Courtesy could leave someone high and dry

JAKARTA (JP): Maya was not a happy woman when Fadhil, our best friend, ate less than usual of his main course and refused to his favorite pumpkin pie for dessert at the anniversary dinner she held recently.

Thinking that Fadhil was on a diet for the purpose of getting slimmer and looking good, Maya scolded him. "You can fall into pieces in your own time, but not now," she said, taking a big slice of the pie she had baked specially for him, a big scoop of her home-made vanilla ice cream, and put it in front of him.

"It is my big day; you've got to live dangerously. And besides," she added, blinking her eyes jauntily, "you are too old to have that Leonardo Di Caprio look."

Only a few days later did we find out that Fadhil was on a diet due to his recently diagnosed diabetes.

"How could I take his reluctance for granted?" said Maya regretfully. "I could have killed him."

"But it wasn't merely your fault," I tried to console her. "He should have told us about his problem, so that you could have prepared a sugar-free and low-fat meal."

How many times have you been caught up in a difficult situation brought about by your own courtesy?

Dudy, a sales manager for a company supplying environmentally friendly chemicals, is a good example. To ensure his business runs smoothly, or to show his gratitude to those who had helped him, he frequently invites his clients to lunches and dinners.

To be a good host, he has to show his guests that he is a great eater (in Jakarta if you are not great at everything you might as well crawl into a corner and die). He has to know great (and prestigious!) places that serve great food. To avoid discouraging his guests, he has to show his enjoyment of the meals. But he also has to worry about the rising cholesterol count in his blood.

Taking his clients to a restaurant that serves low-calorie food -- low calorie translates to low taste -- is out of the question. All he can do is pray that somewhere an agronomist is inventing low-calorie food that tastes great and is served in prestigious restaurants.

Courtesy, sometimes, can be mistaken for an insult. When Singaporean taxi drivers pitched in to contribute something for troubled Indonesia, they might have sincerely intended to help their neighbor in return for gestures (prior to the crisis, Indonesians were known as big spenders in Singapore and as generous people when it came to tipping taxi drivers).

But this kind deed unnerved the heck out of some Indonesians. Salim Said, a prominent politics observer, told SCTV emotionally, "It's shameful." "Taxi drivers, to whom Indonesians used to give tips, are now collecting money to give to us."

A prominent political leader who recently tried to pay a courtesy call on the ousted president was turned away. The press speculated that the refusal was due to the possible effect that the meeting could have on both parties.

How can courtesy impart danger?

"Courtesy is no longer a mere token of sincerity," said a social observer. "It could contain a political message, a disguised request for support, or better yet, a show of force. After all, why do you think so many political celebrities are visiting Gus Dur?" "To wish him recovery and good health after his heart attack," I said tentatively.

"You don't have a sense of politics, " he said sourly. "Gus Dur is a Moslem leader who has millions of followers and in this time of political struggle, politicians compete to be close to him. They want to win the sympathy of his people." "So?"

"So, forget sincerity when you talk about politics."

What the social observer said is a general truth. Yet, I still believe in courtesy. Only, it sometimes leaves a bad taste in my mouth. When I said I loved the artificially hand-crafted bookshelf my friend Tirto bought in Central Java, I just wanted to please him. Antique and traditional works are just not my scene. I was speechless when a month later Tirto called me excitedly. "Voila! I eventually found a duplicate of my bookshelf that you love." "Oh, er ... that's great!" I said.

Sensing the doubtful tone in my voice, he continued, "Don't worry about the price. No charge at all! Courtesy of an old friend." I sure appreciated his courtesy. Moving the big thing (my son called it a masterpiece) all the way from Central Java must have required a great deal of effort.

But placing the artistic bookshelf next to the metal cupboards and plastic trays is just like eating a bowl of spaghetti with sambal terasi (ground chili spiced with fish-egg paste). Now, what do I do? I don't have the heart to turn down his offer or to put the bookshelf somewhere else. Any suggestions?

-- Carl Chairul