I Say Chivalry; You Say, "Huh??"

Not that I imagine anyone's been waiting for an explanation, but I've been quiet with the blog lately because I simply haven't felt the rage that has inspired earlier postings. This is a good thing. This means that writing about my issues has been successful therapy. Although it's not as viscerally fulfilling as the Punch-an-Asshole-In-The-Face Fantasy Camp idea that I'm not quite ready to abandon, it's been doing the trick. My socially related anger has been managed nicely. However, something is starting to well up again and it's time to talk about it like adults. I will use my indoor voice…for now.

The issue at hand is chivalry. I'm fairly certain that this would not be so much of a big deal if I did not live in New York City (as evidenced by my travel to other locales), so I'm going to give society the benefit of the doubt and assume that this problem is, to some extent, the byproduct of too many people and not enough space or resources (ie, a competitive environment). It doesn't mean that I'm not spittin' mad, though.

Let's define "chivalry" before we get into it. Webster's provides several possibilities:
1: mounted men-at-arms; 2: martial valor, knightly skill; 3: gallant or distinguished gentlemen; 4: the system, spirit, or customs of medieval knighthood; 5: the qualities of the ideal knight: chivalrous conduct (with "chivalrous" being defined further as 1: valiant; 2: of, relating to, or characteristic of chivalry and knight-errantry; 3: a: marked by honor, generosity, and courtesy; b: marked by gracious courtesy and high-minded consideration especially to women.)

The chivalry that I'm talking about is definition 5.3 a and b: "marked by honor, generosity, and courtesy; marked by gracious courtesy and high-minded consideration especially to women."

You will still find many men today for whom this is a fitting descriptor. These are the men who hold the door for you, who give you a seat on the subway whether you're pregnant or not, who hold an umbrella over your head during a rainstorm, who take a bag out of your overburdened arms, and who steer you away from steaming piles of dog poop on the sidewalk. These are the men I find warm, charming, and sexy -- the kind of men I'd describe as "keepers."

But then there are the men who will practically mow you down in a crowded hallway, who don't hold the elevator door for you, who run into the subway car like prancing wussies to grab the last seat, and who step in front of you at the bar even though you were next in line to order. I like to think of these men as throbbing pimples on the sweaty ass of humanity.

And do you know who created these types of men? Women.

All of you women out there who think it's an insult to have the door held open for you, who have said to some well-meaning guy, "I can do it myself, thank you" with a sneer on your face, who refuse to thank a man when he gives you his seat on the bus… You have ruined it for the rest of us. You destroyed chivalry.

Chivalry was never meant to demean women; instead, it was a code of honor that put women on a pedestal, acknowledging women as good, fair, and worthy of respect simply by virtue of being women and possessing the power to bring forth new life. But all of you out there who wanted "equal treatment" interpreted this as men thinking of us as weak or seeing us only as "babymakers." So you fought for your right to hold your own damn door. And in the effort to show that you were just the same as a man, some of you also did your very best to erase the notion of us being "good, fair, and worthy of respect."

Well, you did a good job, because every day I see men treating women like garbage. In fact, more often I see women giving up their subway seats to those who are pregnant, elderly, or injured while the men just sit there with their legs spread open. You demanded equal treatment because you wanted respect. Tell me how respected you'll feel next time some guy steals the cab that you waited for for 20 minutes in the rain.

I Know What You Did Last Summer…Because I Googled You

Thanks to the Internet, it's not at all unusual that we know way more information about way more things than we ever have before. Wikipedia is just the beginning; you can wind up learning a hell of a lot of useful -- and useless, but fun! -- info thanks to smart Google searches and links from one site to another. For example, did you know that Jason Priestley and Christine Elise (Brandon Walsh and Emily Valentine from Beverly Hills, 90210) lived together for 6 years and were engaged, and that he has a twin sister in real life too? (Sorry, I'm going through a 90210 thing right now.) The Web is a never-ending, cross-referenced labyrinth, and I, for one, find it very entertaining. Lately, though, I've begun to question my Web-researching practices and whether I am crossing the line.

When I need some downtime at work, one of my favorite diversions is to dredge up a name from the past (such as a kindergarten classmate) and figure out what he or she has done in life. I know that I am not the only one who does this, so don't you go making me feel guilty about it! What I do feel a little guilty about is discovering someone's personal info (not the obvious stuff on MySpace or Facebook), and, when the info comes from a blog, reading the blog regularly. In the past year I have seen and learned some very personal things about people I know now or knew long ago, such as:

-An old classmate will walk an extra distance at work to use a specific bathroom to poop in.
-A coworker is gay, had a commitment ceremony with her domestic partner, and then broke up and just recently got the union legally dissolved. They never took down their ceremony-specific Web site, so I know what they registered for, where the after-party was supposed to be, and the names of many of their relatives. I also found the partner's blog and learned that she was annoyed by my coworker's inability to relax.
-One of my friends is pretty much despised by someone she went to college with and is being made fun of publicly, but I don't think she knows.
-One schoolmate is making a pretty decent salary as a teacher in the NY metro area while another is making about $4/hr at a beach on Long Island.

What really got me thinking about this topic, however, is info that I discovered last week: Someone that I talk to all the time has a very close relative on Death Row. The way the relative got there is truly gruesome. I happened upon this info in a very indirect way and am very sorry now that I did; I don't want to associate it with the person I know, and he would probably be devastated if he knew that I knew. This definitely was not a fun and entertaining find.

So how far is too far? Should we just assume that, in this day and age, anyone can learn anything about us if they try hard enough, and that it's fair game to do so? And do we have the right to claim violation when the skeletons in our closet are revealed if the info is out there anyway? When information is so easily accessible, how do we define ethics?

Dear Doctor

Dear Dr. X:

Today I was supposed to have an appointment with you at 2 pm. I made this appointment a month and a half ago. Yesterday your office called me to tell me that there was a possibility that you would have to cancel for today because your son was sick. I understood completely. I was told to call back today just to make sure. I did. Your office told me that you were in today but that you might be running late and that I should call back in an hour. I did. Your office gave me the all-clear and told me to come on down for my appointment. I did. Let me be more specific. I walked across town to your office. During my lunch break. I walked because unfortunately there is no direct subway or bus line from my office to your office, and taking a cab at lunchtime is neither fast nor cost-effective. Oh, did you happen to notice the weather today? Mid-80's and overcast with 75% humidity. Yeah -- that's why I showed up looking like a sewer rat. Pretty cute, right?

I can't say that I was pleasantly surprised to find your waiting room packed, nor did delight tickle me through and through when the receptionist said that the doctor wouldn't be able to see me for at least an hour. You know how I mentioned "my office" earlier? That was an allusion to a job. That I have. Meaning, I work -- as in, I have responsibilities and people who need me to do things for them. Things that are tied to money. Money that my company relies on. See, when I set up this appointment, I thought we had made some sort of business deal: I acknowledged needing your time and expertise, and you said that you would give that to me. We "shook on it" over the phone via your office staff -- twice! Today! I consider you in breach of contract.

These days, when a patient doesn't show for a doctor's appointment, said patient is often charged a cancellation fee -- sometimes a pretty hefty one. Interesting how there's no cancellation fee given to the patient when the doctor can't fulfill the obligation.

Best,
GalWednesday

State of Bliss: A Shout-Out to Maine

I recently returned from a well-timed trip to Maine. "Well-timed" because New York City in the summertime isn't always the best place to be when you're…sensitive, like I am. This is the time of year when I have to contend with hordes of smelly foreign tourists who stop dead in their tracks on the sidewalk in front of such exotic wonders as the Hershey's Store and the Olive Garden. (Please tell me why you would come to New York City, a food mecca, and go to the Olive Garden. Think outside the factory-frozen box, people!) I really enjoy walking around the city, but because of the crowds here during the warm months, I always run the risk of losing it and saying or doing something that could get me into trouble. So there was no better time like the present (last week, to be exact) to get the H-E-double-L out of here and escape to a cooler clime with more outdoor square footage per capita. Maine.

Immediately upon exiting the plane door did I realize what a fine decision I'd made. The air was crisp and moist and smelled of pine. So much more preferable to the foul, stagnant odor of piss and hot dogs. As the week progressed, I realized how different I felt: I was calm, happy…and nice! I had no desire to broadcast any social rules because I did not need to; people there were kind and humane and respectful of one another's space. I did not come across one nasty person. I did not get bumped into or stepped on. There were no intrusive cell-phone conversations. Maybe this is just how it is when you have easy access to ocean, forest, and mountains.

One of the biggest delights of all, however, was that the entire time there (about a week), I did not encounter one dirty public toilet. Not one. From the airport to the national park to restaurants and back to the airport again, not once did I have to wipe up someone else's pee, shoo away a stranger's errant pubes, or tip-toe around puddles in front of the toilet bowl. Good people of Maine, I have to ask: Did all of your mamas just raise you right, or does there exist a little army of bathroom elves who are on the job 24-7?

The only breach of etiquette observed during my week away was committed by an Asian tourist in a lobster pound. He was an old man but had a voracious appetite. That vacuum guy Charles Dyson might have learned a thing or two about suction by watching this man practically make out with his lobster (I'm pretty sure I saw tongue). After this man had orally removed every conceivable piece of nutrition that the crustacean had to offer, he proceeded to let rip the longest, loudest, wettest-sounding fart in the history of the world. And his family had no reaction to this -- they just kept right on eating as if nothing had happened. Note to self: Do not travel to Asia.

Stroller as Combat Vehicle: An Open Letter to Persons Wheeling Children

Because I do not wish to alarm a small child by yelling at his or her mother/father/nanny in public, I hereby submit the following open letter.

Dear Caregiver:

Although I realize that the needs of a child can, at times, take on great urgency, I do not think that it is in the child's -- or anyone else's -- best interest for you to treat the stroller you're pushing as an instrument of force. I do sympathize with the plight of attempting to get a child to daycare on time during rush hour on crowded city sidewalks, but I do not see how running the stroller's wheels into my ankles helps your cause.

Yes, the instrument you are using has wheels and therefore could be considered a vehicle, but strollers don't come with horns or directional signals, so please don't think that you deserve the same respect as a car or bicycle. Transporting a child does not give you carte blanche to mow over pedestrians; in doing so recently, you almost caused me to fall onto the baby. That definitely would have made you late for daycare, which is all you seemed to care about.

The majority of people would be sick if they harmed a child. Please don't put anyone in this position, especially the child! If your stroller is behind me, I can't see you (because I am not a car either, I don't come installed with a rearview mirror). Therefore, take care and "drive" responsibly. Remember that you're pushing around a little human life, not your own agenda.

Most sincerely,
GalWednesday

A Moment of Silence for...Silence

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to consider the importance of silence in an increasingly noisy society.

Where I live silence is hard to come by, and when it is here it's fleeting. I live in a major metropolis. Metropoli are loud. I know this. For me this makes quietness all the more special the few times it happens. But sometimes I think I'm the only one who feels this way, and it's starting to drive me batty.

Case in point: A rainy Monday, on the train. It's quiet. Everyone is either sleeping, in a stupor, or reading. You can just feel a collective sense of repose, and it's nice. At the next stop a passenger gets on with a little radio that is blaring a hard-thumping song. Every head turns. Some faces have looks of disgust. But no one says anything. We all endure. Why? Why do we let one selfish prick ruin what was a seemingly pleasant environment for everyone?

I know why: We don't want to get shot. This is a reasonable concern in the big city, especially when you hear stories of people getting gunned down and stabbed for talking back to muggers. It sucks that these isolated incidents have to cause so much fear, but it's hard to change that. And that's why those in a position of authority should enforce the rules that they take the time to publicize. Here's one, for starters. This is an official rule of the New York Metropolitan Transit Authority (ie, NYC public transportation): "No person on or in any facility or conveyance shall create any sound through the use of any sound production device, except as specifically authorized by 1050.6(c) of these rules. Use of radios and other devices listened to solely by headphones or earphones and inaudible to others is permitted." See http://www.mta.info/nyct/rules/rules.htm for more entertainment on this order. Not once in my years of living in New York have I seen a transit worker enforce this rule on someone who is clearly breaking it. The rule was made for a reason, and I'd like to think that it has a little something to do with not making passengers become agitated in an enclosed space. But The Man doesn't seem to care, so that means that the little man has to care. Except the little man is too scared to care. And that's how silence dies. Do you care?

I care! Silence permits us to really see and hear things that we could not otherwise detect in the presence of someone else's noise: how beautiful someone's eyes are; the way in which that elderly couple still love each other; the voice of God. Mahatma Gandhi said, "In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves in itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth."

I yearn for crystal clearness. And I deeply resent the imposition of one person's noise on a whole group's possible quest after Truth. Does anyone else?

Public Transportation Series: Airplane Etiquette

Air travel used to be exciting. Glamorous, even. Now it's just cause for fear and loathing (and pulling the old switcheroo with the Poland Spring and the Bombay Sapphire bought at Duty-Free). All of the horror stories of the past few years -- being held hostage for hours on the tarmac, nonfunctioning toilets, celebrity passengers getting drunk and going apeshit on flight attendants -- have turned flying into a necessary evil for getting from here to there. But now that the cost of gas has made flying a couple towns over just about cheaper than driving, there's a good chance that you'll be flying in the near future. Therefore, it's time for some tips to preserve peace in the potentially very unfriendly skies. Please note that these are tips for passengers; the ways in which the airlines continue to torture their clientele is beyond disgusting, so we must do what we can to help ourselves and our fellow travelers. OK, earn your wings:

Be a delight for the senses. We can't open the windows. Therefore, please try your hardest not to smell. Shower before you leave your house. Apply deodorant. Brush your teeth. Bring gum if you have stank-mouth. As for foot comfort, yes, it feels good to take off your shoes when your feet start swelling from the pressure change. If your feet are of the odiferous variety, though, please mask them with some clean socks. As for the smells that come from the midbody region, everyone around you would very much appreciate if you could save them for the lavatory. If you have an ongoing situation that is not going to be remedied by 1 or 2 bathroom trips, allow me to suggest simethicone, which is sold as Gas-X, Mylanta Gas Relief, and other brands. In an airplane, you really must consider those around you: People don't like icky smells. People really don't like icky smells that they can't get away from. Don't be an icky smell.

Kids are cute -- to a point. I love children and can't wait to have my own. I find most of them very smart, interesting, and endearing. But unless you're going to pay me by the hour, let me order pizza, and drive me home, don't expect me to babysit your kid for you on the plane. Once on an international flight, I had an empty seat next to me that a curious and bored 6-year-old boy decided to check out. His mom did a drive-by to make sure that he was ok and that I wasn't some weirdo perv. I was happy to have his company. An hour and a half later, though, I could have killed the kid and his mom. The mom never told me where she was sitting, so I had no idea where to return her now whiny, kicking, hitting, hair-pulling little brat. And the kid wouldn't tell me either. After another 20 minutes the mom finally came back to pick up her son and apologized for falling asleep. Forget the fact that my flight was ruined; this lady left her child with a complete stranger for almost 2 hours. You know how you're supposed to watch your luggage to make sure nothing bad happens to it? Do the same with your children.

If you must be a mover, don't be a shaker. You know what really sucks? When all you want to do on the plane is sleep and some jackass keeps grabbing the headrest of your seat every time he gets up, catapulting your head into the seat in front of you. When it happens more than twice, I like to time it just right so that I stick my leg out and trip jackass as he is trying to pass by. Unfortunately that makes jackass grab for other people's headrests. But it's still funny for about 2 minutes.

Wipe your tray! The airlines used to clean in between flights. They would vacuum, replace blankets with freshly laundered ones, and put protective coverings on headrests so that you wouldn't contract lice from the person who occupied your place previously. Now we're lucky if flight attendants have time to remove the used vomit bags from the seat pockets before they herd the next batch of passengers onboard. Here's a golden rule that you can apply on the plane and in every facet of life: If You Make A Mess, Clean It Up. When I pull out the tray to enjoy my hearty complimentary airplane meal of dollhouse-sized munchy mix, I do not want to see the remnants of your Popeye's ExtraValue FatFace Bucket. Take a napkin, wet it if you have to, and make nice wipey-wipes so that all the food go bye-bye.

If you need to get drunk, do it with class. Make it quick and painless so that you just pass out for the majority of the flight. Don't subject others to it. When you're 45 years old, and you take off your shirt, and you keep calling the flight attendant "sweetheart" and winking at her for more drinks, and referencing Fast Times at Ridgemont High, and asking other passengers if they want to "party," we're definitely laughing at you.

Office Life: QUIZ: Are You the Annoying Coworker???

For most of us poor bastards, work is a fact of life. The story goes that we can thank Henry Ford for the weekly working norm of 5 days on and 2 days off. (Screw you, Henry.) Having to work is bad enough, but when you couple that with horrible officemates, the situation can become downright maddening. Most of us seek to achieve harmony with our colleagues, as we are sharing small spaces for many hours a day and have to work together to get the job done. But how do you know whether you're a good coworker or the office voodoo doll? Take this quiz to find out.

1. When I need to take a break, I:

A. Surf the Web or go outside for some fresh air
B. Go visit my coworker and chew her ear off for 40 minutes about my preferred brand of clumping cat litter
C. Review all of my ring tone choices a few times to make sure that I'm not missing out on anything really cool
D. Call my buddy P-Dawg to practice our beatbox on speakerphone

2. I need to ask someone a question but she's eating lunch at her desk. I:

A. Ask her the question via email
B. Go back to my desk and then call her on the phone
C. Go up to her anyway and just start talking
D. Scream over from my desk, "Hey, can you c'mere when you're finally done eating?"

3. When I use the office kitchen, I:

A. Make sure to wipe up any spills and throw out my garbage
B. Heat up my fish and cabbage leftovers and leave them in the microwave until I'm good and ready to go get them
C. Open the fridge, see whose lunch looks better than mine, shove it in a bag, and casually traipse back to my desk
D. Don't bother throwing away a carton of sour milk; that's the cleaning staff's job

4. During meetings, I like to:

A. Listen attentively, take notes, and speak when I think I have something useful to contribute to the discussion
B. Not wait until someone else is finished speaking because what I have to say is way more important and interesting
C. Pass notes with inside jokes to the person sitting next to me
D. Eat an egg-salad sandwich and talk with my mouth open

5. My philosophy on personal hygiene at the office is this:

A. I strive to dress neatly and smell clean
B. As long as I'm wearing enough perfume, it doesn't matter that I haven't showered all week
C. Why should I bother washing my hands when you have a bottle of Purell?
D. If I gotta fart in the elevator, then I'm gonna fart in the elevator

If you answered anything but A to any of these questions, then at least two of your coworkers are sending out emails with a horrifically Photoshopped picture of you and livestock in a compromising position right now. Please remember the following:

-- We all can use a break every once in a while, but ask first before you interrupt someone else's work time. And if you are incapable of doing that, then at least have the decency to interrupt with something interesting. If your nonwork conversation exceeds 10 minutes, go have it somewhere outside of the office -- because you look like a lazy slacker and you're making the person you interrupted look that way too.

--The lunch break is sacred! If someone is eating lunch at their desk, get the hell away until they're done. Not only does everyone deserve some quiet nonwork time, but no one wants to have to speak with salad stuck in their teeth.

--Don't let the office kitchen become a bug-infested toxic waste dump. This isn't your home, but it's your home away from home and your coworkers' too. Don't leave behind smears, drips, mold, bad smells, Big Mac wrappers, or anything else. And don't expect the janitorial staff to bus your table for you, you elitist pig.

--Meetings can make or break you at work. If you're not confident about what you have to say, then don't speak just for the sake of hearing your own voice. Everyone will be able to see right through you and know that you're not prepared. Also, this isn't high school; trying to be the class clown or rebel is just tired, pathetic, and beyond unprofessional. Avoid being the office A-hole.

--If people are consistently moving away from you when you speak to them, chances are, you smell. Accept, find a way to fix it, and then keep at it. Please note that applying anything more than a squirt of cologne or perfume is not an acceptable solution, as many people are very sensitive to certain perfumey smells. Especially the kind that call to mind IROC-Z's, gold chains, and sweaty chest hair.

The Spreading of the Legs

Folks, we need to talk about something a tad sensitive: spreading one's legs in public. In the past year it seems to have become the go-to ploy of certain female celebrities hoping to spark a little publicity. But I'm fairly certain, Ms. Lindsay Lohan, that a salacious view up your skirt is not going to inspire anyone of any clout in the film industry to hand you that "real actor" role you've been craving. I'm sure that it will inspire plenty of people in a different kind of film industry, however.

Why do I abhor leg spreading so? I have my reasons -- for men and women. Here they are:

For the Men:
Guys, your leg spreadage is particularly bothersome in shared spaces, such as public transportation, movie theaters, etc. Are you trying to establish some sort of eminent domain or squatter's rights? Spreading your legs out doesn't entitle you to maintain that position for the duration of the ride, movie, or what have you. If room needs to be made for others, then them legs of yours will just have to accommodate. I'm sorry, but I don't buy into your theory about needing to "breathe" or "give the big guy some room," only because I've seen plenty of men sit normally. It can be done. Unless you recently had urologic-related surgery or have "elephantitis of the balls" (thank you, John Bender from The Breakfast Club), male leg spreadage does not appear to be a mandatory biological need. If your goal is to impress others with the sheer girth of your manhood, well, I'm again sorry to say that most of the time we just don't see anything particularly special down there. Maybe wear tighter pants?

For the Women:
Ladies (if you indeed aspire to be), your leg-spreading has consequences more serious than taking up extra room in public. In your case, I am concerned with women's own growing lack of respect for the female body. Until recently, a woman's private parts were indeed private; in fact, they were regarded as a sanctum sanctorum. (Wikipedia has a tidy little entry on this term if you have no idea what it means.) Nowadays, however, they're common fodder for gossip sites and magazines, to the point where people freely criticize women's personal grooming proclivities and the aesthetic after-effects of giving birth. Women, if you see nothing wrong with this then you need a reality check. Why would you allow your (and your sisters') most private anatomy to be put on display and potentially ridiculed? Our parts have the capacity to bring forth other human beings. Can't you see the sacredness in that? Gain some self-respect, take back your bodies, wear underwear, and for God's sake, sit like a lady!

Public Transportation Series: Subway Etiquette

I love the subway because I can ride from Yankee Stadium to Coney Island on 2 bucks. And when lunchtime street traffic is horrendous, I can snicker at all of the out-of-town sissies stuck in cabs, go underground, and reach my destination in a fraction of the time. It's convenient and still a pretty good deal, all things considered. But I hate the subway for one distinct reason: There are other people on it.

No other venue in the past decade has been the scene of my potential downfall more than the subway. I will never forget Mouth Boy (the weirdo who decided to rest his mouth on my hand as I was holding on to the pole near his seat), Mr. Gratification (who couldn't wait until he was home to get in touch with his manhood), or Ms. Clip 'n' Spit (who in one 15-minute ride managed to trim her fingernails and fling the clippings all over the place AND eat an orange and spit the pits on to the floor). In all of these cases I fought the urge to react and either moved away or held my tongue. The last straw, however, was the wacko who leaned over me and sang "From the Halls of Montezuma" at the top of his lungs. By the time I got done screaming at him, everyone on the train thought that I was the wacko. And then I beat it out of town for a few days to regroup.

The subway's close quarters and no way out between stops call for everyone to be on their best behavior. In my experience, the majority of people are considerate of others' needs and can feel the unspoken collective subway goal: the avoidance of conflict. To those of you who are still looking out for #1, however, and don't give a flying flip about your fellow passenger, may you someday wind up trapped in a 100°F subway car with 500 people who smell like 3-day-old solid waste festering in a garbage can in the middle of July. To those of you who are looking to improve, I offer the following pointers for your consideration.

Be conscious of the space around you. This means not blocking the doors so that people can get on and off the train quickly. If some fool has taken up residence in the doorway as if he owns it and will not move even after you've said "Excuse me" repeatedly, you are well within your rights to shove said fool in order to enter or exit. Make sure to use your elbows.

Contain yourself. Unless your briefcase paid its own subway fare, it should not be taking up a seat when there are no seats left for actual people. Put your stuff on your lap or on the floor. I don't care if your bag is a Fendi. Remember the rock-paper-scissors game? My ass crush your purse.

If you must eat or drink on the train, please, please don't let it be something stinky or messy. When it's early on a rainy Monday morning, the last thing anyone wants to smell is an egg sandwich. Anywhere else it's fine, but here it takes on a putrid life of its own. There is potential for mass simultaneous horking. As for coffee, we all understand its importance, but if you haven't yet mastered drinking out of a cup while on a moving object, then drink it at home or wait until you get to the office. No ones wants to step in a brown, sticky stream. Ever. If, for some reason, you can't imagine a subway ride without the comfort of peanuts, for the love of God, put the shells somewhere other than the floor. This isn't the Ground Round.

Give up your seat. Can we please be more humane? If you see an elderly person, a pregnant woman, or someone who is obviously disabled, sick, or injured, get the heck up and let them sit. Reading a book or newspaper or talking on your cell phone does not give you "immunity." Nor does having had a rough day at work. Someone else's discomfort trumps your inconvenience. Look up every few minutes and see whether there's someone in need of a seat.

Watch your noise level. Yes, you have the right to play your iPod as loud as it goes, and no, I don't own you, so technically you can scream at each other across the subway car all you want. But do you have to? Besides the fact that these acts show how self-important and immature people can be, they're often like torture to everyone else. I have seen people become extremely agitated because of loud talkers and blaring music in a confined space -- like ticking time bombs. No one's asking for silence (well, I am but I know that's not realistic), just respect. There's no reason why we all have to endure your 10-minute cell phone call about the guy who didn't call you back even after you spent the whole night together doing body shots. I have to give special dispensation to college-kid "actors," however; please never stop telling us all how fabulous and talented you are. Everyone enjoys a good laugh.

QUIZ: What Kind of Audience Member Are You?

1. I go to concerts so that I can:

A. Listen to my favorite musicians perform live
B. Hear new music and be inspired
C. Get a buzz off the energy of everyone enjoying the same music at the same time
D. Sing along loudly with every song to show everyone that I know all the lyrics and have awesome rock chops, too

2. When I am at the movies:

A. I like to be able to hear all of the dialogue and appreciate the cinematography
B. I enjoy snacking but am careful to open wrappers quietly and not eat or drink too noisily
C. I make sure that I am not kicking the seat in front of me
D. I take cell phone calls, put my feet up, talk to my buddy about the shortie I did last night, and yell back at the screen as if the actors are talking directly to me

3. When I am at a play that is not very good, I:

A. Wait for intermission and then I leave
B. Bide my time by reading the Playbill
C. Try to find something to appreciate, such as the set or costumes
D. Lean over to my date and say, "Yo, this is retarded!", laugh uncontrollably, and walk out in the middle of a scene

4. I just won 2 tickets to the opera. I think I will wear:

A. A dark-colored suit
B. My blue velvet dress
C. The blouse and nice pants that I wore to work
D. Jeans and a hoodie -- like, duh?

Answers:
If you answered "D" to any of these, then I am sorry to have to tell you that you suck and everyone wants to hit you. When you attend a performance, be it on stage or screen, remember the following:

Leave the art to the artists. No one in the room paid $100 a ticket to listen to you. And no matter how much attention you call to yourself, you are not going to be "discovered" and become "the next big thing."
Respect your fellow audience members. Most people go to a performance because they are interested in or curious about the material being presented. Please respect the fact that there are people among you who want to escape in the art, hone their own craft by watching others perform, or simply want to relax and enjoy a performance without being disturbed.
Respect the artists. Even if a performance is not at all enjoyable, the people giving it probably worked very hard to get to where they are now. If you can't respect them, at least give them your sympathy. But do not interrupt the show to "make a statement" -- the cast will get all the statement they need from The New York Times review the next day.
Respect yourself. Not everyone is, or can afford to be, a patron of the arts. But when you have the opportunity to attend something "high brow," respect the grand tradition and dress up a little. You do not have to wear a tuxedo or a ballgown, but at least put on a decent pair of pants and shoes. It's so very disappointing to be in a beautiful opera house and see people wearing jeans and sneakers; it destroys the fantasy of a glamorous night out. Save that stuff for the movies.

Etiquette for the Modern Escalator Rider

We should be able to enjoy the convenience provided by these metal and rubber beauties without needing rules, and yet...

1. Stand on the right, walk on the left. You don't have to walk if you don't want to; you are more than free to stop and smell the shopping mall, and nobody should take that away from you. But kindly leave the left lane open to those who would like to move faster, much like highway driving. This includes shopping bags and personal affects to the best of one's ability. Feel free to spread out into the center of the escalator step -- when there's no one else around.

2. Just a little space would be nice. There's an unwritten rule that you should leave at least 1 step in between yourself and the riders in front and in back of you. This is a great unwritten rule. Let's keep it going. There's nothing creepier than feeling someone right behind you about to step on you or press against you. Unless you rather fancy that person.

3. Step lively! Especially when getting off the escalator, clear out of the way asap. A 10-person pile-up is only funny in cartoons. I know that finding the nearest WetSeal or bourbon chicken counter is, like, mad important, but I promise you that if you don't stop dead in your tracks in front of the escalator then I won't "accidentally" kick your Victoria's Secret Very Sexy bags.

4. Exit like a smart person. Besides stepping lively, step wisely. Exit straight out of the lane in which you were riding, instead of stepping diagonally into the other lane and cutting someone off as they're exiting the escalator; doing the latter will, at some point, cause you to injure someone else.

5. Make allowances. Don't be the A-hole who gets all impatient because of baby strollers, little kids, the elderly, people on crutches, and shoppers who have a lot of bags and nowhere else to put them (I suppose they could learn to balance them on their heads). Recognize that most people are doing the best that they can and that you are merely just another rider.

The Power of "Excuse Me"

In the past 6 months I have started to wonder whether I'm becoming invisible, like Dorian Gray or Marty McFly in Back to the Future. Because everywhere I go -- walking down the street, on the subway, in elevators -- it seems that people are walking right through me. OK, I know that they're not really walking right through me. And I know this because many of them inadvertently shove me, kick my feet, or, on rare occasions, airlift me a few inches. These little incidents don't usually result in personal injury but they could. And I'm still a little pissed at this one lady who stepped square on top of my kinda pricey new boots, left a mark, and didn't even say anything. Grrr.

You're busy. I'm busy. We're all busy. Everyone needs to get somewhere now, without a second to spare. But are we really too busy to excuse ourselves?

When you shove past someone without excusing yourself, essentially you are saying, "I am more important than you at this moment; acknowledging you is not worth my time." And what if you really hurt someone? You don't know whether the person you elbowed just had surgery, suffers from arthritis or some other pain condition, or is in the beginning stages of pregnancy. Or perhaps your divine right to plow through a crowd with your opened golf umbrella snagged and ruined the only nice sweater that the wearer owns.

I don't claim to be holier than thou; I've certainly bumped into my share of people, sometimes intentionally, without saying "Excuse me." But really, that's a pretty crappy thing to do to. If you need to pass someone, take the 2 seconds to excuse yourself. You and the person you're passing will both feel like better human beings for it.

Doo Doo Unto Others: The Shared Bathroom

You're at work. The atmosphere is very tense as everyone rushes madly to meet a killer deadline. The only way you've been able to pound out your assignment at warp speed is by drinking 3 cups of black coffee within the past 90 minutes. All is going well and it looks like you're going to finish on time, except...what the heck is that rumbling??? Suddenly nothing else matters. You don't care about the goddamned assignment. Hell, you don't even care if you get fired. Right now, nothing is more important than getting to the bathroom before you mess yourself in public. You get out of your chair and attempt to casually sashay through the office so that no one can guess your critical mission. You try to smile and say hello to a few coworkers even though you can feel the black wave within about to crest. Now you are out the door and in the hallway. Yes -- sweet, sweet relief will be yours in just a moment. You open the bathroom door, almost jubilantly, ready to prepare your throne with a protective layer of toilet paper. Except...there are pubes and pee all over the seat. And there is no toilet paper. Sonofafriggingsonofabitch!! You check the paper towel dispenser. Nada. You cannot believe that this is happening. You weigh your options but then your intestine, with a powerful jolt, decides for you. You resign yourself to using your socks. Your fate is so cruel that you don't even give a rat's ass about the poor sucker who's going to be forced to confront the poo-filled anklets you've lovingly placed in the wastebasket.

This little scenario may be on the extreme end of bathroom horror stories, but we can eradicate such occurrences if we follow these 4 golden -- pun intended -- rules:

1. Clean up after yourself. If it wasn't there before you used the toilet and it is there now, then the likelihood is high that you are the one who did it. (There is a slight chance that faeries did it, but that happens very rarely.) If you need a nursery rhyme to help you remember not to urinate, defecate, or shed pubic hair on something that someone else will use, try the classic "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie."

2. No toilet paper? Alert! Alert! If you took the last of any paper that can be used for wiping one's nether regions and then exit the bathroom without doing anything, it will come back around to you tenfold, and you better hope that you're wearing socks on that day. Leave tissues from your purse. Put a Post-it note on the door ("No toilet paper!"). Find a member of the facilities or janitorial staff. Do something. Do not leave your fellow human paperless.

3. Flush until it is all gone. Even if it takes 3 or 4 flushes. Yes, we do live in increasingly green times and don't want to waste water unnecessarily, but I think that making all of one's diarrhea or vomit or "lady's special time of the month" go bye-bye falls under the category of necessary.

4. Wash your hands. Even if you haven't touched your naked parts, you have touched a door that was touched by someone else who touched their naked parts and didn't wash their hands. So somewhere along the line you came into contact with urine or fecal matter. Think about that next time you rush out of the bathroom to go to lunch and eat something finger-lickin' good.

Etiquette Schmetiquette?

Etiquette -- now there's a word with a certain connotation. It's hard to not picture a lady's luncheon whose guests are neat and pretty, sitting up straight, making conversational pleasantries, daintily lifting delicate china cups to tastefully made-up lips, and using the correct silverware for each course. Merriam-Webster defines etiquette as "the conduct or procedure required by good breeding or prescribed by authority to be observed in social or official life." But how many people really care about "good breeding" in this day and age? Unless you show prize Weimaraners at the Westminster Kennel Club or are due to inherit a royal crown and must align with someone of your ilk to preserve a certain bloodline, chances are that 21st century you aspires to just not make a fool out of yourself. Even Amy Vanderbilt, the etiquette expert herself, had trouble with the word. In the introduction to the 1954 edition of her classic Amy Vanderbilt's Complete Book of Etiquette, she writes,

The word "etiquette" for all the things I have tried to discuss is really inadequate, yet no other will do. It covers much more than "manners," the way in which we do things. It is considerably much more than a treatise on a code of social behavior…For we must all learn the socially acceptable ways of living with others in no matter what society we move. Even in primitive societies there are such rules, some of them as complex and inexplicable as many of our own. Their original raison d'être or purpose is lost, but their acceptance is still unquestioned.

What is Amy getting at? Why must we all learn the socially acceptable ways of living with others? Is etiquette really about which fork we use to eat poached salmon in aspic? I hold that the intrinsic reason for etiquette is so that we do not kill each other. Or, on a higher plane, to provide our human relationships with a safe place in which to grow, flourish, and carry on to the next generation. Which all boils down to the number-one basic human instinct: preservation of the species.

Welcome

Welcome to *Gal Wednesday and the Quest for Social Order*. I figure that if I want to call myself a responsible member of society and an upstanding citizen, I had better stop with the "accidental" hip-checking of oblivious street-pounding cell phone users. I guess the oops-my-bad tripping of gum-poppers on the subway better end too. This is an attempt to spare my life, save my passive-aggressive soul, and hopefully help others see that some common understanding of etiquette can go a long way toward promoting a collective happiness.