COURTESY—or love in plain clothes—goes out the window, as the population grows denser… the denser the population, the denser the population.

The two-bit anthropology finding lends a crutch for brazen rudeness to hold sway in any place where humanity is packed like morsels of corned beef, say, a public utility bus.

Need we mention such well-appointed precincts and gatherings, like the 2011 “Justice Summit” that had the current Malacañang tenant deviating from an arrow-straight path by turning psychopath?

In one homeward commute from the work post, I yielded my seat to a woman who must be in her 20s… she plopped pronto down on her hinnies, didn’t even bother to toss me a glance, busied herself chatting her female companion… so I stood with both arms gripping an overhead handrail for the rest of the two-hour trip, consoled by thoughts that spending more time on one’s butt is ruinous to health… and thinking on one’s feet gives a lot of rewards, say, tougher lower limbs that can pack an equine kick or endure/enjoy bouts of anything kinky.

A token “Thank you” was to be expected off that inconsiderate biped, but someone has been telling me over and over to lower, lower, lower my expectations… but she didn’t even pass gas in gratitude… all the gas she passed was more than an earful of nonsense shared with a more familiar, similarly minded (whew, nearly choked even minding such a word) seatmate.

Breeding… breathing… breeding… breathing.

“Please” and “Thank you” were once a pair of servants plied off at one’s bidding to make things happen in one’s household, even beyond. “Please” was a provider, a generous giver. “Thank you” was appreciative of the boons, token or taken… a servant who manifested an attitude of gratitude—which, scientific findings show, tops the list of what it takes to be genuinely blessed and happy in life.

Aah, breeding is having that pair staying for keeps, faithfully serving every member of a household.

Breeding likely lies bleeding these days… tough to salve or lick clean its mortal wounds that may call for something called reiki—rei, outward etiquette, courtesy, respect, or love in plain clothes + ki, the life force that permeates like ambient air within and without.

Prodded by a comely lass to take what looks like my rightful place at the ‘Courtesy Section’ of the metro rail car, I had to proffer an excuse why I shouldn’t there.

“Look, dear, but they have the elderly, the disabled, women, children, and the pregnant in that section. Take a look at me, dear. Do I look pregnant?”

It takes deep breathing to nurture the life force, the so-called ki… that can be passed on to heal the sickly, the infirm, even the terminally ill… but not to imbeciles who are more dead than alive, pwe-he-he-he-he!