A social nightmare:

You have wronged a friend, perhaps inadvertently, but apparently unforgivably. Apologies were proffered, and may even have been accepted, but things are not the same.

It becomes difficult to reach your friend and impossible to secure a time when he or she is not too busy to see you. Further attempts at explaining are rejected as unnecessary, closing off any chance at obtaining forgiveness, which is not forthcoming.

Compounding the sadness of losing a friend is the misery of knowing that you brought the rift upon yourself. Loneliness and guilt -- those unbeatable modern afflictions, all in one package.

Miss Manners is not without mercy and often pleads on behalf of transgressors. Etiquette doesn't overlook social wrongdoing, but it has a lot of forgiveness built into it -- if for no other reason, to put mercy in the bank in case one might need it oneself.

Yet, here is a worse version of that nightmare:

The avoidance and coldness is identical, but you cannot imagine what you did to deserve it. There must have been something, because a friendship that gave all signs of being mutually satisfying suddenly ceased with no explanation.

So now we have freeform guilt -- the kind that doesn't dwell on one awful incident, but chases around mercilessly through one's past looking for that hidden cause.

Only it may be a bum rap. The transgression could actually have been committed by the person who pre-empted the victim's opportunity to be offended (or, as Miss Manners would prefer to think of it, that person's opportunity to be graciously forgiving) by also doing the cutting.

Miss Manners is not charmed by this implication of self-effacement and remorse. What they are delineating is a plan to neglect the second social duty, namely that of apologizing for omitting the first one.

"But it's too late now," they wail at her.

This is a generally popular excuse. Procrastinators figure if they wait it out, whatever duty they were supposed to perform will be wiped off the record.

But in this particular type of situation, the guilty party figures he has settled the record by administering his own punishment. He has sentenced himself to banishment.

That, too, fails to engage Miss Manners' sympathies. When it is too late for a simple apology, what is required is some full-scale groveling. Far from disappearing, the requirement has accrued additional penalties for being late.

Especially among friends, a good groveler can break down the grovelee in no time. As with consumer complaints, one person carries on about how dreadful this was, and the other person is forced to argue that it's not all that important; the person who goes first gets to choose which role he plays, and the other one has to take the part that is left.

Silence, in contrast, transfers the blame, by default. That is a third social crime, right there.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: My granddaughter, whose parents are divorced, is getting married. Her father is a disabled person because of illness.

The mother showed my granddaughter a book stating that if the father has no money to give, he is not entitled to come to the wedding.

We have never heard of this. I have spoken to many people who claim this is the first time they have heard this. Naturally, we are quite upset. Would you please be kind enough to let me know the protocol involved in a situation such as we have?

GENTLE READER: You never heard that fathers have to buy their way into their daughters' weddings, and that pleading illness and poverty is not acceptable?

Miss Manners is afraid that you have been checking for this information in the wrong place. What the bride's mother saw was not an etiquette book. Extortion is not a subdivision of manners.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: What am I to do when acquaintances (sometimes people to whom I have just been introduced at a party) ask me if I am married and then proceed to grill me on the reasons that I am not? They invariably pronounce me too attractive, bright, etc., not to be married, and I am really stymied as to an appropriate response. Actually, I have a few thoughts, but I know you would not approve.

GENTLE READER: Some people have trouble learning that it is the meat that is supposed to be grilled at parties, not the guests. Miss Manners would probably not approve of what you are considering, but she would allow you to listen to all that nonsense without comment and then say, "But enough about me. Now tell me about your love life."

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I am an employee at a fast food franchise. Yesterday, I had a very unfortunate experience with a patron who was angry at me because 1) I was unable to accept a $50 bill as payment for her meal and 2) I told her that I had to charge her 20 cents for a cup of water.

This is because our restaurant policy forbids me to break down larger bills (due to counterfeiting risks) or give out cups for free (because of inventory purposes). These policies were not set by me, but by the people in upper management.

It is important to realize that when scenarios such as the one above are encountered in a fast food restaurant (and, indeed, in many other areas of customer service), the service workers are not intending to be rude or inhospitable, but are merely acting on orders from upper management. We do not like these rules any more than the customer does, but we are required to follow them. Failure to do so can result in disciplinary action or even dismissal.

If a customer does not like the policies regarding customer service, a more appropriate (and productive) method of dealing with the situation is to report one's concerns to upper management. They are the ones who make and give the orders and are more likely to listen to feedback from customers than they are from subordinate employees.

GENTLE READER: Your point is a reasonable one, and Miss Manners hopes that customer anger is not expressed to you rudely, for which there would be no excuse. Nevertheless, she is afraid that you missed something.

You are not only the employee of this restaurant, who must follow its rules, but its representative to the customer. And, presumably, the company is interested in saving customers as well as money. If you find that its policy is alienating customers, you should report this to your superiors in a businesslike way.

You should also tell customers that you will pass on their complaints. While it is fine to inform them where to report, you should understand that people who come by for a fast meal are less likely to do paperwork to improve one chain than to defect to another.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: What is the correct way to hold a musicale? I want to host a party where the amateur musicians and singers among my friends and family can perform in a friendly atmosphere, just for fun.

A few difficulties come to mind, though. I don't want any invited guest to feel obligated to perform, but I also don't want a supposedly musical event where nobody feels like playing. I'd like to encourage beginners as well as more accomplished amateurs to perform. To avoid intimidating the less accomplished players, I'd like to have them perform before the more accomplished players, but I'd feel crass asking performers how good they think they are.

How do I keep performances to a reasonable length? Is it acceptable to rule out amplified instruments? Is it acceptable to have my own amateur group play last? Is it appropriate to ask those who would perform for some advance information (requirements for chairs or stands and so on)? Despite all my concerns, I don't want to take the fun out of the event by over-planning it. What guidance can you give me?

GENTLE READER: By an amazing coincidence, you have come to exactly the right place. Ordinarily, Miss Manners leaves novelty party-planning to others, having quite enough to do teaching hosts and guests to get through an ordinary evening without untoward incident.

However, she happens to have been one of the hosts at a wildly successful party billed as "an evening of horrible, amateur music." The premise was that many people love to play, even though they do not do it well. As an amateur violinist of Miss Manners' acquaintance replied when asked if such sounds are as painful for the player as for the listener, "Oh, no -- it's like eating garlic. Others can't stand it, but the person who does it has a wonderful time."

It is therefore essential to take great care with the guest list. Serious musicians must be excluded, no matter how otherwise charming they may happen to be.

Nor should the format be that of a children's recital, where the trade-off is to pretend to enjoy others' playing for their tolerance as listeners. This is too much of a strain, not only on the ears, but on the facial muscles and on that delicate struggle between the respective morality of truth and politeness.

Instead, the guests, having been asked to bring their instruments and music books, should be encouraged to approach other guests to propose collaborations, and pre-existing groups should be asked to be open to temporary additions. Chairs and stands should be provided, and -- unless you happen to live in an amphitheatre -- guests will have to be warned that amplification is precluded.

Miss Manners found that it worked well socially, if rather oddly musically, and the house was soon filled with little duets, trios, singers with their new accompanists and the occasional soloist content to plunk away in a corner. Happy combinations did find that they attracted listeners naturally, but what made the party work was that the emphasis was on playing, rather than performing.

The occasion happened to mark some birthdays, so before a late supper, another host, a singer, organized everyone into an instant orchestra and chorus for a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday." Any simple, well-known tune would do as well to get everyone together and round off the evening.

Another host made a cake in the form of a piano, with chocolate and vanilla keys, a mound of steak tartare shaped like a cello and so on. But now we are far from Miss Manners' area of competence. What made her a key player at this party is that she happens to be a very good listener.

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