Gunn's Golden Rules (20 page)

Recently I was going down the hallway to my elevator. Standing there were two women. One was a Realtor, and the other was a client. I talked about my apartment and what it was like when I’d moved in and what I’d done to it. I was
this close
to asking, “How much is the apartment you’re considering?” But I restrained myself. (Also, I remembered I could just go look it up on the real estate agent’s Web site.)

Compulsively dropping the names of fabulous people you know is another New York social sport. As part of another charity auction, I was lunching with Liz Smith and the winning bidder. Liz brought with her a friend, the former head of an ad agency. The two of them did nothing but name-drop. That stuff rolls off me, but I felt bad for the winning woman and her daughter, who could never compete. They may have enjoyed the show, but I was worried they felt left out.

Now that I at last have a roomy apartment of my very own, I should really think about having guests more often. This is the first time I’ve ever had a bed bigger than a single. I’ve actually moved on up to a double bed, and I feel very decadent about it. And yet, I confess to you that I am such a hermit, it’s hard for me to open my house up to other people. I consider my home a retreat and enjoy my monastic life. I’m a bit OCD about my environment. In New York you’re up against people all day long, and when you get home you really need to recharge.

When I do have guests, it usually goes fine, but I have to remember to do a thorough home orientation when the houseguest arrives. I imagine that Martha Stewart would say that if your house were set up properly, your guest wouldn’t need an orientation. You need to look at your house through a stranger’s eyes.

My niece, Wallace, was staying with me recently and deprogrammed my TV by trying to watch cable. Mysteriously, you have to be on “Component 1” rather than “TV.” If only she’d asked. Anyway, I was sorry that she hadn’t gotten a chance to watch her shows and also that the TV had to be reset.

But Wallace is a really good houseguest. I’ve also had some bad ones. A colleague of mine would send her husband and two kids up to their country place during the summer, and since she didn’t want to go home to the suburbs during the summer by herself, for two summers she camped with me every week—Monday through Thursday—for three months.

I was living paycheck to paycheck and buying groceries for two. I would get home earlier than she would and would cook and leave her food. She would get home, collapse into a chair, and say, “Meat loaf again?” She never even bought a bottle of wine.

She was assuming a great deal about my love life. Wouldn’t it be possible that I would want to have a guest over? She was right that I didn’t have anyone in that category, but I could have.

I sat her down and explained that I couldn’t sustain these shenanigans another year. I implied that it was putting some restrictions on my own freedom. She came up with a compromise, whereby she would stay at my place for two nights and someone else’s for two nights. I was too nice back then, and I
said okay. But I’m strong enough now that I wouldn’t welcome an open-ended stay anymore. My privacy is too important to me.

I’ve learned to keep my big mouth shut when someone says, “I’m coming to town for the weekend and looking for a place to stay!” or “I’d love to visit New York, but I can’t afford a hotel!” Now I stay quiet or say something along the lines of, “Oh, too bad! Guess you’ll have to stay home and save up!”

My mother’s retirement place has separate guest rooms with baths. When I’m visiting, she always says, “Would you like to stay in one of the guest rooms rather than in my apartment?” I happen to know she’s looking for affirmation that I would rather room with her. So I say, “Of course I’d rather stay with you, Mother,” when in fact the thought of getting up and having coffee alone in the morning before the day of family time starts is pretty enticing.

I know a lot of people go through this same thing with their families, where every question is loaded. The appropriate answer to every question is: “What do you mean by that?” Everything has a subtext.

To be a good houseguest, you should be as independent as possible. You should buy groceries or take your hosts out for dinner. Pick up after yourself. Pretend to have a good time even if you’re not. Say, “I’d like to make a dinner reservation tonight. What’s your favorite restaurant?” Try not to break anything. Be quiet.

I read something interesting in
Martha Stewart Living:
If you have a guest room, sleep in it to see what worldly needs your guest may have that aren’t accommodated. But there are limits to how far I go. I don’t have a television in my own bedroom, so I won’t put one in the guest room. Besides, everyone
can watch TV on the computer now. There’s no need for guests from Denmark to use your landline to make a $60 phone call. They can Skype.

The only place I was ever a regular guest was in Hong Kong, with Suzy Moser and Chris Berrisford. Suzy and I were doing some work together for Parsons, so it was actually more convenient for her to have me close by. The house was a huge penthouse with wings, so we almost never crossed paths. I would go twice a year for two nights. I always brought Suzy and Chris a gift and took them out for dinner. I believe we all looked forward to the visits. But it’s something else if the hosts don’t have a mansion and the guests don’t limit stays to two days.

I can hear people saying, “But what if I’m on a budget?”

Then don’t go!

I was talking about this book with my family and mentioned to my niece that she should show the book to her friend, who has done some pretty appalling things, in my opinion. My niece grew hysterical, literally, with the thought that her friend might be in the book.

Finally, I said, “If you think
she
is essential to this book, then this book is in trouble. Besides, why do you feel the need to defend her? How do you defend the fact that you filled the apartment with furniture from your family, and when you were away, she took half the living room furniture for her bedroom? Or that she borrowed your car and then crashed it? This is inappropriate behavior. Sorry, Wallace, she is now in the book!”

But I have the same hyperniceness Wallace has. When I lived in a studio in D.C., I would give my guests the foldout couch I usually slept on and I would sleep on the floor in the sleeping bag I kept in the closet. I didn’t want my guest to be
uncomfortable. If I’m going to be a host, I’m going to be a good host. And my new mantra is: If I can’t handle it, I will just say so.

A friend from out of town e-mailed me recently and said he wanted to see my new apartment. I knew he was fishing for a place to stay, and after the initial flush of panic passed, I realized that I would actually like to see him and that I should invite him to stay. After all, I can’t continue the rest of my life in fear of houseguests. I have to get myself unstuck.

Maybe the moral is that if you’re the traveler and you don’t have the financial resources to take care of yourself and to honor the host, then don’t make the trip. But if you’re the potential host, you should be honest about what you can and can’t do, and then be as hospitable as possible—and no more.

R
ECENTLY AT THE GROCERY
store, the woman behind me had a mere carton of juice, and I had a whole cart full of items, so I said, “Please, go in front of me.”

Did she even acknowledge this? She did not. Clearly she wasn’t deaf, because she did, indeed, walk in front of me. I was tempted to take back my offer.

A woman sitting next to me on an airplane asked for the in-flight magazine. I handed it over with a smile. She didn’t even look up or say anything at all. I was sorry I’d given it to her.

There should be a lot more thank-yous. I get irked every day when I hold the door for people and they don’t say thank you.

And I’m starting to think that a lot of times it has to do with people being so in their own worlds. You see people walking through the world staring at their BlackBerries or iPhones. Doors are opening for them. Change is being made. People are making way. But they don’t acknowledge it, because they’re on that
thing
.

On several flights I’ve been on, the flight attendants have reached a point of exasperation, saying, “We can’t leave until
everything with an on/off button is turned off!” People aren’t even processing that because they’re so distracted by their gadgets. Or they’re thinking, “My BlackBerry isn’t going to take this plane down.”

How important could the messages be? Is your wife having a baby this second? And if so, why are you on the plane? If you’re on your way to her, how about just texting, “Be right there, honey,” and then turning off the phone?

This kind of technological distraction is everywhere. At Dunkin’ Donuts, the person behind the counter was saying, “Excuse me!” to the man who was first in line. He was on his phone, so he didn’t even notice. The counter person went to the second person in line, and then suddenly the first guy said, “Hey!”

“Ah, you’re out of your coma!” the person behind the counter said.

I feel like an old fart sometimes, but I wonder, Where does this take us? These sidewalks aren’t designed for zombies, nor are our highways.

I hear there is a new application for iPhones that lets you see the sidewalk behind the phone while you text. That to me seems like surrender. You can’t read e-mail while doing anything as complex as walking down a crowded sidewalk or driving on a highway.

It’s impossible for your brain to take in that much information, at least it certainly is for me. Once when I was on
Today
in New York live via satellite from Los Angeles, I was looking directly into a camera that had Matt Lauer’s interview questions for me on the screen. Since the words that appeared weren’t mine, I wasn’t supposed to read them, but they were so terribly distracting that I couldn’t think straight. And all I had to do was
chat. I didn’t have to navigate a crowd or traffic!

It may seem crazy to stress manners when it can be hard enough just keeping it together day to day. When I flip through old etiquette books from the fifties and sixties, I see why people think talking about manners is ridiculous. In one old book, you have proclamations like:

“Boy’s hands on wheel. Girl’s hands at her side.”

“Shorts are out of place on the street.”

“Don’t chew gum in church.”

“Follow your hostess in putting your napkin in your lap.”

“Choose congenial friends.” It’d be nice if you knew in advance!

And then there are all of the etiquette book particulars about table settings. Mrs. Post, I don’t even
own
fish forks!

But real etiquette helps. Sometimes it’s practical, or it used to be. Traditionally, men walked on the outside of the sidewalk and women on the inside. I believe that goes back to the period in history when people threw their chamber pots from their windows onto the streets below. The person walking on the outside of the sidewalk would get hit, and better for it to be the man, who didn’t have petticoats to wash.

In general, when it comes to etiquette, I don’t care about all that fussy stuff regarding salad forks, but rather about the fundamentals of conscientious behavior. It’s good for you and those around you, and it’s good for preserving a social order that supports everyone. The key things are to be as thoughtful as possible of others and to pay attention to the messages you’re sending out, and the means by which you’re sending them.

When someone dies, it’s good to mail a note. Don’t send an e-mail. You have to send a card. Everyone should have cards
and stamps kicking around. I have some very simple stationery, just nice card stock with my name at the top. You don’t have to write a long note. I learned something from Diana Vreeland: What you write should be pithy and memorable. All people need to know is that you’re thinking about them: “Thinking about you at this difficult time. I was so sorry to hear of your loss.” Done.

When the news is happy, e-mail is fine. You can e-mail congratulations about babies, weddings, anything. But when it’s not? If it’s a death or other bad news, you have to be more formal.

I wasn’t the only one who was a little horrified by Ashton Kutcher’s reference to his former girlfriend Brittany Murphy’s death. He wrote on Twitter: “2day the world lost a little piece of sunshine. My deepest condolences go out 2 Brittany’s family, her husband, & her amazing mother Sharon.”

People use texting and e-mail for everything, but it’s not appropriate for somber situations. If you win an Oscar, tweet away, but if you’re talking about a death or an illness, you need to use more formal channels. For example:

You can promote an employee via e-mail, but you can’t fire him.

You can ask someone out by e-mail, but you can’t break up with her.

Happy occasions can be casual. Sad or serious ones require a personal touch.

Fighting by e-mail is bad, too. I’m all for writing down the angry e-mail, but don’t send it. That carefully crafted note never has the effect you want it to have. It just inflames the situation. Print it out and then delete it. Then you have the reference for the phone call or the meeting. It will save you a lot
of stress and conflict. Every time I’ve blown up in a moment of frustration I’ve regretted it.