DEAR MISS MANNERS: I brought my neighbor, a well-brought-up young man who recently moved here from a small town to attend college, to his very first opera, "La Traviata."
During the first act, the couple in front of us discussed each duet, the costumes and almost everything else. I tried your patented Miss Manners glare, but as they were in front of us, it had little effect. I tried a subtle "harrumph." Then a bit less discreet throat-clearing. Nothing worked.
In desperation, just before the curtain was to rise on the second act, I turned to my guest and -- in a voice loud enough to carry to the row in front -- said, "I can't believe some people are so rude as to speak during the performance. I am glad to see your parents taught you how to behave at a performance."
I then winked and nodded to the folks in front of us.
He caught my meaning. At the end of the second act, the loud man in front stood, turned around, and began to berate me for implying that he and his wife were misbehaving.
He became so nasty and belligerent, I roused myself from my dumbstruck silence and finally interrupted his rant by telling him to either sit down and remain quiet or I would call an usher (the most severe punishment I can possibly imagine at the opera).
The man responded by grabbing my throat. Fortunately, my guest was quickly able to intervene and the man was removed.
These days, I realize people shout to actors on the screen at movie theaters and one may talk on the phone at a concert with near-impunity. However, I thought the opera was the last bastion of civility.
What are we to do? How can we protect our institutions from this plague?
GENTLE READER: Opera, the last bastion of civility? Miss Manners, who attends alarmingly often, could have disabused you of that fantasy. This is not the first story she has heard of (attempted) murder at the opera in real life.
But there was provocation. The original rudeness did not justify your encouraging further rudeness by denouncing these people in their and others' hearing. The time to call an usher was when he got your goat, not your throat.
DEAR MISS MANNERS: How do you eat poached pears at a formal dinner?
GENTLE READER: With one eye on your dinner partner, so as to make sure you are not sharing the juice.
Miss Manners trusts that you will be properly armed with a dessert fork and a dessert spoon, and you will find yourself grateful to have both.
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