My war on politics

[i_kender]

You know, there’s one thing that is guaranteed to irritate me no end. It leads to the grinding of teeth, foam flecked lips, that pulsing vein in my forehead, a manic twitch in my left eye, and a deep growl rumbling in my diaphragm. Few things can make me so instantly angry, a dim hot simmering that lasts days. I’m not talking about world events... although these days we’re living in do concern me greatly. No, I’m talking about the little things.

 

I declare war on politeness.

 

At the moment, I’m renting out rooms in my parents’ house. It gives me a bit of company, much needed as I’ve only just moved to London, and helps me out financially too... I send the money to my parents but like any family business feel quite justified in skimming off the top. If this was a gangster film, I would be comparing swimming techniques with the fishes. Luckily my parents are Arabic not Mafioso, meaning I’m far more likely to find myself unexpectedly married than dead. One hopes.

 

At the moment, I have three people living here. First of all there’s Sophie, a friend of mine from my Brighton days. Sophie is wonderful, French and petite and stunningly beautiful, made more attractive by the fact that she seems blissfully unaware of it. She is buzzing with energy and optimism and positivity, smiles like the sun coming out from between the clouds, and is generally a sweet balm on my gruff black mood. She’s also in a similar position to me... she’s just moved to London and is looking for a job. Sadly this does mean that she’s only staying with me until she gets settled, because she’d really like a place of her own, a studio flat. Which I completely understand, because we all go through phases when we’re tired of sharing with other people and just want A Room of One’s Own.

 

And then there’s the couple. Fernando and Fiorella are young, married, Brazilian and, it transpires, Catholic. (Well... I say young. They’re roughly the same age as me, but somehow the fact that they’re married and I’m not makes me feel older than them. Or just wiser perhaps? J ) So far only Fernando has been living here... Fiorella is apparently in Paris on business but she should be arriving today.

 

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate couples. I don’t even hate married people. There’s nothing wrong with marriage. There is equally nothing wrong with being in love, in a couple, and stupidly blindly happy. I’m all for dizzying euphoria. And pheromones. And the mutually pleasurable exchange of saliva. Whatever. It’s just that, well, there is something fundamentally off-putting about seeing couples in love when you are single. Don’t you think? I specifically did not want a couple when  I was advertising for people, purely for selfish reasons. It is hard living with couples in a shared house, as I know from experience. It’s hard when they’re happy (because you have this nauseatingly sweet couple making doe eyes at each other when you’re trying to watch really good TV, and loud shrieking orgasmic cries through the night when you’re trying to sleep) and it’s hard when they’re not happy (I never invited Cold War into my living room). And God forbid they should ever break up. Shudder.

 

And of course the other thing about inviting a couple into the house, which would be similar if I was inviting two close friends to live here, is that they are a closed unit. Self sufficient. They have history, in-jokes, close communication. In short, they don’t need to talk to me at all unless I’m blocking the stairs with my drunken snoring body because they have each other. And, you know, I’ve only just arrived in London, I don’t know that many people here, and I was hoping for people with room in their lives for me. So, couples, really not a great idea. No offence.

 

But somehow when this couple came round, I warmed to them. I am a hopeless romantic at heart. And, bless, they’re newlyweds. She’s here as part of her PhD in Botany, working out a one-year Fellowship at Kew Botanical Gardens. And he, bless his dimples, followed her because they’d only just got married and he couldn’t bear to be away from her. So while she’s working, the only thing he’s doing while in London is improving his English. And boy does it need improving! She’s much more fluent than he is. And charming, whereas he is the shy and quiet type. In fact, she was so charming, and gregarious, and full of smiles that I told them they could have the room before they’d left.

 

Doh! So, hopeless romantic. And so now I have to learn to live with a couple in my house.

 

I don’t have many rules. But one thing I cannot tolerate is politeness. Oh sure, it has it’s place. Where would society be without letting old ladies steal your seat on the bus? And think how badly short-changed you’d be if you were rude to shopkeepers? Not to mention the unmentionable things that waiters get up to when provoked. Meep.

 

But too much politeness makes me gag. It’s a formality. It provokes distance between people, and awkwardness, and is oh so prone to misunderstanding. For example... Sophie insisted on paying rent. Well, I’m not entirely comfortable with that... but I know that pride wouldn’t allow anything else. If I refused to take it, she’d probably be living in a bedsit somewhere. And I don’t want that, so rent it is. But then we went for a big shop at a supermarket, and she put it on her card. Which, fine, I was going to put it on a card too. Meaning we’d split it later. But so far she’s resisted every attempt on my part to pay her my half. And it’s galling! I fume!

 

I’m thinking of buying her £30 worth of really fattening chocolates. Hah, that’ll teach her.

 

And then there’s the laughable spectacle of our evening dinners. By all the dead gods of social convention, why?! It’s cold war escalation, it’s a détente, it’s dirty filthy diplomacy. And sadly I started it, by cooking dinner for Sophie and myself and then belatedly realising that Fernando had just moved in too. Naturally, I invited him to join us. Which was fun, if slightly awkward due to language barriers (French girl, Brazilian guy, Bahraini guy... Mind Your Language, anyone?). But then, helas, the washing up. Slight altercation over who wanted to do it the most. Sophie won.

 

And then the next night, Fernando cooked and I did the washing up. And last night, Sophie cooked while I made encouraging comments and tried not to get in the way, and then Fernando washed up. But it took five minutes of arguing with Sophie while I watched with a growing sense of alarm. They were nearly wrestling with the dirty plates (now that’s a cable TV show!) and I don’t see why. Yes, there’s a point to politeness. But there is such a thing as taking it too far. What’s next? Blazing rows over crusty saucepans? Wine-rimmed glasses at ten paces?

 

Politeness is all well and good, but it needs to be put in its place. I’d rather enjoy my meal than agonise over whether everyone has enough water, and equally I’d like others to say no when I force a glass of water on them, rather than gulping it down to fill an already sloshing swollen water barrel of a stomach. I find it agonisingly awkward remembering to be polite all the time, and having to endure other people’s politeness. For god’s sake people, just relax! You’re driving me nuts. Do what you want when you want, never ask permission, never beg forgiveness, never apologise, never explain. Show no regard for others, be ruthlessly selfish. Eat the last mouthful. Get your own damn cup of tea.

 

Civilisation demands nothing less. It’s the capitalist way. It’s your right as a consumer. If like me you’re a Generation X-er, then godammit the world owes you a favour. So go ahead and be selfish so I can be selfish. For fuck’s sake, stop being so fucking polite.

 

Because I find it really rude.

Comments

[blankbadge.livejournal.com]

somehow the fact that they’re married and I’m not makes me feel older than them.

I would have thought it would be the other way round. Maybe that is just because I think of marriage as something adults do and I don't feel like I'm really an adult yet.

I know what you feel about the whole politeness thing. I get annoyed by people being polite often because they just seem to be doing it because they don't want to be seen as not being polite. Nothing to do with actually wanting to be nice.

[buddleia.livejournal.com]

Ha! Good rant and my deepest, deepest sympathy. I am single and surrounded by stable, loving happy couples. I even love them and am perfectly happy to be single, but my life has become dependant on people in even-numbered groups (except when they have kids).
I know what you mean about politeness as well. The whole point of an idea of good manners is to make people comfortable, not some kind of outpoliting contest. Surely though, after a while, your lot will settle down and start bickering over whose turn it is instead of isn't to wash up.
My flatmate is a rude cow who routinely makes me dinner. Perfection.

[i_kender]

Right! That's exactly it... you can keep your politeness for politeness' sake. I'd rather have something more honest, even if it is a bit rough round the edges. At least that's something I can trust.

If I was that easily offended, I wouldn't leave my room.

Now, on the other hand, I think people are not nice enough to others. Because that takes genuine empathy and compassion, which are rare.

[buddleia.livejournal.com]

Darn tootin!

[spintrian.livejournal.com]

I think you mean false politeness in particular. This is the kind of "have a nice day" politeness that you can enver accuse me of.

And I did tell you I didn't think a couple was a good idea. Don't come running to me when it ends in tears!

And - um, is Sophie actually paying rent?

[i_kender]

Yes, she is. She insisted.

And I'm adjusting to the idea of a couple in the house. Don't calamitise me!

And yes, false politeness certainly but also excessive politeness in general.

My first rant... (*beams*) I'm so proud! Tune in next week when I take on mercy, kindness, charity, spelling and the spirit of Christmas!

*grins*