Translator: Amanda Chu Reviewer: Peter van de Ven
I became obsessed with chivalry when I first worked in a dining room.
I can remember people referring to it as if it were on life support
and nobody was keeping track of its status.
"Well, I guess chivalry isn't dead," people would say,
after pulling out a chair
or extending a hand to help someone down the stairs.
And in its heyday, it was a code,
a code of ethics that knights were sworn to live by
as part of their social standing.
It outlined religious, war, and moral duties
that they were required to practice and to follow.
Now over time, these rules became obsolete,
and they diminished
because they no longer fit the social needs
of the developing world.
So what remains today?
Well, I asked around
to find out what people thought of when they heard the word "chivalry,"
and found that we used the word very loosely,
and most often, only to describe a courteous act.
The most common response? -
holding open the door.
Now if this were the case today,
most of us would probably wait for the next one
or find another way up,
maybe even take the stairs.
(Laughter)
But if the idea still exists,
even though the majority of its practices are no longer relevant,
it has to evolve.
And so naturally,
I looked within my window of the world,
and what I saw was a dining room.
And what I found in that room
was a set of ideals, moral standards, and most importantly a code.
Growing up in a restaurant,
you acquire all of the things that make you hospitable.
You're taught to open doors, to pull out chairs,
you learn to be courteous and compassionate,
to listen and to care.
You get immediate results
of being warm, thoughtful, and understanding,
and are encouraged to grow
through instant gratification of a job well done
or a repeat visit from a guest.
You even get to learn what happens when you fail.
The right restaurant doesn't make you a good waiter or waitress;
it makes you a good person that, above all, puts others' needs first.
Over time, you acquire many habits of being in the industry,
and the best carry them over into their daily lives.
It's that feeling of authenticity you experience from a dining room team.
They aren't acting, they are living -
it is who they are, and not what they do.
It's that feeling of authenticity you experience from the team
when you're in the dining room.
However,
values like warmth, compassion, humility, thoughtfulness,
and even care
have become a commodity,
and the best place to purchase them is in the hospitality industry.
But why?
Shouldn't we be holding ourselves accountable
to instilling these values into our daily lives,
and practicing them, and pushing them far enough
that they no longer are an industry or a commodity
but a social and cultural norm, like chivalry once was?
They won't be driven by war or religion or race or gender
but by a standard of living,
and recognizing the change comes from the smallest efforts
that when compounded, create massive movements.
Now, these values that we practice in a dining room
are all small gestures
to make someone comfortable, feel special, or even open themselves up.
Think of them as thank-you moments.
They don't always have to warrant a thank-you response,
and you certainly don't do it for that,
but what they create is a connection of trust.
One example of this is what takes place in an elevator,
a space that New Yorkers are all very familiar with.
We're in elevators a lot,
and they're not a common place for conversation,
except for the occasional insincere question
of "How are you doing?" -
answered with another insincere question of "How are you doing?"
(Laughter)
But watch what happens the next time someone's rushing towards the door,
and the door is closing and you were on the inside,
and you choose to sacrifice 20 seconds and personal space
to stop the door and let them in.
It's an incredibly rare moment of elevator conversation
that usually begins with a "thank you" and develops from there,
all coming from that common experience of trust.
Moments like that exist every day,
and they not only have an impact on the way that you feel
but can change the perspective or outlook of another person.
Now, this is just one example of one idea
on the code of hospitality
for your daily life.
Be sincere:
If you're going to ask "How are you doing?" -
wait for the answer.
If you don't care, don't ask.
It's okay.
Wish them a good morning, a good evening, a good afternoon, just say "hello."
But knowingly practicing insincerity is worse.
Assume the best:
assuming the best in those who you encounter -
your loved ones, your co-workers, and even strangers.
Most importantly, it keeps you open to reality
and stops you from building agendas and misconceptions.
More often than not, it inspires questions over judgments.
Seek understanding:
Listen first and speak second -
for most of us in the room, probably the most difficult.
Attitude over ability:
Now, with time, experience, and repetition,
ability will grow, without a doubt,
but in order to achieve greatness,
it needs to be fueled with the right attitude.
Practice it with yourself,
and when you see it in others, embrace it.
Frame it in the positive:
Your actions are only as good as your thoughts,
so start with yourself.
Frame your own thoughts in the positive, and you'll create positive actions.
The reverse of that is also true.
And create thank-you moments.
Thank you for creating this moment with me.
(Applause)