Manners matter.

They did when I was seventeen and broke, working my very first job as a telemarketer… though the company dressed it up as “appointment setter.” I wasn’t closing sales, but I could calm nerves and soothe hurt feelings… and that was enough for Bobby and Josh, the managers, to keep me around.

I was cute, sweet, amenable… the kind of person raised to keep the peace at any cost. Sometimes I’d even slip into the sweet little Texas drawl that California schools had tried to scrub out of me since I was seven. People stayed on the phone for that. People lingered in the reception area for that. I wasn’t making money for the company, but I had manners.

Manners matter.

They did when my grandmother smacked them into me… or shoved them down my throat with a bar of soap if smacking didn’t stick. Now, I’m not saying anyone should be taught manners through physical torture. I’m just saying I learned the hard way how important it was to be polite.

Being polite gives you a momentary sheen of having done things “the right way.” But kindness and respect… that’s the long game. Both matter, but I’m sure you can guess which one matters most to me.

Manners matter. But kindness matters more.

And nowhere is that more obvious than in hiring.

I recently applied for a job. Not just any job… a role I was encouraged to pursue. The person overseeing the position asked me more than once to apply. So I did. I poured myself into it. Wrote a sharp cover letter. Made the case that my experience more than covered the gaps in formal education.

I didn’t expect to be chosen. But I did expect basic decency. I expected a no. I expected any answer at all.

Instead, silence.

The role’s hiring deadline has passed, and I’ve received no communication from the person who urged me to apply… or from anyone else in their office… beyond the initial automated note confirming my application was received.

Rejection stings. Silence corrodes.

And silence tells me everything I need to know about how that person… how that organization… values people.

Manners matter.

I’ve spent more than fifteen years working in events. In open source communities, in particular, most speakers don’t get paid. They apply, they prepare, they show up out of generosity… or hope… or both. The least we can do—the very least—is communicate. A yes, a no, a thank you. A sign we see them as human.

But too often, what people get is silence. And silence isn’t neutral. It’s not kinder than rejection. It’s disrespect disguised as busyness.

It’s also a disservice… to the individual, yes, but also to the organization itself. When you ghost applicants, or speakers, or volunteers, you aren’t sparing feelings. You’re advertising your own indifference. You’re teaching people that your community doesn’t value communication… that your leadership can’t be trusted with even the smallest act of courtesy.

And if you can’t be trusted to answer an email… why would anyone trust you with the harder stuff?

So let’s be clear: avoiding the hard conversation isn’t kindness. It’s bad manners. It corrodes community. It undermines the very thing you think you’re protecting. Building.

Manners matter. Kindness matters more.

And if a broke teenager in a telemarketing office could learn that calming nerves and easing hurts was worth something… then surely an organization with resources and reputation can manage the simple courtesy of an honest reply. Rejection stings, but silence corrodes… and no community thrives on corrosion.

Have you ever been met with silence where you deserved an answer? Tell me… I want to hear your stories.

PS… I’m not perfect either. I’ve fallen into silence before, and I regret it. This isn’t about pretending I’ve always gotten it right—it’s about calling myself in too, and asking all of us to do better. Even while I’m a little cracked by it.