The Rudest Thing that was Ever Done to Me

Perhaps it is fitting that I, of all people, should write an article about a rude incident, insofar as I myself am the heart and soul of politeness. Consider my many Odd Man Out pieces, such as this one; my many considerate answers to those Ask Mr. Tom questions, such as that one, or, especially, that so-very-diplomatic advice in my many joint essays on the subject of etiquette.

Seriously, though, we all experience rudeness in our lives, from time to time, and, perhaps without meaning to, we hand out a bit of it ourselves. Sometimes, what we perceive to be perfectly natural behavior-and perhaps it is-can be seen as awfully rude by someone else. I remember a scene in the movie, Lawrence of Arabia, where the visiting British journalist is seen as being impolite because he had not burped after enjoying a meal with his Arab hosts.

Such misunderstandings need not require separate parts of the globe to come about. One evening, when I was riding home on the subway, I passed the time by reading a very funny book. A few stops after I got on, a young lady sat next to me and promptly began yakking on her cell phone, which was, obviously all right, despite my attempts to read. When, in spite of her loud talking, I started to guffaw at a couple really funny passages, she gave me this "How dare you?" look, for interfering with her conversation, and moved to another seat.

Given the immense volume of material I have to work with, in my 65 years on the rudest planet in the solar system, I had to stop and think a bit before settling on a single incident.

The deciding criterion, for me, was not the attitude of the malefactor, but the effect the incident had on me. As a matter of fact, the worst rudeness I experienced was cloaked in an attitude of friendly cooperation.

I am little bothered by rudeness from obviously rude people. I figure, those who are compulsively rude are that way because, however you want to figure it-nature or nurture-that is the hand they were dealt. Oftentimes, they make themselves more miserable than they do the people whose chore it is to cope with them.

In fact, I know of two people, one male, one female; one related to me, one not, whom I slightly admired in spite of their antisocial inclinations. What I admired about them is that, on some level, they knew they had rotten personalities and, to the extent they could, they actually put some effort into suppressing them.

Let me get back to this rudest of all incidents, the one that seemed to stem from the friendliest of exchanges.

As some of you may know, my major avocation for twenty years was live theater, and particularly musical theater. I love to sing and will even put up with learning choreography in order to do so.

After participating in a number of Broadway-based shows (almost all of which I enjoyed), I decided to try my hand at Gilbert and Sullivan. My first time out was The Yeomen of the Guard, which some say was Artie Sullivan's best music, ever. I could not have asked for a better director.

She was a good-looking, vivacious, very supportive lady in her 40s. While she had a clear vision of what she wanted, she was willing to let the cast experiment and find their best solutions throughout the rehearsal process. This is how the very best directors operate, in my opinion.

As I said, this was my first G&S, and I did not pick an easy one. The Act I finale is, without question, the most difficult scene I have ever participated in at anytime on the stage. I tried to put up a bold appearance, but, inside, I was stressing out in a big way. I figured, this time for sure, I had gotten in over my head.

Just when my confidence was at its lowest point, she came up to me and told me how amazed she was with the wonderful job I had been doing. After that, all things were possible, even the Act I finale.

I can perhaps guess what you might be thinking. Let me point out, she was married at the time, so there was no prospect of a stage romance. Still, we worked well and comfortably together, to the point, in my second show under her direction, people were saying (in jest...I think), "Get a room!"

Some time after that second show (H.M.S. Pinafore), the department I worked for at Honeywell got outsourced and I found myself retired at the age of 55. Fortunately, I was old enough to qualify for their smallest pension, so I got something out of the deal, but I was going to need another source of income, at least until Social Security kicked in. With that in mind, I applied to be a substitute teacher.

The job came with no benefits, since you were considered a contract worker, rather than an employee, but the pay wasn't bad. The year I started, it was $92 a day. In order to be accepted into the teaching pool, I had to prove I was a college graduate, and a few other minor details. I also needed evaluations from my last two bosses.

Now here's the thing, as my friend, Adrian Monk, would say. I worked with the same department manager at Honeywell for ten years, before they closed the department. I had no idea what ever became of his predecessors. Since I had no moonlight job, I asked the Board of Ed people if I could use a stage director in lieu of a second boss. They said I could, so I knew right away the person I wanted to ask.

I told her the situation, and she said she understood perfectly. Why should she not? Her "day job," as it turned out, was as an English teacher in one of the Montgomery County middle schools. After I briefed her on what I needed, I added I would be happy to send a SASE along with the evaluation form, so that all she had to do was stuff it into the envelope and drop it into a mailbox. She said, don't be silly, you don't need to do that. I'll be happy to take care of this for you. Still, I sent along the SASE, just as an extra courtesy.

Six weeks passed, and I never heard from the Board of Education. Finally, I followed up to find out if there was a problem. There was, as it turned out. They had heard from my Honeywell manager, but not from the other evaluator.

I found that to be especially discouraging, but, in as cheerful and non-judgmental a manner as I could, I left her a number of messages, by phone and email, reminding her that the Board still didn't have her evaluation. I heard nothing. Finally, after another couple of weeks, I ended up asking another director, who had since moved to Connecticut, but who got the evaluation sent in right away.

So I got the job, but several weeks after the fact. Had the original director not wanted to do this thing for me, all she had to say was, "No." I might have been surprised to hear that, but I would have been able to move right on to Plan B. I guess she felt it too inconvenient to say she was turning me down.

As it was, by pretending to be someone who would help me (with what was really a very small favor), then acting as though she didn't know I existed, she ended up costing me a couple thousand dollars in lost revenue.

I would later find out that I had not been singled out for any special mistreatment. She was that way with everybody she directed: the heart-and-soul of accommodation and encouragement, for as long as she needed you to perform. Then, a completely uncaring individual, once the final curtain came down.

Of course, what she did to me made me angry. I really could have used the money. Still, all these years after the fact, I feel more sorrow than anger. She had all the knowledge and ability she needed to be a warm, caring person, and, instead chose the route of unbelievable selfishness. Some day, when she is older, I'm sure all that will catch up with her, if it has not already. Too bad.