An out-of-state property owner recently phoned me at the office. The lady calling asked that I pay a visit to a house located nearby. She had inherited the house many years back and wanted me to report on the present condition of her property. She also wanted an estimate of its value.

I made an appointment with the tenants residing in the house and on a bright Thursday morning pulled up in front of the property.

The house is a row house, one of about eight attached residences running down the block and facing the street. Each house appeared to be about 15 feet wide. According to the tax records the buildings date back to 1888.

The tenants, a friendly husband and wife, met me at the front door and gave me a tour of the petite home with tall ceilings and small rooms. Two ornate fireplaces and a pair of narrow French doors suggested that the home had been charming at one time. But the cracked walls and falling plaster suggested hard times had set in a long time ago.

At the foot of the long, narrow staircase leading to the bedrooms upstairs, the woman of the house cautioned me.

“Stay close to the banister,” she said pointing up the stairs. “The stairs are pulling away from the wall.”

Crooked door frames, cracked ceiling moldings, tilting floors and the wandering staircase all pointed to a structural problem that was not obvious from the outside of the house.

When it came time to look at the basement, we had to go outside and enter the basement from an exterior cellar door.

Down in the dingy basement with its low ceiling and ancient furnace grinding away the structural problems of the house were more obvious. The structure was sagging dramatically, as though it was all being pulled down into the cellar.

“That’s where he removed the basement stairs,” the husband said pointing to an open area where a set of interior stairs had once run from basement to the second floor. The space was entirely open now, all the structural supports that had originally shored up the stairway opening had been removed.

Due to the removal of the basement staircase the house was literally imploding on itself.

My exit was polite and swift. And my report to the owner was brief and to the point. “The residence is structurally unsound and the value of property is limited to unimproved land value.”

Little did I think that the image of the little imploding house would follow me to a business luncheon the following week.

But there we were, business colleagues, a large round table full of us lunching amidst waiters in black tails and elegant surrounds and classical music in the background. The menus were large tablets in fancy scroll. Hamburgers started at $19. I got the pizza for $18 and it was simply horrid.

On the outside, the luncheon appeared polite and civilized. Everyone was dressed in business casual. Each person had napkin in lap and used the proper utensils.

But two of the guests at the table have a history. Some would call it “kidding on the square.” And their banter is rough and tumble and full of bristle and barbs.

One of the two brought her manners. The other forgot his.

And so the hour long lunch that followed was awkward and unpleasant and begged for someone to blurt out:

“Knock it off already.”

And so on the outside, the semblance of civility at the table created a facade like that of the little townhouse that looked fine on casual observance.

But with the structure of polite yanked from our table, we were wobbly and uneven and the point of gathering together was lost.