Growing up in the Midwest to a Nigerian father and a Southern mother, I was raised to have good manners. I was taught to say, “Yes, sir. No, sir.” (In fact, if I failed to respond to my mother with a “Yes, ma’am?” and only said “Yeah?” I would receive an irritated “YEAH?! Yeah, what?” from another room.) I was taught not to look adults square in their eyes when they were talking to me. If someone said, “Hello, how are you?” I would say “Good” and ask them the same question, to their surprise. If I bumped into someone I was to say, “Excuse me, I’m sorry.” And I was taught to say “Good morning” to people and smile, and most times, they would respond in kind. At a certain point in life, this way of doing things just became second nature.
And then I moved to New York.
I quickly realized that when I said “Good morning” and smiled at people, they looked at me like a weirdo, gave an uncomfortable smirk and put their heads back down. Or worse, I would say it to an older man, who would respond and follow up with, “You sholl got some nice legs!”
*Shudders*
When I would say “Yes, ma’am” to some women they would comment saying that such greetings made them feel older than they are. And if I bumped into someone on the train and said, “Excuse me, I’m sorry,” with their headphones glued to their ears, they wouldn’t hear me. Instead, they would respond by giving me demonic eyes as if to say, “I’ll beat your a–.” And I know I’ve told you that in the past that my idiotic attempts to break up fights and rescue a neighbor who had been hit in the face by her boyfriend in broad daylight weren’t appreciated.
Yeah, trying to be super polite hasn’t paid off much here.
In fact, after nearly five years here, I can admit that my manners have worn off somewhat. After getting bumped enough times by tourists in Midtown, I realized that I said “Excuse me” less and less. Knocking into shoulders and walking away irritated with nothing to offer a bewildered sightseer. I’ve wanted to curse at sales associates who, instead of being able to tell me where items are, point off into the distance so that they can continue conversations with their co-workers. I’ve pushed the “door close” button on elevators as soon as I stepped in them as to avoid the individual who slowly walks their way inside only to go to the third floor. And when I’ve been tired on the train, it’s taken everything in me to get up to give my seat to an elderly man or woman, or a pregnant woman whose appearance makes my ankles hurt. Not too long ago I felt that being kind and courteous was for the birds in a place where many people are guarded and constantly on the go with no time to make nice.
But I had an epiphany of sorts recently. I rode on the elevator with a man who I hadn’t said anything to when I entered it. As I previously mentioned, I’m often disappointed when I find myself in an elevator with other people these days, so, in my less polite demeanor, I look down and wait to get to my floor. But as we got to his, and the doors opened, the cheerful guy turned around and said, “Have a great weekend!” and walked off. I was so taken aback that I damn near forgot to say “You too!” in response as the doors closed. That man reminded me of who I had been for years in this city, before I let the moody nature of some bring me down.
And to be honest, there are quite a few New Yorkers who are very friendly (and not in the I’m-trying-to-get-them-drawls or Oh-wait-something-is-off-with-this-person way). Like the few men on my block in the early hours of the morning who shovel for the rest of us when the snow leaves the sidewalks icy. The occasional fella who sees you struggling with a cart or a stroller and offers to help. The sales associate who hasn’t been jaded just yet, and walks around with you to show you your options. Or all the people who try to come to someone’s aid (by shooting out an arm) when they damn near fall after not grabbing a pole on the train before it pulls off. Yeah, they’re not big things, but even the smallest gestures mean something to someone.
I once told a friend who was debating whether or not to cut a guy off without telling him why and planned to do so because she had been hurt in the same way that she “shouldn’t let the way other people have treated you change you as a person.” Or worse, change the way she treated others. And yet, I recognized that I let a few folks do just that to me in a whole other way. So I recently decided to go back to the good ol’ days of smiling at strangers who look my way, asking if my elders need help and saying “Yes, sir and No, sir.” Because what I failed to remember during my more Negative Nancy days was that I shouldn’t be courteous in the hopes of getting a pat on the back, in the hopes of some reciprocated gesture or in the hopes that it will “pay off.” But rather, because it’s just the right thing to do.
