Mind Your Manners?

          Our upbringing generally involves the acquisition of a code of etiquette, a sort of template devised for interacting socially – and sociably – with those around us. On the whole, it serves its purpose, though it can be taken to extremes and is often used as a weapon in class warfare (an example might be the ‘correct’ way to arrange and use cutlery when dining). But broader experience of social customs teaches us that the only ‘correct’ way to dine in public is with consideration for those around us. Conventions may differ but basic good manners will always be appreciated.

          One rule of etiquette I was taught was not to eat while walking in the street. I mean, it was acceptable to suck a pastille, discreetly, but full-on chomping was not allowed. Even the chewing of gum was frowned upon. No explicit reason was given, though the message came across clearly enough: it was considered vulgar. In later years I developed a more egalitarian attitude, which caused me to come up with a rational argument for the rule. If you want to enjoy your take-out food, it’s better done sitting comfortably and taking time to savour it, while watching the world go by. If you simply want to take fuel on board – and quickly – then go ahead, if you must. I will look away. So, when I broke the rule myself, just the other day, I felt I had no right to complain of the consequence.

          It was a sunny morning and I had walked into town to catch a bus that would take me up the Devon coast. With twenty minutes to spare, I figured I had just enough time to nip around the corner and get a bacon roll (no coffee, as the journey would be two hours, unbroken) to supplement my earlier hurried breakfast. I’d like to think I was reasoning that time was tight and, in order not to embarrass myself by self-consciously devouring my treat on a bus, I ought to get started. Finding a spot to sit and relish the feast risked missing my ride so, I took stock and, seeing that there was no one around to report me, succumbed to temptation and took a bite. It was to be my last. A seagull had spotted its opportunity and swooped down with unerring accuracy to snatch the whole roll from my hand.

          Momentarily outraged, I swore at the bird and made as if to chase it along the pavement, where it had landed, with its booty, presumably having learned that the proper way to enjoy someone else’s takeaway is to find a place to sit and relish it. But mine was a reflex reaction and the futility – not to say the ridiculousness – of it  dawned upon me soon enough and I gave up. Regaining my composure, I glanced around and was relieved to note that, still, there were no witnesses to the incident and that my embarrassment would not be going viral.

          I spent the next two hours with the faint taste of bacon lingering in my mouth (having no coffee to wash it away), torn between appreciating the lush beauty of the countryside through which we progressed and struggling to come to terms with my loss. It’s not as if I was really hungry, I argued. And wasn’t I supposed to be on a journey to veganism anyway? I considered but quickly dismissed the possibility that fate may have had a hand in punishing me for transgressing the rules of etiquette, as it seems unlikely that the universe much cares about my self-imposed behavioural values. And you can’t blame a seagull for snatching a meal, any more than you accuse it of vulgarity.