There are things you don’t learn at school. Class, for example. I’m not talking about the kind of class that appears on your report card, nor about the economy class on an aeroplane, although the latter seems to have very little class and a whole lot of economy these days. I’m talking about the other kind. The class of knowing how to conduct yourself, how to dress, how to eat, how to work, how to show respect and, above all, how to live in a community. And, my friends, that kind of class is becoming an endangered species out on our streets.

Let’s start with clothing, which is a delicate subject. Not because people don’t have the right to wear whatever they want — they do, absolutely. But there’s a difference between wearing what we like and wearing whatever happens to be closest to hand. There’s also something called the occasion. It sounds simple, but apparently it now requires formal training.

A night of traditional street parades is not a fado gala. A fado gala is not the chicharro dinner. And the chicharro dinner, as important as it may be — and we know it is — is not exactly the Academy Awards ceremony either. Every occasion has its own atmosphere, its own dress code and its own little dose of common sense.

You don’t need to fly a tailor in from Paris to look well dressed, but you also don’t need to turn up at a fado gala with the same enthusiasm for fashion that you’d have when popping out to buy bread on a Sunday morning. Expensive clothes don’t give you class. If they did, all you’d need to do is buy the label. Class is knowing what to wear, when to wear it and how to wear it.

Then there’s class at the table. Ah, the table… That great test of character. All it takes is a community lunch or dinner, and along comes the architect of the plate. Someone arrives at the buffet and begins constructing a masterpiece that defies the laws of gravity: rice, pasta, potatoes, meat, salad, dessert, and a little more of everything because “it’s just to try a bit.”

The plate becomes so overloaded that it’s no longer a plate; it’s a condominium complex. And then, with complete composure, the person looks at the serving dish and asks, “Is there any more?”

Class is understanding this. It’s not piling your plate as though all the supermarkets are closing tomorrow. It’s taking what you’re going to eat, going back for more later if there’s still some left and, above all, remembering that there are other people at the table. Because community is also about this: not always putting ourselves first.

And then there’s class in the workplace, another endangered species. Especially when cameras, photographers, interviews and that wonderful opportunity to show the world that we were there too suddenly appear.

It seems that the moment a camera shows up, certain people develop a kind of magnetic attraction to the frame. There’s a camera? Someone rushes to walk right in front of it. A photographer is crouching down, trying to get a shot? That’s precisely when someone decides to walk across the scene. An interview is underway? It’s the perfect moment to stroll directly behind the person being interviewed, preferably nice and slowly, to make sure the moment is captured on camera.

My friends, there’s no need for that. We can all get a good shot. Believe me. We don’t need to ruin a colleague’s photograph or footage to get our own. There’s room for everyone, there’s work for everyone and, in the end, we all want the best image.

And sometimes, of course, it happens. Our minds are elsewhere, we’re distracted, worried about something, trying to solve five problems at once and, before we know it, we’ve walked straight across someone’s camera shot.

It happens. And do you know what we do? We say, “Sorry.” And life goes on. We apologise. Simple. It’s a tiny word, but it carries an enormous amount of class.

In fact, perhaps that’s exactly the problem: we’ve lost the habit of using simple words. Thank you. Sorry. Excuse me. Please, go ahead. That’s really not much to ask for a community to function better.

But nowadays, even asking permission seems to offend people. Some people join a queue as though they’ve purchased lifetime priority access. They arrive after everyone else, look at the line, pull a face as if they’ve just uncovered a historic injustice and slowly begin edging towards the front. Nobody knows exactly how it happened, but five minutes later, three people have somehow slipped ahead of those who were there first.

It’s the same on the road. The turn signal seems to have become an optional accessory. Letting someone merge is seen as an extraordinary act of generosity. And thanking someone who lets us through? Well, that’s practically international diplomacy.

Class has also gone missing on social media. Everyone has an opinion about everything, which is perfectly legitimate. The problem is that nowadays, insulting anyone who disagrees seems to have become compulsory.

In the old days, people would say, “I don’t agree with you.” Today, before we even get to the “I don’t agree” part, we’ve already been given a lecture about our intelligence, our family, our profession and, if there’s time, even our ancestors.

Disagreeing is not the same as being disrespectful. Being disrespectful is believing that the only way to be right is to treat the other person like an idiot.

And then there’s that constant need to compete. “I did it.” “I did it better.” “I have one.” “I have more.” “I know someone.” “I know someone more important.” “I was there.” “I was there three times.”

Some people don’t have conversations; they compile rankings.

Even the chicharro dinner can turn into an international competition over who knows the most people, who has the best table, who took the best photograph and who managed to get closest to the band.

And in the middle of all this, we forget something very simple: nobody is handing out medals. Although plenty of people seem determined to walk around with one pinned to their chest.

Class also means recognising that other people have flaws, accepting their imperfections and understanding that nobody is perfect. It means showing respect without passing judgement and having empathy even when we disagree.

Class isn’t about the car we drive, the clothes we wear, the money we have or the size of our house. It’s about the way we treat others. It’s knowing how to wait. It’s knowing how to listen. It’s not interrupting. It’s leaving food for those coming after us. It’s understanding that different occasions call for different things and that we don’t always need to dress as though we’ve just stepped out of a photo shoot.

It’s about respecting others and accepting that other people have their own ways of doing things.

Perhaps the greatest class of all is understanding that we are no more important than anyone else. That our work matters, but so does everyone else’s. That our photograph is important, but so is our colleague’s. That we want to eat, but so do other people. That we like to dress well, but we don’t need to turn every dinner into a red-carpet event. That we can have an opinion without having to crush someone else’s.

Class doesn’t cost money. You can’t buy it in a shop, it doesn’t come with a brand name and it isn’t measured by the size of your wallet. It comes from home, it’s learned from others and it’s demonstrated through small gestures: a “good morning,” a “thank you,” a “sorry” and respect for the people around us.

Class means knowing how to conduct yourself, how to dress appropriately and how to respect the traditional costumes of our folklore. It means not talking or banging your cutlery against your plate while someone is giving a speech. It means not stepping in front of someone else’s camera just to get the best photograph.

Class also means knowing how to organise community celebrations without cramming everything together. Sometimes, simpler is more beautiful, more elegant and cheaper. Less excess, more good taste.

Ultimately, we can all eat, dress well and appear in photographs. But not everyone understands that true class lies in our attitude, our respect for others and our good manners.

And while we’re at it: less plus less equals more. Less vanity, less exaggeration and less showing off give us more class, more respect and a community where people genuinely enjoy being together.

Enough already! Be happy.

Rómulo Medeiros Ávila/MS