Some people telegraph respect with very few words.

They show up on time.

They listen with their face, not just their ears.

They don’t make you guess whether you matter.

And then there are the folks who do the opposite—people who turn every hangout into a slow drip of signals that you’re optional, ornamental, or convenient at best.

I won’t pretend to have it all figured out, but six-plus decades of family, work, neighbors, and the occasional “let’s never do that again” friendship have taught me to pay attention to the small tells.

If you’re wondering where you stand with someone, watch what happens when you’re together.

Here are the patterns that, in my experience, add up to very little respect—and what you can do about each without turning your life into a courtroom.

1) They treat your time like scrap wood

Perpetually late without a heads-up. Cancels at the last minute with a casual “something came up.”

Shows up 40 minutes past the hour and then wants to start the clock from zero.

A one-off delay is life. A pattern is a value statement: “My hour outranks yours.”

What to do: name it plainly, set a boundary, and offer a workable window. “I can wait ten minutes; after that I’ll head out.” Or, “If you’re running behind, text me by :15 and we’ll reschedule.” Enforce it kindly once, and you’ll learn everything you need to know.

2) They “phone-face” the entire conversation

You’re talking about something that matters and they scroll, “uh-huh” on a loop, thumbs moving like a drum solo.

You could swap places with the salt shaker and they’d give the same level of engagement.

What to do: invite presence without theatrics. “Can we both park our phones for fifteen minutes? I want to catch up for real.” If they can’t, downgrade the relationship to “transactional acquaintance” in your head. No need for a speech—just stop bringing your best self to a room that won’t meet you halfway.

3) They punch down with “jokes”

Backhanded compliments: “Look at you dressing up!” (you’re in your regular clothes).

Running bits at your expense. “Just kidding” deployed like white-out after a mean swipe.

Respectful people adjust when a joke lands sharp. Disrespectful people double down and recruit a crowd.

What to do: put the ball on the tee. “I know it’s a joke, but it lands hard. Let’s skip that one.” If they keep at it, take space. You don’t have to audition as the good sport in a show you didn’t book.

4) Your boundaries are treated like dares

You say, “I’m off work messages after 7,” and they call at 9:30 “real quick.” You say, “I don’t discuss that topic,” and they circle back like a dog to a squirrel.

What to do: restate once and act. “I’m not taking calls after 7. Talk tomorrow.” Then end the call. Boundaries without action are invitations to keep testing.

5) They minimize your wins and maximize your mistakes

You share good news and get a tepid “nice.” You share a misstep and get a full postgame analysis.

In their world, your A+ becomes a B- with an asterisk, and your B- becomes a documentary.

What to do: don’t litigate your worth. Clock it and limit how much gold you hand over for melting. Share your good news with people who celebrate, not scorekeep. With the minimizer, keep it weather-report simple: “Went well, thanks.”

6) They always pick the place, the time, and the price—your needs be damned

Every plan tilts their way: their side of town, their favorite spot, their late-night window when you’re an early bird. “It’s just easier,” they say, which translates to “It’s easier for me.”

What to do: offer two options that work for you. “I can do Tuesday 10 a.m. near the park or a quick walk Thursday at 5.” If they refuse both and insist on their exact terms, decide if this is a relationship or a subscription. Cancel accordingly.

7) You leave feeling smaller, not steadier

Your body keeps score.

Tight jaw. Shallow breath. That drive-home silence where you rehearse all the replies you didn’t say.

Respectful company might challenge you; it never depletes you by default.

What to do: adopt a 24-hour rule. If you routinely feel worse after seeing them, reduce frequency before you torch the bridge. Try shorter visits, neutral activities (walks beat loud bars), or group settings. If it still shrinks you, trust the data.

8) They make your vulnerability a prop

You confide something tender.

Next gathering, it’s a story. Names stripped, maybe, but the bones are there and heads turn toward you.

What to do: test with low-stakes info first. If even that migrates, pull the drawbridge. “I’m keeping that to myself,” is a complete sentence. People who respect you will guard your confidences tighter than their own.

9) They run a tab you never agreed to

Favors accrue like parking tickets—rides, edits, “quick advice,” introductions—often with urgency and little reciprocity.

When you ask for something small? Suddenly they’re “slammed.”

What to do: price your energy. “I can do X, not Y.” Or, “I’m keeping my week light; can’t take that on.” You’re not a bank; you’re a person. The folks who respect you will adjust. The ones who vanish just confirmed your suspicion.

10) They talk about other people to you—so they’ll talk about you to other people

Nothing is more clarifying than the friend who roasts someone else in your car and calls it “processing.”

You are the car today. You’ll be the topic tomorrow.

What to do: steer gently. “Let’s talk to them, not about them.” Or change the channel entirely: “I’d rather not go there—tell me about your trip.” If they insist, take the next exit.

11) They keep you guessing on basic courtesies

Do we have plans or “plans”?

Are they bringing others or is it one-on-one?

Should you block two hours or six?

Unclear communication is sometimes poor skill. As a pattern, it’s poor regard.

What to do: ask for specifics once. “To confirm: 2 p.m. at Oak Café, just us?” If the answer is haze or surprise + spin later, move them to your “spontaneous” category and stop giving them prime time slots.

12) They never go first on repair

Respectful people notice when something got weird and make a bid to fix it: “Did I come off sharp earlier? Sorry if so.” Disrespectful people let the air stay sour and wait for you to swallow your pride, again.

What to do: you can go first once. “That landed wrong; I care about us getting it right.” See if they step toward you. If not, accept that you’re maintaining a connection alone. Then stop.

Two small scenes that stiffened my spine

The driveway “quick favor.”
Years back, a neighbor stopped me in my driveway: “Quick favor—can you look at my deck? Now?” I had a call in ten minutes and said so. He waved it off, already walking. Old me would’ve followed, resentful. New me said, “I want to help, but I’m heading inside. Saturday at 11 works.” He blinked, frowned, and said, “Never mind.” I felt a twinge…then a rush of relief. A week later he texted, “Is Saturday still good?” Respect sometimes arrives only after you make room for it.

The joke that stopped being a joke.
A friend liked to introduce me with a story from my twenties. It always ended with laughter and me smiling tightly. At sixty-something, I finally said, in the moment, “Retired that bit, pal. Try my granddad material—it’s funnier.” It landed. He pivoted. Turns out people who care will change the script; they just need the note.

How to check yourself before you assume the worst

• One-off or pattern? Bad days happen. Respect lives in repetition.

• All contexts or just this one? If they’re late to everything, that’s a skill gap. If they’re late to you, that’s a priority gap.

• Season or standard? New baby, job chaos, grief—capacity dips. Standards shouldn’t. People can have rough months and still text, “Running 15 behind—your call if we reschedule.”

Simple scripts that protect your peace (and dignity)

• “I can do ten minutes now or an hour tomorrow—your pick.”

• “Let’s put phones away so we can actually catch up.”

• “That joke lands hard on me. Can we retire it?”

• “I don’t discuss that topic. Next question.”

• “I’m keeping this week light—no favors to take on.”

• “Happy to celebrate; advice isn’t needed today.”

• “If we start calling names, I’m ending the conversation.”

• “I value being on time. If it’s more than ten minutes late, I’ll head out.”

If you realize you’re the one under-respecting someone

Happens to the best of us. Repair it—briefly, specifically. “I’m sorry I kept checking my phone while you were talking.

I’ll put it away next time.” Then do the next time. Respect isn’t a speech; it’s a change you can observe.

A quick self-inventory (no shame, just clarity)

After time with them, do you feel steadier or smaller?

Do they meet your reasonable boundaries without debate?

Are your wins safe with them? Are your worries safe?

Do they ever go first on repair?

Would you recommend this friendship to your younger self?

If your answers line up on the “smaller / debated / unsafe / never / no” side, you don’t need a dramatic exit.

You need new settings: less access to your best hours, fewer tender topics, more structure when you do meet, and a growing circle of people who show you the basic courtesies without being asked.

The bottom line

You can tell someone has very little respect for you when your time is optional, your words are background noise, your boundaries are challenges, your wins are minimized, your vulnerability is currency, the plans always tilt their way, courtesies go missing, and repair never starts with them.

Notice the pattern. Say one clear sentence. Set one clean boundary. Then spend more of your life with people who don’t make you prove you deserve decency.

Respect, in the end, is not complicated.

It’s punctuality, attention, privacy, reciprocity, and repair—small bricks laid again and again until there’s a house both of you want to walk into.

Build with those who bring bricks. Save your breath for people who keep the door open.