Today In A Lobby ...

I had a meeting downtown this afternoon. Traffic was heavy and pedestrian traffic near my destination was even worse. I finally made it to the office complex I was aiming for and decided to relax a few moments in the lobby before ascending the elevator for a very cut-and-dried appointment with a friendly client.

While I sat in a comfortable chair looking over some notes, a "ding" noise caught my attention and a few people were discharged into the lobby. A man and a women ... he with a briefcase and she laden with papers and an attache and what looked like a tube of blueprints or other rolled documents ... strode purposefully toward the entry doors. He arrived first and barreled through. The door snapped back briskly, actually clipping the female in the shoulder causing her burden to slip from her arms and somewhat scatter on the atrium floor. Another woman who was standing nearby stooped to help the frazzled female collect her things.

A just sat and shook my head, reminded once more that "modern man" was steadily losing ground in the battle to maintain basic civility. Some people call it "etiquette" or "politeness." Others cloak their desires in little reminders like "mind your P's and Q's." My parents called it manners and decency. And, boy, were they right in demanding that we learn to respect people and our social surroundings.

In psychological terms, manners are norms of behavior in a society. They're kind of like social "laws," but instead of going to prison for breaking them you might just be made to feel awkward or unwanted or even ostracized. I know many a person who has started a family feud or lost a friend over poor manners.

As I waited for my meeting, I thought about all the "basics" my parents had impressed on me and my siblings. My Mom had a "Please and Thank You" song we sang when setting the table as a fun reminder to use those phrases appropriately and frequently. We were also trained to wash our hands before every meal, even if it was just a quick snack. Dozens of other "little things" that have served me well came to mind also, like helping a neighbor carry in groceries and covering my mouth when I cough or sneeze and greeting someone with a firm handshake and direct eye-to-eye contact. Or taking off my hat in a public building and saying "bless you" when someone sneezes and complimenting someone on a fresh haircut or new hairstyle. Or my Dad going over a few "guy tricks" like opening a woman's car door or scooting her chair in at the dinner table or giving up a bus seat when a lady is stuck standing. I will always remember my Dad's motto on manners: "they cost nothing but mean everything!"

Now, I don't think I'll ever be running in a rarefied Emily Post crowd, but I am confident I have a basic foundation for being a "couth" member of the human race. For those of you who don't know the name, Emily Post was a women born into a world of wealth and privilege in the late 1800s. She set standards in manners through her writings (magazines, travel logs, novels, etc.) and deeds (in 1905, she stunned socialites by divorcing her banker husband on the grounds of infidelities that she would not abide). In 1922, Post wrote Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics, and at Home, the seminal publication on manners for more than 85 years now. The author also wrote an etiquette column that appeared in hundreds of newspapers and even founded the Emily Post Foundation which to this day provides etiquette training and support for organizations across the globe.

But even with my basics in place, I honestly believe that refreshers on manners and etiquette never hurt anyone. Sometimes I use the Internet or the library to read a recent Judith Martin column ... the "Ms. Manners" of the Washington Post. "Hints from Heloise" ... a.k.a. advice and etiquette guru Ponce Cruise ... reminds me again and again of simple courtesies. Me, and her readers in over 500 domestic and international newspapers.

Even the spirit of Emily Post affects me almost daily. Her great-grandson, Peter Post, offers weekly tips in his "Etiquette at Work" column featured in the Boston Globe each Sunday. The male Post won my heart on several occasions with his scathing remarks about the "proper place" for cell phones and other electronic media in our professional and personal lives (a common "rant" topic of mine). In his honor, I gave copies of his Essential Manners for Men to two of my nephews as stocking stuffers last year.

POINT OF RANT: Next time I'm dining with my family and everyone just dives into a meal without washing their hands first or thanking the host for the great food, I'm gonna bust into the "Please and Thank You" song and see what happens.

Today In A Restaurant ...

I have a small family ... two siblings, some in-laws, a niece and a nephew. And we all have busy lives. So when we can coordinate work and sports and dish installation and such, dining out together can be a magical experience. It can also be a trip through the zebra dung, thanks to little unsupervised children.

Before your colons burn and you transfer the discomfort to your typing fingers, I love kids. They're cute, inspirational, genuine, and see the world in a way most of us have forgot. But when I choose to eat in public, I expect others who have made the choice to NOT bring their brood along and then opt to pretend to not know them.

Case in point, the salad bar. I'm restocking my plate with bland-at-best macaroni salad and a tasty little square of less-than-homemade cheesecake when I hear a small "splat" and realize that my left shoe is now decorated with a sturdy glob of mashed potatoes. Hovering there, looking not in the least bit sorry or responsible, is a probably seven-year-old girl. She's alternately eyeing me while dragging a younger boy through a spill of cookies and soft-serve ice cream dripping from a bowl in his guilty little hands. After a stern second or two, they look at each other and just walk on past, spying something else edible to destroy.

I casually deposit the spud lump under the edge of the salad bar. I know what you're thinking ... I should have picked up the mess or alerted a restaurant employee, but I was literally frothing to return to my family's table (there's seven of us) to recount my misshap. Now I get seated, take a breath to begin my tale, when a "mom and dad" or "couple without a condom" seated beside us start giving a boy of about four his marching orders to "go get your own food, and bring back some more napkins."

I'm shocked, stunned even, until I look around and notice a fair amount of young people roaming about on their own, getting plates of desserts, dropping utensils on the floor or into serving trays, and just plain getting in other people's way.

When I was young, which wasn't all that long ago, my parents did this crazy thing called "hiring a babysitter" when they wanted to go out to dinner and spend some quality time together. They also did it to spare us kids from places and events that were too adult or too boring, and, honestly, to just get away from us from time to time. And when we did go out as a family, if one of us "acted up" ... WHISK! ... we were sitting in the car with Mom or Dad relearning the basics of manners and etiquette.

Occasionally, during the current with my family, I heard a parent or two make the same threat about "one more time and we're leaving" or "do you wanna go to the car?" But apparently, one more time never came or the kid in question didn't want to visit the family sedan or minivan at this time. More likely, it was to much bother to be an effective parent.

POINT OF RANT: You don't have to leave your kids at home all the time. But as parents and supposed adults, you should know your children, their behavioral norms, and their attention spans. Don't make them any more uncomfortable than you are the rest of us! Think before you dine out.

Today At My Boss' House ...

Now I bet none of you (I hope) have ever been in this situation: you and five co-workers are in the den of your boss' home for a planning retreat, you all are wearing casual clothes while you toss around project ideas and budget concerns for the next six months, and your boss' horse-sized Great Dane is, for all intents and purposes, performing oral sex on you.

When we arrived at Lady Boss' house in a caravan of four cars, it was 9:30 a.m. The morning was crisp with snow flurries dancing about. As the group exited the vehicles, we were greeted by a vague shape coming out of the snow from the side yard of a lovely Victorian home. The wintery mirage took on more definition and I just assumed a horse had gotten loose from the nearby barn. No, it was Barney, a male Great Dane of pony proportions.

Our boss shouted hello and the assemblage was quickly ushered into the house, asked to remove our shoes, and led into a cozy room with fireplace ablaze. After coffee and sodas were passed around, the small group set to work. One co-worker set up an idea easel. Others took out notebooks or scratchpaper. Barney focused on working my crotch.

I don't care for dogs. They're noisy, bothersome, and needy ... at least the one's I've met. But this one was making me "feel funny" with its snorts and aggressive snout-work. And the scene was causing my co-workers to giggle at my expense. And the boss didn't bat and eye.

Now Lady Boss loves her Barney, dotes on him even more than her two children. She family photos on her desk at work that prominently feature the brute. She often tells "hilarious" tales of Barney and his misadventures. But today, we're in Barney's world and he seems to make the rules.

After a bit, she makes excuses for his geisha-esque manners like "he's just getting acquainted" (to which I think "do I leave $20 on the dresser when he's finished"), or she suggests "just push him away" (to which I whisper to one co-worker "like I haven't been doing that since I sat down"). But the foreplay continued.

Here's my big question ... or complaint ... shouldn't my boss be taking the lead in stopping her pet's fellatiating actions? Is it really my responsibility, as a guest in her home, to curb the crotch sniffing beast?

And the day went on. Barney did "head" off and get into something else, but that something else was a female co-worker's purse from which he tried to eat a lipstick. Then the lummox knocked over a Pepsi. And I can't decently describe the amount of drool that damn dog produced. Those slimy jowls spewed on chair arms, pant legs, and swatches of carpet. The room we were in definitely had a lived-in look, but I never would have expected canine saliva to be the biggest decorating accent.

We weren't released from "Great Dane Does Dallas" until shortly after 2 p.m. There were other advances on my crotch, a few more spilling incidents, and a number of "surprise appearances" by Barney's bared-for-the-world-to-see weiner. The only respite was that Barney was put in another room for about 30 minutes during lunch. And then only because he kept trying to pull the boss' plate off of the table.

I had driven separately. I wanted so badly to be home ... to take a shower ... to visit a therapist ... to adopt a cat.

POINT OF RANT: Dogs are not people ... learn to live with it!!