Watch Your Language, Please!

I've got to get something off my chest, Dear Reader.  I am supremely weary of hearing people drop the F-bomb.  It seems that almost every place I go these days I hear someone using it over and over in casual conversations, in restaurants, at work, in stores, everywhere.

It's almost as prevalent as the mind-numbing use of "like," "uh," and "um" as conversation filler.  But it is far worse.  While those three words may be grating to listen to when repeated endlessly in conversation, they are but tedious only.  Flagrant use of the F-word, on the other hand, is rightly frowned upon by people of refinement and banned from broadcast airwaves (at least for now) for a reason: it is intensely and vividly vulgar.  I believe its use should be reserved for situations and circumstances that are either private or where the speaker has been provoked to the point of explosion. And it most certainly shouldn't be used within earshot of children.

Don't get me wrong, Dear Reader, Reggie is not a prude.  He has been known to use the F-word himself, along with other pithy Anglo Saxon expletives.  He acknowledges that doing so can at times be very satisfying, indeed.  However, he believes the use of the F-bomb in general conversation today has become so prevalent and gratuitous as to have lost its potency, at least in the minds of those he overhears using it repeatedly and unblinkingly in public.

If they stopped to actually listen to themselves, as Reggie is often forced to against his wishes, he believes they might be surprised to hear how crude and unattractive they sound.  And how unimaginative—can't they think of any other words to use?

Maybe not.  At least that's what he concludes when he casts a gimlet eye on many of those he overhears using it in public.

But that's not always the case, Dear Reader.  Reggie is often surprised when he turns to examine who is speaking so fouly to find that it is a person who should know better.  They have fallen into the habit of using the F-word unthinkingly, with no comprehension that it does not reflect well upon themselves (to say the least), nor do they have any consideration that others might find it unpleasant—if not offensive—to listen to.

When I am out in public, Dear Reader, I do not like hearing other people repeatedly use the F-bomb or other rude expletives, particularly strangers at other tables in restaurants, in lines at stores, in places of entertainment, or while walking about the streets of the city in which I live.  I find it ugly and intrusive.

So I make every effort not to drop the F-bomb or use other obscenities in public.  Sometimes I slip up, though, because I am far from perfect.  But I try to be sensitive to the fact that there are people within listening distance who may find such language offensive, and so I refrain from using it in public whenever possible.

I think the world would be a better place if more of us did the same, too.

Tell me, Dear Reader, what do you think?

Reggie's Rules for Calling Someone on the Telephone

The other evening I attended a large cocktail party where I ran into a former colleague, JL.  I like JL and enjoy speaking with him whenever I have the pleasure of seeing him, which is at least several times a year.

A reasonable reaction upon answering the telephone
and being confronted by a rude caller

We fell into a conversation that eventually turned to the topic of the sorry state of manners in today's world, and our shared belief that telephone manners, in particular, had reached a new low.  As an example, JL recounted a telephone conversation he had at home one recent evening:

Telephone:  Ring-ring-ring

JL:  Hello?

Caller:  Is Bobby there?

JL:  May I ask who's calling, please?

Caller:  Peter

JL:  Peter who?

Caller:  Peter Porterhouse

JL:  Oh, hello Peter, this is Bobby's father.  How are you?

Caller:  Okay

JL:  I'm sorry, but Bobby isn't available right now.  May I take a message for him?

Caller:  No, I'll try him later.

JL:  Okay, thanks Peter.  Nice speaking with you.

Caller:  Yeah

JL:  Goodbye Peter

CLICK

JL was particularly irritated by this exchange because he knew Peter Porterhouse, one of his son's friends and a regular visitor at JL's house.  We both agreed that Peter was a boor, but since he was still relatively young—a teenager—we agreed that it wasn't necessarily his fault but rather that of his parents, who raised him to be an ill-mannered oaf, without (for starters) instilling in him basic good telephone manners.

I then related a telephone conversation I had one recent weekend afternoon, where the caller was even ruder:

Telephone:  Ring-ring-ring

RD:  Hello?

Caller:  Who is this?

RD:  Excuse me?

Caller:  Who is this?

RD:  What do you mean, "Who is this?" Who's calling, please?

Caller:  [pause] . . . uh . . . this is Sandra

RD:  Sandra who?  Who are you calling?

Caller:  Where's Mike?

RD:  I believe you have the wrong number.

CLICK

Even though this was obviously a wrong number, I found this call particularly annoying because the caller who initiated the call did so by asking me who I was, rather than identifying herself to me first, and then hung up on me when I informed her that she had dialed the wrong number, without any acknowledgment or apology.

Dear Reader, I share these two conversations with you as prime examples of callers who clearly did not appreciate, or had not been properly trained in, the rudimentary rules required when initiating a telephone call.

In my view, these rules are:

Rule Number 1:  When making a telephone call you must always begin the call by identifying yourself to the person who answers the phone.  Unless you recognize his/her voice and are on first-name basis with him/her and speak with him/her regularly, and are confident that he/she will immediately recognize who it is that is calling him/her, then you must identify yourself by stating your full name, including both your first and last names, such as "Hello, this is Reggie Darling.  I'm calling to speak with Emily Toplofty.  Is she there, please?"

Rule Number 2:  Never initiate a telephone conversation by asking, "Who is this?"  You may only seek to learn the identity of the person who has answered the telephone after you have identified yourself first.  The proper way to do so is to ask, "With whom am I speaking, please?"

Rule Number 3:  If you have dialed the wrong number, it is incumbent upon you to say, "Excuse me, I believe I've dialed the wrong number." You may thus politely terminate the phone call.

Rule Number 4:  When the person who has answered the telephone identifies herself to you as someone other than the person you are seeking to speak with, you must respond with a polite acknowledgement, such as "Oh, hello Mrs. Toplofty, I hope you are well."

Rule Number 5:  Always end a telephone conversation with some form of closing salutation, such as "Goodbye," or "Talk to you soon," or "Thank you."  Never simply hang up the telephone without closing out the conversation first.

In summary, I believe it is the responsibility of the person initiating a phone call to inform the person answering the telephone of their identity and the purpose for the call.  The caller should also be prepared to engage in a brief exchange of pleasantries, as a matter of courtesy, with the person on the other end of the line.  Finally, the caller should always conclude the call with some form of acknowledgement that the call has been completed by both the caller and the person with whom they have spoken.

These are the rules I follow when I call someone on the telephone, and I believe every other civilized person should too.  I'm heartened to know that I am not alone in believing this, given my former colleague JL's emphatic agreement.

Tell me, what do you think?


Photograph courtesy of LIFE Images

Use a Handkerchief, Please!

Reggie would like to bring something to your attention, Dear Reader.

He thinks you should use a handkerchief.  No, he is not referring to what is rather euphemistically known as "facial tissue," such as Kleenex™, but rather to an old-fashioned cloth handkerchief, the kind your grandparents used.  Well, at least Reggie's grandparents used . . .

Reggie carries a handkerchief with him most of the time, and he finds it most useful to have one with him.  In fact, he cannot understand why the regular use of handkerchiefs has become something of a rarity in our society today.  Even amongst polite people.

A baker's dozen of white cotton handkerchiefs,
recently purchased at Brooks Brothers

In order to qualify for Reggie's approval, handkerchiefs needn't be white, they needn't be expensive, nor must they be monogrammed or edged with lace.  A plain, inexpensive cotton one with stitched edges will do very nicely, thank you.  If one prefers not to carry a white handkerchief (unlike Reggie, who does, at least most of the time), one can find handkerchiefs in any number of appealing colors, including solids, patterns, and prints.  A diminutive colorful bandana is perfectly suited (and sometimes preferred) to be used as a handkerchief when one is feeling in a country mood.

Just carry a handkerchief, please.

Reggie has heard many people say they would never use a handkerchief, as they consider carrying one filled with snot to be disgusting.  Well, Reggie agrees, a handkerchief filled with snot is disgusting.  But he is not suggesting that you do that, Dear Reader.  If one has a horrible cold, producing a lava flow of mucous, Reggie believes one has no business being out in public but rather should be at home in bed, attending to such matters privately.

No, he is advocating that his readers carry a handkerchief with them when out and about, because he finds one to be a remarkably convenient and versatile accessory when he is out in public, away from the niceties and hygenic pleasures of his home.

While Reggie uses the handkerchiefs he carries to occasionally blow his nose or sneeze into, tasks for which they are admirably suited, he finds handkerchiefs to be far more versatile than merely being a receptacle for one's nasal effluvia.

When one is out on a hot summer's afternoon, a handkerchief is the perfect choice to mop one's sometimes sweaty brow, and a far preferable choice for doing so than using one's sleeve, a degraded practice he has seen engaged in by certain baser sorts in public during the warmer months.

A handkerchief is a most useful protection, too, when used to grasp something when one is in public that one doesn't particularly care to touch with one's naked hand, such as a grimy subway strap handle, or the knob of a door leading into a heavily used gas station restroom.

And Reggie far prefers to use a handkerchief when he is overcome by the sudden need to sneeze, which he frequently is in public, as opposed to using his bare hands, or the more recently advocated practice of using the crook of one's elbow instead of one's hands.  He is not so sure that this development is an improvement on the former.  But he is more than confident that neither of these options are an improvement over using a handkerchief.

Now some people might ask, "But Reggie, why use a handkerchief when a Kleenex™ (or similar) will do?"  Because, Dear Reader, a handkerchief is sturdier  than a Kleenex™, it doesn't rip apart, and it doesn't pill, all of which said Kleenex™ does.  Also, if one inadvertently leave's one's handkerchief in the pocket of one's trousers, one is not then confronted with a disintegrated, wadded mess of what once was a piece of Kleenex™ when one reaches one's hand into such trousers after they have been laundered.

Others might also say, "But Reggie, don't you find carrying a used handkerchief to be rather unpleasant?"  Well, Dear Reader, it is all a matter of degree.  Just as I change my undergarments daily, so do I replace the handkerchiefs I use each day, so I can be assured of having a fresh one at hand.  That is, after all, why one does laundry (or if one is very fortunate, that is why one has one's laundry done).

But I do carry a handkerchief, and I do use it, and I think you should too.

Tell me, do you?

Photograph by Boy Fenwick