Home life
Uncommon courtesy
Alice Thomas Ellis
Ithink people have forgotten how to be easily polite. Americans over here overdo it (I don't know how they behave back home) and a lot of us don't do it at all, blowing on our soup and neglecting to pass the salt. Italian waiters overdo it as well. It is difficult to appreciate one's lasagne properly with a pair of them bowing and scraping at you like windscreen wipers. They are not much less annoying than the opposite sort who find you invisible until you show signs of leaving without paying the bill.
There is a maxim that to be seen on a bus after the age of 40 is a sign of failure, but this is not the reason I so seldom avail myself of public transport. The reason is that the bus never comes and when it does the conductor is almost invariably unhelp- ful and the public jostle you. Someone says one of the most maddening things in the world is to be bumped into by some clodhopper who doesn't know the rules. Being a gent, he himself always says (despite tottering from the onslaught) 'Sor- ry,' and the proper response to this on the part of the jostler is also 'Sorry.' Too often the actual response is more like 'Well, okay, but don't do it again,' or worse, `Why don't you bloody look where you're going?' No wonder there is so much violence on the streets.
A little while ago I had cause to visit the Spectator offices. We drove triumphantly into Doughty Street which on previous occasions we have failed to locate, and Janet said, 'Right, what's the number?' and I said I'd forgotten and she said something and we drove up and down in the hope that I would recognise the build- ing; but the houses in Doughty Street are like people of a race different from Your own in that they are impossible to tell apart, and while I could see the houses quite clearly and even read the numbers on them, I couldn't see the small print on the various plates and anyway, as we disco- vered later, the Spectator doesn't have one. Then I saw a red notice saying, in large letters, 'Social Services' so, relieved, We stopped the car and I popped in through the welcomingly open door. There were two ladies there, one old and one young, sort of leaning against filing cabinets. '0° you happen to know', I enquired very politely, 'the number of the Spectator offices?' No,' said the old one. `Then could you look it up for me in Yo°1 telephone book?' I asked, still very Polite' `No,' said the young one. 'We haven't got time,' said the old one. 'Then could I borrow your telephone book and look itliP myself?' I asked. It took the old one a fell/ seconds to counter this but she rallied finally. 'There's a pile behind you,' she said. 'Try that.' Turning, I discovered that there was indeed a pile — about three feet high — of pink telephone books E—K. left. To be fair there was also a young mat; with them who looked — like a Ow German — as though he would like to help if he dared but knew that it was more than his life was worth. Except for me there wasn't a single member of the public within miles of the place. As we were ambling pointlessly up and down Doughty Street, the young man sneaked up after us with a muttered apology delivered surreptitiouslY from the side of his face, behind his hand. `Try the public telephone over there,' he whispered, not looking at us. Then he walked swiftly away, glancing neither to right nor left. Delighted to note this redeeming feature in the human race we hastened to the telephone box, but it contained no telephone directories. They had obviously been stolen, not because the thief desired them, but because it was a jolly good way to discommode the public' We were about to go home, thoroughly disenchanted, when we saw, through a window, a lady with her head bent over a deskful of papers. The sign on the door said 'Printers Benevolent Society', and We decided to give the human race one more chance. 'Your go this time,' I said to Janet; I was fed up with being snubbed and waited hopelessly on the pavement expect- ing to hear that the word should have read Malevolent; but no. After while Janet emerged with a spring to her step and the number of the Spectator offices on her lips. The lady had looked it up in her telephone book without a moment's hesitation, Put- ting aside her workload without demur' and she had even smiled.
Gina wasn't at all cross with us for being late and we left feeling much better, but sometimes in the watches of the night , wonder what bitter experience could have soured the natures of those two ladies a° dreadfully.
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