In Defense Of Politeness

by Alexandra Molotkow

What, if anything, do people who routinely violate the trust of their peers have in common? The answer, according to their observations: Backstabbers tend to play nice. People who were “excessively polite” throughout the game were more likely to betray their opponents than those who spoke in a less-civilized manner.

OK, I hear you. Don’t trust people who are too nice! Don’t trust anybody. But hear me out now. Please!

There are two kinds of politeness, right? The thoughtful, send-the-thank-you-note-scent-the-envelope kind, and the compulsive, sorry-sorry-thanks-so-much version. The first is good and productive. The second is meaningless at best, cloying at worst. The first I aspire to, the second I’m afflicted with. And I’m sorry, but not sorry, but really, I’m sorry. Wait, I’m not!

I am compulsively polite. Sometimes I’m rude, but I prefer not to be. Politeness is the way I was raised, and I admit that it’s not entirely altruistic. It makes life easier for me. Some people use coldness as a deflective shield, and politeness does the same thing: keeps people at a manageable distance, without cutting them off altogether.

But it’s really for the best. My brain is an oozing blister about a third of the time, and I don’t want that pus in the world, and neither do you. Politeness is a sealant. I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings, or dampen their moods, and I don’t like to leave an interaction wondering if I fucked up back there. Politeness is a lubricant. It makes life more pleasant to not feel or be shitty in a million little ways every day. (Being mean is fun, save it for special occasions.)

People think politeness is phony, and I guess it is, but so what? I love phony. Diet Coke is “phony.” Indoor plumbing is “phony.” Also, it’s not even all that phony. Am I literally super grateful that you handed me my sandwich? Yes! In that moment I was, because how many people do that for me in a day. Do I really want to hear about your weekend? Maybe! Not if you drone on and on recalling every detail, but I think that’s rude.

Listen: small talk is talk. It’s scripted, but guess what, everything is scripted! Shakespeare is scripted and King Lear is no less whatever it is for having been performed 343,221,545,573,232 times. If you can’t communicate anything sincere through small talk, that’s your problem. I’ll help, but it is. And if you can’t manage to interest yourself in someone who’s neither fucking you nor deep enough in your life to basically be you, you deserve to be bored all the time.

You are capable of caring at least a little bit about anyone. It doesn’t matter if they’re no one in your life, it doesn’t matter if you never see them again. For three seconds, you can care, and all that care adds up. Sometimes your care reserves run dry, but then you just smile and nod and follow the prompts. It’s easier than being rude, and honestly? Fuck all the backstabbers giving the rest of us a bad name.