I’m always amazed at who’s the best mannered because it’s never who you think it will be.
It’s not the well-dressed business man seated on the train buried in his New York Times who gallantly gives his seat to the pregnant woman whose stomach is creasing his financial page. It’s the little Hispanic busboy who worked all night that, rather than Wall Street, has thirty more stops to Bed Sty.
It just enrages me…the sense of entitlement prevailing.
Let’s look at the word, shall we?
the fact of having a right to something : full entitlement to fees and maintenance should be offered | you should be fully aware of your legal entitlements.
• the amount to which a person has a right : annual leave entitlement.
I’m adding, when you think your needs are a lot more superior than everyone else’s because you were blessed with more means and privilege than the dismissive peons in your pithy, putdown presence: arrogance, attitude…hubris…full of oneself…you smell.
Politeness is like fresh air. When a door is held for me or someone responds courteously when I hold it for them, graciousness reigns…makes the day a welcomed hair brighter.
On the Upper East Side of New York entitlement syndrome has become epidemic. Just this morning I had an exchange with a woman in a suit with me in running gear which immediately, in her delusional, Raybaned eyes, makes me the lesser.
She was standing in front of my door when I was attempting to enter. I politely smiled and said, “Excuse me, can I get by please?” But she didn’t budge an inch so engrossed on her cell that was oh, so gross. She was talking about a play date for her kid. “Shall I have Penelope’s nanny bring her over say around 2? I thought they could play games on their iPads. That would keep them busy. Dolls? Oh no dahling, she outgrew them at two…at three she’s playing chess… in Japanese.”
Alright, so I’m exaggerating, but not by much.
I let out the sigh that could be heard around the world which I guess, because of the acute wind it created, finally made her take notice. “Oh, am I in your way?”
I managed not to say anything snappy or smug, till I came out a half hour later and she was still there. I mean, doesn’t Muffy have a home or office to go to?
Again, excuse me, but this time I had to knock on the outside door because if I hadn’t I would have slammed her.
Well guess what happened…that’s exactly what I did. There was such joy in watching her almost fall over, her overpriced latte dripping on her red tulle skirt. “Oh dear, did you get some on your shoes? What a shame.”
The best part…one of the young Hispanic cafe workers bringing in supplies watched the whole thing and had himself a good, hearty laugh.
All in a day.