We make commitments to others in order to appear nice, and then we kick ourselves when they are inconsiderate enough to take us at our word.

When I lived in Iran I often found myself irritated by tarof, traditional Iranian etiquette.

Stopping by someone’s home unexpectedly, as is the custom there, my husband and I would be invited in for tea when our would-be hosts were half way out the door. Or we’d be offered food when there clearly wasn’t enough to go around. 

The silly shows of hospitality would go one step further.

At gatherings I would be bombarded with creme cakes and honeyed zulubia, walnuts and watermelon, peeled orange segments and pomegranate seeds. No matter how vehemently I begged for mercy, no matter how swollen my stomach got, my hosts would not relent until I passed out on the floor. 

Hand over heart, friends and relatives would bow their heads dejectedly because I obviously hated their food, or their country, or their humble home.  

Which made me feel like shit.

After awhile, I began to view Iranians as aggressively hospitable people who refused to hear the word ‘no.’

What I didn’t understand at the time was that there was a natural rhythm to these social exchanges.  A good host or hostess was supposed to ask three or four times to overcome polite reluctance.  A good guest was supposed to refuse four or five times if he or she sensed an inconvenience.  Certain invitations were “obviously” meant to be turned down.  Certain people needed to be prodded in order to overcome their fear of imposing.

I was a foreigner.  They were convinced that they had to go the extra mile to make someone as confused as me feel welcome.

I considered tarof insincere. I wanted directness and truth.  I wanted relaxed and comfortable interchanges, not Victorian propriety.  I wanted someone, anyone, to tell me how to respond to offers so I wouldn’t look like I’d been raised by wolves.

If you think about it, it’s kind of ridiculous to denigrate an entire nation for something we all do on a regular basis. 

You know what I’m talking about.

• Telling people you’d looovvvveee to come, when you’d rather swallow battery acid. 
• Offering to watch someone’s kids for the weekend, all the while praying they’ve got coverage.
• Inviting that nice family you met on the cruise for an extended visit, and gasping when they actually show up at your door.
• Throwing out an offer to sew for the school play, and fainting when the UPS man drops off the fabric.
• Pouring a cup of coffee for that neighbor who’s popped in, and then a second, when you’ve got 1001 things to do.

I used to think disingenuous offers were simply a nice girl problem—an American version of tarof.  But even a honey badger like Walt has been known to paint himself into corners.

Like that day he was due in court, at a lunch meeting downtown, and at a cliff to go rock climbing all at the very same moment.  Wanting to do it all, reluctant to say no to his buddies, he created a lot of stress for himself, and disappointment for the rest.

See, I want people to be straight with me about their deal. I want a clear road map from others so I know how to behave; so I know what to expect.

I think the nicest thing we can do for ourselves (and our peeps) is to provide the same.

Otherwise we end up resentful, and they end up wondering what the hell they did wrong to deserve our ire.  Why, when we see them coming up the walk, we put our hand over the dog’s mouth, crouch in the corner, and pretend that no one is home.

 

• Tell the truth.  You can be very nice about it.
• Stop volunteering time you do not have.
• Stop offering resources you do not want to give.
• Stop promising to be somewhere you cannot be.
• Stop saying that it’s no bother.
• Assume that after saying no, or remaining quiet, you will still be liked.
• Appreciate those who are willing to draw boundaries with you.

Sometimes what we do out of politeness makes us look scatterbrained, or worse, untrustworthy. What say we all drop the tarof?