A Breach of Etiquette (or Bad Manners in Public Places)

I’m not good with manners. Ask anyone in my family. Or my friends. Even co-workers. I take too big bites and chew my food loudly and badly (which is also why I never chew gum). I miss social cues, like when to hug and when to shake hands. I’m gassy at the wrong time and often proud of it. I usually don’t ask guests if they want something to drink. I can’t tell when someone really wants to know how am I doing or are they just being polite?

Texans, I’ve discovered, are renowned for their manners. Drivers almost always stop for pedestrians, unlike Chicago where crossing a street is a live-action Frogger experience. People here wave all the time and greet strangers like old friends. Neighbor and non-neighbor alike just can’t wait to help someone. I’m still learning my Texas deportment. This may take awhile.

Situations come with rules. So many situations, so many rules! Step into an elevator, there are rules. Look straight ahead. Move to the back for maximum space. Nod and smile. If you’re the button guy or girl, ask “What floor?” And obviously, avoid that gassy thing.

Hosting a party, let the guests eat first. If there are two lines of cars, use the zipper method to merge. Cover your mouth when you cough! Ladies first (is that still a thing?). Don’t like the tofu turkey being served, you have to eat some, ya know, just to be polite. There’s also the guidelines governing whom you can ask for help moving or airport drop off, as highlighted by Jerry, Elaine, and Kramer.

You may not know it, but golf courses are heavy-laden with etiquette and rules. It’s hard enough to learn the game, but you gotta figure out the manners too.On the green, the farthest away putts first. Never step on someone’s line. Pull the pin if another player wants it out. Remove your hat and shake hands on the 18th green. Above all, don’t yell, “Baba Booey!” until after they swing (I really have no idea what that means).

Compliments are obligatory on the course. Every good shot is celebrated by the group. (Exception to the rule: if very good friends are playing, trash-talking is allowed, but always good-natured. Thou wilt both give and receive the trash.) Often, the praise is exaggerated for effect. (“Oh, you’re the one who taught Tiger how to do that.”)

There are a hundred more rules governing the Gentlemen’s Sport. One such rule, and every seasoned player knows it, I broke yesterday. Oh the shame!

I was paired with two great guys, good friends to each other but strangers to me. One dude looked like Frazier’s TV show dad. The other looked like Aram from Blacklist. I noticed Aram was lined up way right on every shot. And he usually hit the ball to the right. By the 9th hole, after another frustrated expletive from Aram, I said, “Do you know you’re aligned way to the right?”

Major faux pas, and I know better. Mine was a simple question asked with a pure motive. Friends can ask that; strangers, even well-meaning strangers, are supposed to keep their pie-hole shut. For several holes afterward, Aram would hit a shot and mutter how I got in his head. I tried the sports panacea (“My bad”), but it didn’t work. He’d shuffle his feet in search of the right stance. A few times, he even stepped back and pondered, waggled the club a bit, stepped forward, and hit a lousy shot. Honestly, he wasn’t that good before I broke the protocol, but I still felt responsible.

Silently, I tried to justify my words. I was trying to help. Why didn’t his friend help? To be clear, I was correct, his alignment was awful. Shouldn’t the young buck thank the elder statesman? It’s not like I advised him to “Wax on, wax off.” This was simple stuff. No good. I knew in my golf heart I was out of bounds. Frazier’s dad knew I was wrong too, but he was too kind to chastise me.

Maybe the worst part is I was playing really well, especially on the back nine. Whack! I’d crush a drive, and they would praise me. Then Happy Feet Aram would step forward…you can figure it out. Meanwhile, I made three birdies on the back nine, including one on the most difficult hole. I was en fuego! During my run, I considered telling Aram to get mentally tougher. Then I shut my pie hole.

Aram may still be muttering to himself, yesterday’s question ricocheting around his mental kitchen. Somehow, some way, in just 24 hours, I got over the faux pas without a scar. Did I mention I played really well?