“When things don’t go well,” he said, “I leave the room and find a place to pray. Sooner or later god will tell me what to do.” Then he smiled as if I was supposed to accept this overtly religious and silly answer. This is the kind of holy thing that holy men do and, once done, they bask in the holy glow.
The one second that you stop to wonder about whether these folks are friendly or not just might be the time it takes for the newcomer to skewer you with an obsidian-tipped spear.
You want to fight stupid? Don’t put it in a box. Shine a light on it.
Amidst whatever cultural ills we propagated either willfully or tacitly in my grandparent’s generation, as a whole, the culture was polite and courteous.