Small courtesies like the Wonthaggi wave may be on their way out. By Liane Arno
MATT is the kindest person I know – except when he gets behind the wheel of a car. “Aren’t you going to let that car reverse out into your lane?” I will ask as we drive around the ever-busier streets of Wonthaggi. “I didn’t even see him,” Matt will reply – but I know he has – he just wants to keep his spot in the line before entering the intersection.
He then moves on to describe that he, as a man, is the hunter, his eyes concentrating on the target ahead and not distracted by his peripheral vision. (Please do read Alan Pease’s “Why Men Don’t Listen and Women Can’t Read Maps” where he describes this concept so well). I, on the other hand, must be a continual frustration for those drivers behind me as I let drivers back out into the traffic. After all it only results in a short delay for me – and a big relief to the driver.
MATT is the kindest person I know – except when he gets behind the wheel of a car. “Aren’t you going to let that car reverse out into your lane?” I will ask as we drive around the ever-busier streets of Wonthaggi. “I didn’t even see him,” Matt will reply – but I know he has – he just wants to keep his spot in the line before entering the intersection.
He then moves on to describe that he, as a man, is the hunter, his eyes concentrating on the target ahead and not distracted by his peripheral vision. (Please do read Alan Pease’s “Why Men Don’t Listen and Women Can’t Read Maps” where he describes this concept so well). I, on the other hand, must be a continual frustration for those drivers behind me as I let drivers back out into the traffic. After all it only results in a short delay for me – and a big relief to the driver.
Lately, however, I have been wondering about whether I need a sex change. Not literally of course – but in the way I deal with my fellow drivers. The other day in front of the post office there were six cars all wanting to reverse in a very short space of time. Maybe they were sending their Christmas cards early – who knows – but they were all keen to leave – and I was happy to facilitate their departure. Of those six cars – only one acknowledged that their entry back into the traffic stream in good time was because of me. The rest just moved on. No nod, no wave – just an intent disregard.
To make matters worse, the next day I was driving my car and was a few cars back from the entrance to the roundabout at the new Bunnings. The road works crew had gone to the effort of putting in the blind-friendly raised buttons on the pedestrian crossing – and there – in the middle of the road – stood a blind man – complete with white cane. Four cars (that I know of) ignored the pedestrian and left him to languish until I stopped to let him cross. The driver behind me honked his horn to express his anger at me stopping.
I was brought up to be courteous. Were we brought up incorrectly? Matt is 11 years older than me – and therefore reached his ‘senior’ years well before me. I therefore take great umbrage when a kindly meaning person offers me their seat on the tram when we visit Melbourne from time to time. After all – I know I am completely grey – but can’t they see I am fit and healthy – well maybe just a little doddery?? And then if Matt opens a door for a woman (which he always does for me – even into our own home) sometimes they look him up and down as though he is – well – a little doddery!
The advent of smart phones seems to have caused us to lose ourselves into – well – ourselves. How many times have you been to a restaurant to look across at other diners who do not speak a word to each other but are mesmerised by the piece of metal and glass in their hands. We went to a posh restaurant recently with limited seating where the staff were making a superb effort to put on a show of creative dishes. These diners did not look up from their phones. Still, in some ways they are more courteous than those who speak into their phones so loudly that everyone has to listen to their conversation.
I don’t think I have ever known such a narcissistic time where people are constantly taking selfies or walking heads down to monitor their feeds, bumping carelessly into anyone in their path. I’m sounding a bit grumpy, aren’t I? Is it a feature of being my age?
I hope I end up instead like Dad. I used to laugh when Dad paid his bills over the phone. The automated menu would take him through the steps and when the computer-generated voice confirmed that payment had been made, he would always say, “Thank you.”
“What do you do that for?” I asked “It’s only a computer.”
“One day,” he replied, “they will rule the Earth and I want them to remember that I was courteous to them.”
To make matters worse, the next day I was driving my car and was a few cars back from the entrance to the roundabout at the new Bunnings. The road works crew had gone to the effort of putting in the blind-friendly raised buttons on the pedestrian crossing – and there – in the middle of the road – stood a blind man – complete with white cane. Four cars (that I know of) ignored the pedestrian and left him to languish until I stopped to let him cross. The driver behind me honked his horn to express his anger at me stopping.
I was brought up to be courteous. Were we brought up incorrectly? Matt is 11 years older than me – and therefore reached his ‘senior’ years well before me. I therefore take great umbrage when a kindly meaning person offers me their seat on the tram when we visit Melbourne from time to time. After all – I know I am completely grey – but can’t they see I am fit and healthy – well maybe just a little doddery?? And then if Matt opens a door for a woman (which he always does for me – even into our own home) sometimes they look him up and down as though he is – well – a little doddery!
The advent of smart phones seems to have caused us to lose ourselves into – well – ourselves. How many times have you been to a restaurant to look across at other diners who do not speak a word to each other but are mesmerised by the piece of metal and glass in their hands. We went to a posh restaurant recently with limited seating where the staff were making a superb effort to put on a show of creative dishes. These diners did not look up from their phones. Still, in some ways they are more courteous than those who speak into their phones so loudly that everyone has to listen to their conversation.
I don’t think I have ever known such a narcissistic time where people are constantly taking selfies or walking heads down to monitor their feeds, bumping carelessly into anyone in their path. I’m sounding a bit grumpy, aren’t I? Is it a feature of being my age?
I hope I end up instead like Dad. I used to laugh when Dad paid his bills over the phone. The automated menu would take him through the steps and when the computer-generated voice confirmed that payment had been made, he would always say, “Thank you.”
“What do you do that for?” I asked “It’s only a computer.”
“One day,” he replied, “they will rule the Earth and I want them to remember that I was courteous to them.”