Commentary : It May Be Old-Fashioned, but Courtesy Doesn’t Have to Be Old Hat

The two young men accepted our baseball tickets without so much as a handshake, “thank you” or smile. Our gift was simply taken for granted. The driver pulled in front of us, in a space my husband had made for him, but there was no wave or nod, or smile. The young women walked four abreast, filling the sidewalk; as we approached, they never missed a beat, never moved over, never smiled; we slid between them, wondering in our confusion about “common” courtesy.

I guess I am old-fashioned. “Please” and “thank you” continue to be part of my vocabulary. Yet more and more, I find myself wondering when I lost touch with today’s behavior. Has time passed me by, fossilized my attitude?

I do cringe when the young woman in the doctor’s office announces, “Agnes, the doctor will see you.” Where are courtesy, respect and dignity? I am 40 years older than she is, old enough to be her grandmother. Who gave her permission to call me by my first name? Am I simply old-fashioned?

I am confused--and aggravated. But I am confident you will appreciate why. It was a Sunday in September when the car pulled in front of us, the girls jammed the sidewalk and our gift floated off, leaving me grumbling and mumbling about courtesy and propriety.

What a glorious San Diego day it was. My husband and I, Padre fans to the core, headed for San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium. We were disappointed that Los Angeles friends could not join us as planned for the game against the Dodgers. We arrived early; we had two tickets to give away. “Let’s find a couple of kids and make their day!”

We were disappointed to discover no youngsters looking for our handout. We found instead, two fine-looking young men who were obviously in need of tickets. We indicated that we had extra reserved seats, and the four of us stopped to talk. A stadium guard approached. Immediately one of the young men warned, “You know you can’t sell these tickets!” He had not waited for the guard to speak or for us to declare our intentions. (Bells started ringing in my head. Abrasive, irritating.)

We explained, somewhat defensively, that we were giving, not selling two seats. Promptly the two of them began to question us: Where were the seats located, were we season ticket holders, what was the position of the sun, etc. They wanted minute details. I did not understand the questions if they wanted to see the game. Why all the questions? The bells were growing louder.

I kept my grumbling to myself, upset that I was going to have to sit next to these characters. I heard my husband ask, “You’re not smokers, are you?” I hoped they were, for then we would have a reason not to give them the tickets. There was hesitation, then “Oh no . . . no, absolutely not!” Why did they hesitate?

We were eager to enter the stadium and take our seats, so we handed over the tickets and immediately, without a word, the young men moved off. No handshake, no “thank you,” not even a smile. We stood, shocked by their behavior. Within 10 minutes after we had taken our seats, a couple sat down next to us, their confidence clearly indicating that they were not poachers.

By the time the “Star-Spangled Banner” had concluded, I figured out why they were next to us, but it was not until the fifth inning of a slow, punishing (spell that “losing”) game that I had the courage to poke my husband and request, “Ask them if they bought their tickets today.” They had, of course--from “two fine-looking young men.” The bells in my head were playing “I told you so!”

I do admire the early riser who finds an honest way to make a dollar. But we had given a gift, and these hustlers had diminished, mocked it, trampled it. I hated that. And I hated their rudeness. Just as I hated the rudeness of the girls who hogged the sidewalk and the driver who pulled in line without so much as a smile.

On the other hand, my practical side told me that, despite my anger, almost no one lost--except the Padres--that day. We did not lose any dollars since our tickets were an annual gift, which we thoroughly enjoy each year. The very decent people sitting next to us came to the stadium hoping to pick up tickets because they wanted to see the game, and they did. (I did not ask what they paid. Remember, I am an old-fashioned stickler for courtesy.) And the young men--obviously they got more than what they came for: an extra few dollars, the thrill of an illegal sale, outwitting an elderly couple, the excitement of the crowd, maybe even the game.

I did not bump into those “two fine-looking young men” again, or the four young women or the driver of the car. That pleased me. Unfortunately, our Padres were trampled by the Dodgers that Sunday in September--just as was my sense of courtesy--and both were accomplished without a “thank you,” a handshake or a smile.