One of my greatest fascinations is with the participation among members of society. The behaviors developed while standing in line for coffee, using an elevator, or waiting for the bus aren’t always in line with behavior in less-structured social interaction. What clues us into the nature of others: a jerk’s riling attitude in Starbucks or the hip charm of a fun girl in a laid back party? Switch circumstances, and the two might appear as completely different people.

I am frequently appalled at those who actively ignore unwritten rules. The CHID department should start a focus group: “Understanding that You Pass on the Right, Whether Driving, Walking, Riding Your Bike or Going Up or Down the Stairs.” Once this class takes off, I hope to never again have an ignorant person crash into me, eyes defiantly diverted, while forcing his or her way against the general masses on the wrong side of a crowded stairway.

In Seattle — where passive aggression is the way of life — I cannot accost the clueless impeding patron of the stairwell by telling them off, New York City style. Instead, I write my column, hoping that the impeding person picks up The Daily, reads this article, and succumbs to a deep shame for not following the social graces of these unwritten rules.

As it is, we aren’t aware of the reaction we inspire in others; what do I do that makes other passive aggressive Seattleites writhe with repressed screams and irritation? Perhaps my neighbors are beside themselves with anguish caused by me: I always seem to check myself out in the reflection of my living room window as I leave the apartment. I never seem to be outside without sunglasses, regardless of weather. I catch sun in the courtyard, sans shirt, listening to my iPod, weather permitting.

But, this unpredictable response to others limits us. The woman in Apartment 5 might not know how to tell me that she hates the fact that there are more living organisms in my apartment than the whole rest of the complex put together. After all, she doesn’t know what sort of person that half-naked young man is, in his fake Ray Bans, listening to Chester French too loudly. She does know that he likes houseplants and novelty domesticated animals.

This fear of confronting your fellow (wo)man makes it hard to solve issues.

One such issue I recently witnessed at work could have been a serious tragedy. Luckily, it ended in hilarity, but all involved were very lucky.

This particular day, my coworkers and I were horrified to witness a girl, younger than two years old, get pinned under a fallen stroller. What made this even worse was that this girl’s little sister, perhaps just over a year old, was still strapped into the overturned stroller, “smooshed” against the ground and her pinned sister. The mother had wandered off across the store to check out some new products, and nobody did anything to help the children.

The sales associates were fearful of getting involved: As a young man — and many others in my demographic should understand this concern — I never approach or talk to children. There is too much room for misunderstanding and uninvited trouble, so I habitually ignore all people between the ages of diapers to post-high-school graduation. Nobody wanted to get yelled at by the mom, should she look over to discover an unknown person messing with her children and the flimsy stroller, and none of us were prepared to get yelled at for alleged accusations of poor parenting should we approach the woman and timidly alert her to the plight of her offspring.

Eventually, the woman noticed her children silently struggling — none of them with any apparent concern, urgency or annoyance, and leading me to wonder how often they get into this situation. The lack of actual emergency permitted my supervisor and me to dissolve into a fit of hysteria that lasted for 20 minutes of incapacitating mirth.

What a sad society we live in, that no one did anything to help these poor babies for fear of the negligent mother’s reaction. Hopefully, she’ll read this article and pay better attention to her kids in the future because it’s not like anybody’s going to say anything to her face.

Reach columnist Matt Jackson at opinion@dailyuw.com.