they Didn’t Have to be so Nice (or Was it Just because I’m old?)

By “they” I mean almost everyone.

I leave my umbrella under the table at a restaurant and the waitress chases me half-way down the block to hand it to me. I show up in hiking boots at some out-of-town park and two different locals discuss the merits of the various trails. My bike tire feels a little flat—and the guy at the gas station offers to pump it up himself.

Okay, I’m an optimist, with an eye for the bright side. And okay: there’s Donald Trump and robo calls and road rage and those jerks in the comments on one or another website (not this one).

But it sure seems as if people—not everybody but most people—are extraordinarily nice nowadays. And I live in New York City, a place, as much as anywhere, that was known for its gruffness. (This is not just a U.S. phenomenon. I’ve visited two other continents recently and found the humans—and kangaroos, in one case—I encountered similarly affable.)

Now assuming my experience, despite the pink hue of my glasses, is at least somewhat representative, two possible explanations present themselves:

One, which meshes nicely with my obnoxious optimism, is that increased longevity and material well-being in our lifetimes have made much of humankind friendlier and more relaxed.

The other possibility is just that people tend to be nicer to old people, and I am now clearly, irrefutably old.

Which is it?