Britishness
Last weekend I got two red cards from the Post office - "We have something for you!" (No shit, Sherlock, isn't that what the Post Office does?). Anyway, ignoring the fact that I *was* in on Saturday and that the Postie probably wrote the card before ringing the door bell in an upmarket version of Knock-Down-Ginger, I ventured to the main Post Office this morning.
I parked in one of the "½ hour" parking places and walked the 100 yards to the Post Office.
The queue was out of the door. And along the wall. And down the side of the main building. It was 07:59. I was 14th in the queue. I know - I counted.
It is, of course, the run up to Christmas and it seems the entire population of the town has ordered presents from eBay or Amazon.
We all stood in the queue, staring silently at our feet or the Town Hall opposite, occasionally glancing at each other in the queue and mostly looking at the elderly chap at the front of the queue. There was no sign of the man behind the counter.
After about 5 minutes, a chap who was about 5th from the front turned and left muttering "I ain't waitin' 'ere no more". We all shuffled up silently - although there was a slightly raised eyebrow from the woman who was just behind him.
We waited silently for another few minutes. The same chap was still at the counter. And the queue was getting longer.
All of a sudden, en-mass, four people who were almost at the counter, turned and literally ran out of the building and scampered up the street in various directions.
I couldn't resist it.
"Crikey, has there been a bomb-scare?"
The man in front of me turned to me and politely replied, "No, the Traffic Warden has just turned up!"
That was it. The ice was broken. The line relaxed. And people started talking to one another.
Amongst the comments were:
"Bloody Traffic Warden, he knows there's a queue, it's easy pickings!"
"They know it's Christmas, why can't they put some more staff on?"
"I have two kids at home, they can help here, they're looking for work!"
"Oh, he's going back now, he's done his ticket quota, is it cup of tea time? Bless."
"They're not getting back in the queue, they can got to the back!"
"I couldn't be a Warden, I have too much common sense!"
"Common Sense!? Don't talk to me about Common Sense! I remember when..."
Fortunately, no one mentioned the war, and we all went quiet again after a bit.
The man at the front of the queue left, still clutching his red card, red faced with either anger or the cold. I'd already timed him at 8 minutes. I'd now been queueing for 17 minutes.
"Oh for f's sake" said the lady with the eye-patch at number 6, "they've lost his bloody parcel!"
People simply shook their heads in disbelief and we started off again.
"Couldn't they take everyone's cards in the queue and get the parcels by Post Code order?"
"No, that would require Organisation and Common Sense"
"Common Sense, don't talk to me about Common Sense! I remember when..."
The lady at the front of the queue clearly was not stupid. She waited until she had her parcel in her hand before launching off into an interrogation of the Postie as to why he was the only chap on.
"Could this wait dear?", asked number 4, "we're all dying of boredom here."
Eventually I made it to the counter.
"Err, mornin'? Busy?"
"Got any ID mate so you can sign?"
I heard a muffled scream at about number 10...
I parked in one of the "½ hour" parking places and walked the 100 yards to the Post Office.
The queue was out of the door. And along the wall. And down the side of the main building. It was 07:59. I was 14th in the queue. I know - I counted.
It is, of course, the run up to Christmas and it seems the entire population of the town has ordered presents from eBay or Amazon.
We all stood in the queue, staring silently at our feet or the Town Hall opposite, occasionally glancing at each other in the queue and mostly looking at the elderly chap at the front of the queue. There was no sign of the man behind the counter.
After about 5 minutes, a chap who was about 5th from the front turned and left muttering "I ain't waitin' 'ere no more". We all shuffled up silently - although there was a slightly raised eyebrow from the woman who was just behind him.
We waited silently for another few minutes. The same chap was still at the counter. And the queue was getting longer.
All of a sudden, en-mass, four people who were almost at the counter, turned and literally ran out of the building and scampered up the street in various directions.
I couldn't resist it.
"Crikey, has there been a bomb-scare?"
The man in front of me turned to me and politely replied, "No, the Traffic Warden has just turned up!"
That was it. The ice was broken. The line relaxed. And people started talking to one another.
Amongst the comments were:
"Bloody Traffic Warden, he knows there's a queue, it's easy pickings!"
"They know it's Christmas, why can't they put some more staff on?"
"I have two kids at home, they can help here, they're looking for work!"
"Oh, he's going back now, he's done his ticket quota, is it cup of tea time? Bless."
"They're not getting back in the queue, they can got to the back!"
"I couldn't be a Warden, I have too much common sense!"
"Common Sense!? Don't talk to me about Common Sense! I remember when..."
Fortunately, no one mentioned the war, and we all went quiet again after a bit.
The man at the front of the queue left, still clutching his red card, red faced with either anger or the cold. I'd already timed him at 8 minutes. I'd now been queueing for 17 minutes.
"Oh for f's sake" said the lady with the eye-patch at number 6, "they've lost his bloody parcel!"
People simply shook their heads in disbelief and we started off again.
"Couldn't they take everyone's cards in the queue and get the parcels by Post Code order?"
"No, that would require Organisation and Common Sense"
"Common Sense, don't talk to me about Common Sense! I remember when..."
The lady at the front of the queue clearly was not stupid. She waited until she had her parcel in her hand before launching off into an interrogation of the Postie as to why he was the only chap on.
"Could this wait dear?", asked number 4, "we're all dying of boredom here."
Eventually I made it to the counter.
"Err, mornin'? Busy?"
"Got any ID mate so you can sign?"
I heard a muffled scream at about number 10...
Comments