pretty sure that the advent of e-mail sent the skill of writing thank-you notes, and the art of letter-writing in general, the way of the Dodo. A thank-you note via text is acceptable, or even a quick email. But trust me when I say that grandmothers love getting mail. A well-written, concise thank-you note can make people’s day.

I remember when I was a little girl that going out to eat was somewhat of an occasion. We’re not talking going to Friendly’s or Pizza Hut here, even though that was definitely on our repertoire of restaurants. I’m talking someplace nice that doesn’t involve a buffet, balloons, big crowns, or plastic cups. My brother and I were expected to treat our server with the same impeccable conduct we would use to address the President of the United States. Merely asking for a soft drink required a Mr. Darcy level of courtesy. Now that I have been a server, I must say that I appreciate it. I worked for several years in various Atlanta restaurants, and parents with well-behaved children were a rarity.

I’m not sure if it is the new child psychology texts that the minivan generation consumed alongside their bottled water and balsamic vinegar, or if today's young parents are trying to be the complete polar opposites of their Boomer parents. (Understandable.) Either way, many parents allow their children to behave like marauding Huns in restaurants. This behavior (running around, screaming, yelling, playing Game Boys, etc.) not only irritates the other diners, but it also makes life extraordinarily difficult for the server.

This is even more important if you bring your children to an upscale place. Children are fantastic, and if you have the financial wherewithal to bring them to a fancy restaurant, that’s great. But please, for the love of all that’s holy, keep them quiet. There are people for whom dining out is a bit of an occasion, and they want to enjoy a nice dinner and have a conversation without hearing electronics beeping in the background or infants screaming in the manner of a scalded cat.

It’s hard on the server, too. Servers have to work roughly 9000 times as hard to keep families with small children happy, and the cleanup is generally a nightmare. Spending half an hour sweeping up Cheerios, straws, and sugar packets is not my idea of a pleasure cruise. I know that if I had ever acted like this in any dining establishment, my parents would have grounded me for weeks.

This type of behavior also falls under the “respect your elders” category. The adage “Children should be seen and not heard” was alive, well, and selling tickets to its Saturday night show when I was growing up. No one minded if children could contribute to the conversation, but they never interrupted. You learned the art of polite conversation long before you had grown out of the kids’ table at Thanksgiving. Whether it was to your server, your mother, or the lady at the bank, you let adults speak before you answered. Not only has this behavior disappeared, but the advent of cell phones has made it acceptable for people to have full-blown conversations while ignoring their dinner companions.

My theory on cell phones is quite simple. Avoid using them in formal settings with others. It is highly unlikely that the ruble will collapse and send Russia into complete economic disarray if you don’t take that phone call.

Pay attention to your dinner guests. Pay attention to your family. Turning your cell phone off for one hour will not mean the chaotic disintegration of Western civilization. Trust me. The only exceptions to this rule I will grant would be to doctors. I would hope that they would be readily available for the patient who is going into labor or having a heart attack. Otherwise, turn the dang thing off. It won’t kill you, and it will undoubtedly make for a quieter meal. I know that some restaurants are forbidding cell phone usage in their dining rooms. I say, huzzah!

The last point I will make in this diatribe is regarding business etiquette. I promise I will step off my soapbox and let someone else have a turn grousing about the hideous state of Western culture. But here’s my question. When did returning communications completely disappear? Trying to get through to anyone these days, from small Mom and Pop businesses to major corporations like IBM, involves a process so arduous that Mount Everest sherpas would give up. It often involves talking to 125 different people until you finally reach the right person, only to get stuck in voicemail hell.

Automated systems are even worse. The most incompetent receptionist on the planet (and I’m pretty sure they work for the Fulton County Court System) can at least figure out where most calls need to go. Regardless, leaving a message used to mean at least a courtesy return call. Your issue may not have been solved, but at least you had a modicum of human contact.

It is virtually impossible to get a return phone call anymore. The likelihood of a wombat falling through the skies and hitting you in the head on your way to work is far greater than getting a phone call returned. Rejection has become a way of life that we have all become accustomed to. (Which is sad, frankly.) Now we all know how the guys with the bad rug and the disco medallions are feeling.

I agree that electronic communication is a wonderful invention. For many of us with family and friends scattered to the four winds, it saves a great deal of time, effort, and frustration in trying to speak with our families and loved ones. Despite this, responding to emails is no longer a priority. I sent emails to many people while looking for a job. Out of 100, I would get two or three replies. I don’t know about anyone else — perhaps I am a sadist, but I would much prefer a politely worded kiss-off letter or e-mail than cybersilence.

Photo by JE Shoots on Unsplash

There are a few companies (Publix, for example) that still send rejection letters out to their applicants. This may not be the letter that puts a skip in your step and the sunshine in your day, but at least you know where you stand. Good manners and good communication are a chance to make new contacts and keep in touch. By not returning that e-mail or that phone call, you may be missing out on the most wonderful opportunity of your life.

Manners should not be difficult. They are effortless, common-sense rules that keep our fast-as-thought society more pleasant. Maybe all of this wouldn’t annoy me so much if I had been raised by a less terrifying mother.

You know, I used to envy my friends who had “cool” moms who let their kids smoke, drink, talk back, and pretty much get away with anything short of homicide. My mom not only invented but also perfected helicopter parenting. I didn’t get away with a damn thing. The CIA should have hired her — nothing got by this woman. She needed a dang badge. (Mom. M-O-M. You’re busted.) I got grounded once for making a 90 on a quiz. No, I’m not kidding.

However, she did teach me to be polite, which served me well as I left college and entered the job market. My mother not only taught me to say “please” and “thank you,” but also instilled respect for my fellow human beings in me. She taught me the vanishing art of letter writing. She taught me to use the telephone not as a simplistic communications device but as a means to improve my elocution skills. Geez, what a wench. (For those of you without the sarcastic Irish sense of humor, that last statement was ironic.)

The simple solution is obvious. Stop. Take the time to listen to someone. Say “please” and “thank you.” Open doors for people. Offer your seat on the subway to someone. Smile at the guy in the car next to you. Be kind to servers and retail workers. Basically, do what your mama told you. You just might find that old-fashioned manners can change your life.