On the lost art of good manners.

One of the reasons I love period novels set in the 1600s-1800s is that people are so very polite. Being so means something. I love the good manners, kind ways of speaking, the significance of a letter, and that someone can express sheer joy to be in the presence of their friends without listeners thinking how pathetic or sappy that sounds.

Thus, I always try to be polite when I leave my apartment. I say "Morning!" or "Hello!" to 99% of the people I pass when I'm jogging or walking. I smile and nod if I happen to catch the eye of a fellow shopper in the grocery store. I raise a hand in thanks when a car pauses to let me pass. I smile and thank my cashiers, waiters/waitresses, employees who help me find something their store. I acknowledge everyone who comes within my personal sphere. I know what it's like to be ignored by everyone, and I know what it's like to be a McWage slave and have people think you're nothing for running a cash register, so I try my best to be polite and friendly to them all.

 

( Behind the cut because I try to be polite whenever I can online as well. )

Grrrrrr. I'm still going to be polite to people. I'm still going to smile and say hi to every jogger I pass. I don't care if this is one of the few Southern mannerisms I've brought with me. I appreciate it when people are polite to me, and I am still going to pass that on.

Even if I always have to be the one to initiate it. *snarls again*