Mind Your Manners

Something distressing has struck me recently: do manners actually matter to the average person anymore? Sure, we would all prefer everyone treat us like royalty and sprinkle roses under our feet but would we ever return the favor? No, I doubt we would. Take the administration of oral pleasure, for instance – if you’re capable enough to receive it, are you kind enough to give it?

The age-old practice of holding the door for your peer is still continuing strong here at Roanoke College. But in these increasingly lethargic times I feel we should make guidelines. I was holding a door for two girls walking into Trexler one morning and felt it would be rude to cut in front of any other females entering the building, so I ended up holding the door for almost twenty different women. Thus arises, a very poignant question: should one be expected to hold the door for ugly girls?

This is a tough issue because, let’s face it, ugly girls don’t deserve special treatment. Otherwise, they’ll think they’re getting it for a reason. And then they won’t try to clean up that trainwreck they call a face. If anything, we should be slamming the doors on the ugly people to let them know something’s awry. I suggest we purposely let the door smash into their face and hope it rearranges their features into a more pleasant configuration. And afterwards run over, rub the door and say, “Oh my goodness, are you alright? That ugly girl just walked right into you.”

All I’m saying is, sure, you might have a bubbly personality and be the nicest person in the world, but if it’s becoming increasingly obvious that no one’s holding the door for you, maybe it’s time to call up your local plastic surgeon. And what about fat women? Do I have to hold both doors for them? Now this is getting ridiculous.

This whole ladies first, equal rights, Title IX bullshit is really getting old too. Hold the door for a woman and you’re oppressing her femininity. Don’t hold the door for her, you’re a chauvinistic pig. “How can we ever be equal if you inhibit my ability to be an independent woman? I am woman, hear me roar.” Yeah, roar away, darling – just don’t put any yellow mustard on my fucking sandwich. But back to the manners thing…

One of my professors once suggested that everyone on campus wear name tags to increase the intimacy among the student body. No, not that kind of intimacy. Perhaps learning one another’s names would help us understand we’re all human and here to achieve the same goals – get drunk, get laid, and get graduated. Perhaps name tags would make those that tend to be less outgoing more personal and extroverted. But what about people like me – ya know, people who judge every book by its cover because we’re too lazy to do otherwise? I would probably walk by a fellow student, read his name tag, extend a courteous greeting, and afterwards say to myself: “Man, Bruce might be his name… but he’s still a douche.” Two-faced, you say? Well, then you’re just a hypocrite. And you’re probably a bigger douche than Bruce. And thanks to this little name tag concept, he’ll be “Bruce The Douche” until the day I graduate.

So, do manners really matter to us anymore? I mean, I have a friend who draws faces on his penis and then makes it sing songs at his twelve-year-old cousin’s birthday party. Crude, rude, and horrifyingly disgusting? Absolutely. But he’s one of the most well-mannered people I’ve ever met. Nevermind. Bad example.