The old man's lecture about manners (boring)
The Column 03.01.23
Believe it or not, I used to be rather cool. This was before you were born, probably, but I have pictures. I was aloof and enigmatic, unsmiling, and I liked the monosyllabic. Someone said, “It’s a beautiful day today.” I said, “Right.” Flat tone. Irony. My dad was a friendly guy who always made small talk with clerks and waitresses (“So how’s it going then?”), which I found embarrassing and stood apart from him so people wouldn’t know we were related.
That was long ago and a person learns by experience and now I’m so far from cool I wouldn’t know it if I saw it. I am an advocate of cheerfulness. I believe in good manners. I like making small talk, just as Dad did.
Six a.m. at the MSP airport, a February morning, long lines of sleepy travelers snaking their way toward Security, and I approach the scanner and a TSA lady sees that I haven’t removed my shoes and says, “You’re not over 75, are you?” and I say, “Darling, you’ve made an old man very happy,” and she smiles and says, “My pleasure.” I go through the scanner and a TSA guy pats down my back and underarms and I say, “Are we having fun yet?” and he says, “It’s a laugh a minute.” Two simple exchanges, two moments of fellowship.
I’m old enough to remember the pre-terrorist time when you walked uninterrupted to your gate, no questions asked, and now long lines of flyers laden with baggage listen to screeners barking orders and a TSA sniffer dog walks along the line, giving it a prison-camp feel, and this makes it all the more important to be cheerful and say, “Good morning” and “Thank you” to the agent who stops me to search my briefcase and find the little capsules of eyewash.
A bleak hour but you say “Good morning” to the clerk at the coffee stand and the gate agent and it improves your own morning inch by inch. I say it to glum young men just like the man I once was and it confuses them.
I happen to own a grim gravedigger’s face, the result of growing up with the Book of Revelation, and Jenny reminds me often: “Smile.” So I try.
Standing in a long line at 6 a.m. in February is not a unique personal experience. I’ve read stories about Nazi death camps and inmates who did their best to encourage others and maintain their humanity in the face of evil, and when they lost this cheerful urge it meant that their spirit was extinguished and the end was near.
I see a young woman head for the conveyor belt and her lurching gait shows some sort of brain injury but she is very focused on putting her stuff in the bins and cleaning out her pockets. She appears to be unaccompanied. She also seems quite proud to be on her own, as she strikes the correct pose in the scanner. The TSA woman pats down her hips and back. The girl follows directions. The TSA woman puts an arm around her and says something and the kid grins.
It was a beautiful little scene of civility. If this young woman can make her way cheerfully in the world, then what right do I have to feel abused? None whatsoever. The young woman collecting her stuff at the end of the conveyor is dealing with life cheerfully and this strikes me as the height of heroism.
So when I hear a woman behind me say, “This is the last time I fly early in the morning. This is just unbearable” (except she put another word ahead of “unbearable”), I turned and said, “Did you hear about the guy who was afraid of bears in the woods?” She shook her head. “His friend told him that if a bear chases you, just run fast, and if the bear gets close, just reach back and grab a handful and throw it at him. The guy says, ‘A handful of what?’ ‘Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be there. It’ll be there.’”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, and then she laughed. It was a real laugh, not just a polite one. She said, “I can’t believe that you told me that joke.” I said that I couldn’t believe it either. She said she was going to Milwaukee to see her brother and she intended to tell him that joke. So we got into a little conversation about Milwaukee. She said, “Have a nice day,” and I said, “I’m having it.”
***Ask what you like for this special POST TO THE HOST edition (March 6th)***
To celebrate the updated softcover release on March 7th of That Time of Year: A Minnesota Life, Garrison will answer questions you may have about his life
Email your questions to dedin@garrisonkeillor.com with PTTH in the subject line NO LATER THAN MARCH 3rd (FRIDAY).
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What was your favorite part of Prairie Home? Were you friends with Tom Keith (Jim Ed Poole)? Did you write the entire show yourself? What is your religious affiliation? When and how did your parents meet? What is your favorite recipe for a group of four? What is your favorite vacation?
We begin each day with a yawn and end each day with a snore. In between it is a series of interpersonal interactions with other yawning, snoring bipeds, whose days unfold in a myriad of configurations that only they are privy to. Why not interject some unforeseen and unexpected pleasantry into their day to throw of the impending monotony they are so accustomed to?
I was at a Dunkin Donuts recently and the girl behind the county had layers of pink in her hair. She also had something of a sullen "I'd rather be somewhere else right now, I hate my life" look about her face.
"Can I help you?" she asked with words dripping with misery.
"Yes, good morning, Medium Decaf Light and sweet." I was more cheery than she probably liked.
"Anything else?" she said with that "please die" look in her eye.
"No that's it but, not to alarm you or anything but you have something in your hair." I said, pointing with a smirk. The comment snapped her out of her gloom and her eyes widened and she began feeling her hair. She nearly seemed frantic and embarrassed.
"Where? What is it?" she said as she got a little more worried.
"Well.... it's kind of all over and it's pink. It's cute, but you might want to have that looked at." I said, coyly smiling at her. Her gloom disappeared and she smiled while letting out one of those sighs that your wife would make when you say something stupid intentionally and repeat it several times, until you get the reaction you want, which is that sigh. I smiled at her and gave her a wink.
"Your order will be ready at the next counter." she said, now smiling.
"Thank you dear, you have yourself an absolutely wonderful day." grinning knowing I made her day a bit better.
"You too sir, thank you" she smiled and asked the next customer for their order, with that same smile.
It's quite simple, there is no reason for any of us to not be nice to anyone. It takes zero effort to be pleasant, there is no cost and there is only reward. You can be a miserable prick if you want, but then each interaction spreads miserable prickness and before you know it were all surrounded by miserable pricks. We have enough miserable pricks in the world, we don't need to add more. To add to that, if you ever see a military man in a green uniform with an armband that has the big white letters "MP" on it, just know that it stands for "Military Police", though their demeanor may have you think they are the other MP.
Have a kick-ass day Mr. K.
That was a pleasant way to begin today. Thanks for taking your time to write this piece. It is good to know that you are still out there enjoying what you do so we’ll. Try not to fall down nor get angry. It is difficult to do these days being older and putting oneself out there in the world.