Last week was hot (obviously), leading me to develop a hypothesis: There is a two-digit temperature that signals peak heat discomfort (“PHD”). Although I am undecided on the exact digit, once reached, all subsequent heat increase is irrelevant: PHD undergoes no perceivable increase.

This hypothesis came to me during a mid-morning class last Tuesday. My class takes place in a room with plentiful windows that allow full sun exposure, but provide no breeze. Our professor promised on the first day of class that, should temperatures reach three digits, we would venture to the Quad for the remaining span of class or of our attention.

Already shiny and dripping with sweat, I didn’t see real benefits to this change of scenery: Our classroom had yet to achieve the triple-digit temperatures of the outdoors.

A group of students latched onto this perceived sign of weakness — though I call it compassion — in our instructor and proceeded to run our collective suffering into the ground. No group of toddlers could have been more ornery or illogically whiney, even if said children had their pudding snacks cruelly snatched from their grimy little hands and eaten before their very eyes.

Useless, vapid, and unflattering griping lasted the week, even after a field trip to the shade of a tree and a lesson cut short as our professor responded to the hideous whining by pouring a bottle of water over his head and telling us to leave.

In angry response to this atrocious childishness, the girl next to me leaned over to vent. We’re in college. We’re paying for this class. We’re adults. There are far worse things happening all over the world — and even on campus — than a really hot classroom, so suck it up and shut up, or go home where nobody can witness your childish attitude.

I agreed full-heartedly as my hand left such a smudge of sweat on Wednesday’s notes as to render them practically useless.

In how many situations do we find ourselves, as young adults, asking when our peers are going to grow up?

I don’t think there is a specific point when this happens: Some people are painfully juvenile their whole lives. Perhaps this manifests as something trivial and fun: music taste, a love for red licorice, or a penchant for colorful socks. Other times, it makes us appear ridiculous, marking us as useless, unprofessional twits, unprepared to produce anything of worth in our global society.

Several colleagues of various age demographics are in this state of permanent juvenilia. Being prone to a childish and discrediting habit of gossip myself, it is easy to forget the shallowness of my own behavior; I believe most acquaintances are fully aware of my feelings toward them due to my tendency toward indiscretion and rashly formed, quickly voiced opinions. Coupled with an unfortunate, duplicitous nature and occasional complete lack of sound judgment, I can’t possibly scorn others for their similar faults.

But there are times when even I need to take a moment to ask myself if this work associate or that schoolmate realizes the self-effacing behaviors he or she perpetuates. In a professional setting, a manager does not seek out personal information through gossip with and about employees. Mature people do not run rampant while on the clock, in the manner of day-care attendees. People of worth are clear and honest about their feelings and expectations to the best of their awareness and never put others in a position where deliberately feigned civility hides the awkwardness of honesty. This is true at work and school, in friendship and love. Nobody should harbor resentment for their daily routine for the sole reason that his or her coworkers, bosses, peers and classmates are unable to pull themselves together well enough to act as an employed or educated person of their age should act.

Should you care about the perception others take of you, be aware of the levels of professionalism or maturity you enact. None among us is perfect, but many of us make a mockery of ourselves through childish antics, immature dealings with mature matters, and poorly considered engagement in the realm of professionals.

Respect in any form is a hard token to win — and an easy one to lose.

Reach columnist Matt Jackson at opinion@dailyuw.com.