At This Rate Never Pick A Fight With Any Old Woman…, Part 3
An old lady (one of our kinder regulars) steps up to the counter of our small post office.
Customer: “I’d like to post all these letters. They’re to all my family all over.”
Me: “Wow, all over is an understatement. Okay, so these two are for Canada, this one is Australia, and… blimey, is that South Africa?”
Customer: “Yes! My grandkids get around!”
I start processing each envelope with the correct amount and type of postage. I’m working fast, but not fast enough for the customer behind her.
Next Customer: “Can I just go ahead? I only need to pick up an Amazon package.”
Me: “I’ll be with you as soon as I finish here, sir. I’m going as quickly as I can.”
Next Customer: “Who even writes letters anymore? Even email has been around forever.”
Customer: “Not that it’s any of your business, but I prefer to write letters. It’s more personal.”
Next Customer: “Well, do it on your own time! Some of us don’t have time to wait for you to send all the snail mail to the other side of the world!”
Me: “Sir, please stop. You’re being very rude, and by making me stop and tell you this, you’re only slowing everyone down. No one wants that.”
Next Customer: “No one wants this old bat either, that’s why her family has all moved abroad!”
Customer: *To the next customer.* “Go rob a bank so that it’s the first time you’ll have ever been wanted.”
I stopped typing in the information for the label for a second to process what I had just heard. The silence between the three of us was almost like a physical force. I had to shake myself free of it and continue my work, while the young man in line stood there, engaged in a furious tension between wanting to say something to this amazing woman but not having the ability to come up with anything even half as destructive as what had been laid out to him.
Related:
At This Rate Never Pick A Fight With Any Old Woman…, Part 2
At This Rate Never Pick A Fight With Any Old Woman…
