“Thank you for not apologizing”

A few days ago, I was to meet my wife at a mall at 6.30 p.m. but what with having to deal with a few delicious last-minute emails at work, it was 6.50 by the time I reached there.

“Thank you for coming early,” I said.

“I didn’t come early,” she said coldly. “You came late.”

“Yes!” I said enthusiastically. “Thank you for waiting.”

She didn’t take it well. “At least have the decency to say ‘I’m sorry’,” she said in a clear healthy voice that carried to nearby shoppers.

“Don’t embarrass us in front of all these people,” I hissed, lowering my voice. I clutched her elbow and took her to a secluded area in the mall. “Etiquette has evolved, woman. You need to keep up with the times. It’s no longer chic to say ‘I’m sorry’. The right form nowadays is to thank the other person for the inconvenience.”

“What nonsense are you talking?” she said.

“I don’t blame you for not understanding,” I said. “I myself picked up this new form of manners only in the last week.” I began to relate what I had learnt.

On my business trip earlier in the week, I was waiting to ask the hotel concierge for his recommendation for a good jogging route. He was patiently explaining something to the guest ahead of me, drawing lines and circles on a map spread between them. Either the route was very complicated or this particular guest was rather geographically challenged, because the process was taking time. Finally the concierge folded the map.

“So, as I leave the hotel,” said the guest, “I turn right, right?”

“No! Left, Sir,” said the concierge. “Let me show you.”

As the guest gratefully walked with him to the hotel entrance, I waited at the concierge’s counter, drumming my fingers on it.

The concierge returned. “Thank you for waiting, Sir,” he said.

“Sorry?” I said. “I didn’t get that. What did you say?”

“Thank you for waiting, Sir,” he said again. “And how can I help you today?” Then he held up his hand. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He picked up the telephone that was ringing on the counter. “Yes, this is the concierge. How can I help you?”

The guest at the other end of the line wanted to eat Italian food for dinner, in a restaurant that served such food and was known for it, but was not too pricey and was within walking distance of the hotel. Unfortunately it appeared that this happy combination did not exist: the excellent Italian restaurant very near the hotel was expensive and a reasonably priced one some distance away. So they continued talking, exploring cuisines from different countries that meet the guest’s other criteria. Finally he settled on a Chinese restaurant in the next building.

“Yes, Sir, I can make the reservation. Table for four at 7.30 p.m. in the name of Mr Cecil Barnaby.” He then turned to me. “Thank you for waiting, Sir,” he said once again with a huge smile. Then he added the illuminating explanation: “That was a hotel guest on the phone.”

“So am I,” I pointed out (resisting the urge to add, “And I’m standing in front of you in flesh and blood, not calling you from the comfort of my bed”).

“Yes, Sir!” he said. “Thank you for waiting!”

As I left the hotel and began running on his recommended route, his words kept playing in my mind. In fact I couldn’t get them out of my head. I soon found I was running to the mental beat as my feet pounded the pavement: “Thank you for waiting. Thank you for waiting. Thank you for waiting.”

The next day I had an hour of free time before I had to head to the airport. I used it to buy a pair of shoes.

“Thank you for waiting, Sir,” said the shoe salesgirl, emerging from the back room with a box. “Here’s size 12.”

Later as I sat at boarding gate, along with hundreds of other weary travellers, waiting to get into the aircraft, the intercom finally crackled. “Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. We are now ready to begin boarding…”

On the flight I requested the flight attendant for a glass of water. When she gave it to me, she smiled and said, “Thank you for waiting.”

“I had no choice,” I wanted to say but didn’t. Who am I to question the latest in etiquette fashion?

The matter was clinched this morning. I called my television services company to unsubscribe to a channel I had specially added for my mother on her recent visit. Have you noticed how much easier it is to subscribe to a channel than to unsubscribe to it? I had to first “press 1 for English”, then navigate my way through several voice menus (“press 1 for cable TV”, “press 2 for billing” and so on) until I was finally allowed to “press 0 to speak to a service agent”.  When a human being finally came on the line, the first thing she said was: “Thank you for waiting”.

I explained all this to my wife at the mall.

“Look at that sign,” I said and pointed. “A few years ago it would have said, ‘Sorry – no smoking here’. What does it say now?”

“Thank you for not smoking,” she said, reading it out. “Wow! I guess you’re right. Sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“No, no!” I wagged a finger at her. “You’re still not getting it. Try again.”

She looked puzzled for a moment. Then realization dawned and her face lit up.

“Ah, I got it!” she said. “Thank you for allowing me to snap at you.”

“Exactly!” I beamed at her. “You’re most welcome.”