Pardon me, but can we please use good manners?

What is becoming of manners? More than once that thought has occurred to me recently. And no, I'm not talking about the mamby-pamby nonsense you read about in the "Ms. Manners" column about where the salad fork goes, the proper way to skim a spoon through a bowl of soup or other pinky-jutting nonsense. I'm talking about run-of-the-mill, everyday common courtesies.

Last week, as I was preparing to step off an elevator at the 5th Avenue Mall, I had to fight a stream of people trying to cram themselves into the darn thing as I was trying to exit. I imagine that's what a salmon feels like fighting upstream. One was a young mother using a stroller (with a baby in it, mind you) as some sort of cow-catcher as she tried to force her way onto the elevator while a few others and myself were trying to get out. As she did so, she was casting nasty glares and making exaggerated deep sighs.

Gosh, miss, my bad. Come on in. I'll meekly ride the elevator up and down all day until I reach a floor where nobody is trying to get on. Also, regarding elevators, I had the distinct pleasure of riding an elevator at Providence Hospital with a man who felt that as long as he said "excuse me" after each belch he was free to let them fly - open-mouthed and loud. Gross.

I don't know if it's the way of younger generations, a symptom of the stupidity that passes for humor in many of today's movies and televisions shows, or something else, but it just seems we're devolving into rude, crude animals.

I had the misfortune of riding an Anchorage bus not too long ago, and a young man was blasting his earphones so loud all of those around him were able to partake in his choice of sound. He also felt the need to recite the lyrics of the junk nice and loud, profanity and all. When an older woman with two young children politely asked him to refrain from swearing in front of her grandchildren (she had to ask twice after he briefly turned it down so he could hear her), he yelled something back at her that this paper would not print were I to repeat it.

Now, I'm not a violent fellow, and honestly, I prefer to mind my own business. But I'm also not the smallest guy in the world and while my fuse is long, the explosion can be quite large. So when I used some of that famous Compton tact to convince the lad that perhaps turning it down, being quiet, getting off at the next stop and catching a different bus would be good for his health, he complied. I got applause for it, but it didn't make me feel much better. I would have preferred it had not been necessary.

I could fill up this paper with examples I've run into, but my last one for this article is eating. I used to work in an office where a gentleman would, every day for lunch, dine on Cup of Noodles. He would eat it by shoving a fork-full of noodles in his mouth, then loudly slurping up a mouthful. It was awful to hear, but great if you were on a diet since your appetite was destroyed. Around the office we began referring to him as "Slurpee" and we all did our best to avoid him at lunch.

So maybe I'm a manners freak. Lord knows my kids think so. When we're entering or leaving the house, my wife and the younger children go first. When we're getting in the car, my older boys know to get the door for their mother and younger siblings before they get in. When we eat, the youngest children get served first. My children are taught from a young age to eat with their mouths closed. Spaghetti is cut with the side of a fork and eaten just like any other food; it's not loudly sucked up.

Once, after spending too much time with other family, my No. 2 son (Justin) thought it was fun to eat like that and ignored my warnings to stop. After I placed his plate on the floor and told him if he wanted to eat like an animal, he was going to eat like an animal, he kicked the bad habit quickly. There is no TV at dinnertime. No cellphones at the table. I don't allow my kids to text in the midst of a conversation at the table, when we're watching a movie or otherwise having family time. I'm the big, mean guy who is telling your teenagers to watch their language when they're loudly swearing in public. I'm the grouch who tells you to control your children when you're ignoring them as they go through my shopping cart, stand up in the restaurant booth and lean over my back, etc.

But I'm also the nice guy who lets a lady take the parking spot even though I was waiting for it first, holds the door for you as you're coming up to the door behind me, says "pardon me," "excuse me," "please" and "thank you." I'm the guy in traffic who lets you in (so long as you signal and are polite instead of trying to race ahead and bully your way over), waves a "thank you" when you let me in and doesn't tailgate. I'm the guy who pays your server a bigger tip when you were an obnoxious jerk to him or her after drinking one too many. I'm the guy who lets you go ahead of me in line at the grocery store since you only have a couple items and I'm towing a stuffed cart or two.

Good manners - they're fading. Please do your part to help make sure they don't disappear for good.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column as "Compton's Corner," the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.