When the twenty-something teller in my bank asks my seventy year old self if I have any plans for the weekend, I wish I had the nerve to say, “No darlin’, do you have something in mind? “. But I fear being charged with harassment.
Imagine real anarchy and the dangers of no social norms. It wouldn’t take long to be polite just to up one’s chances of seeing the next sunrise. Pretty soon what works becomes normalized politeness.
Now, remove the threat. What does politness get you besides an expensive Pepto-Bismol bill?