Petty tyrannies

..late
twenties, early thirties, dark complexion and some variation of Asian ethnicity.
There’s a cheerful bespectacled Asian chap who also mans the counter and
who converses with her in whatever Asian language whom I suspect could be her
father, except for his entirely opposite disposition.
Everything is too much trouble for this woman. I’ve tried all variations
of pleasantness and patience mixed with business-like efficiency, but she’s
already tired of me before I reach the counter.
I reluctantly went to the Pinewood PO today after I’d been into town to
do an interview with Denis Walter and it was simply too late to go anywhere
else. I had some posters to send to the St Andrews pub, which entailed purchasing
a tube to send them in. The last time I’d been there they’d run
out of the small tubes that are the perfect fit for A3 posters and I looked
in vain to see if they’d replenished their stock in the meantime. It appeared
they hadn’t, so I approached the counter to ask if they perhaps had some
out the back.
To my relief the person ahead of me got Ms Wong, so I waited hopefully for one
of the other two to serve me, but somehow they managed to remain preoccupied
until she was free. ‘Yes?’ she said, with the trace of a smile playing
on her lips. I resignedly approached the counter, by which time the smile had
been replaced by a look of profound irritation.
‘Do you have any of the small tubes?’ I ventured. ‘Aren’t
they there?’ she snapped disbelievingly, looking round me to glare pointedly
at the shelves where the errant tubes should have been. ‘There are only
the large and medium sized ones’ I sniveled appealingly. ‘Then we
haven’t got any,’ she said triumphantly, as if she was addressing
a complete moron.
As I turned to flee she intoned an utterly unexpected coup de grace.
‘Sorry,’ she said, and with such laughable insincerity that it nearly
stopped me in my tracks.
There had been a previous encounter with Ms Wong involving posting a tube. I’d
packed it, addressed it and taken it to the counter and as I was paying her
I asked if she could tape up the ends. She looked at me incredulously. ‘Why?’
she asked. I explained to her that there had been an occasion when I’d
sent a tube untaped and it had subsequently arrived at its destination empty.
This was a true story, but she looked at me as if I’d made it up simply
to make her do some extra work and waste everybody’s time. I had to be
quite insistent before she reluctantly taped it up and the next time I was so
nervous about asking her again I allowed her to send the tube off untaped. (It
made its destination OK – I have visions of her sneering ‘I knew
you were making it up!’)
I’ve studied her dealing with other customers and she’s just the same.
She’s not an eye-roller, but if she was they’d be spinning like
a slot machine all day. I’ve come to the conclusion that her behaviour’s
not intentionally rude; in fact she may not even be aware of what she’s
doing. It’s just her way – and God bless her, I say. But, in the meantime,
I shall go out of my way to avoid having to send my posters from the Pinewood
PO..

Similar Posts

  • The bleeding obvious

    ..more people that need to be fed and watered. This is not surprising. It might, however, fill one with a general sense of foreboding for the health of the planet After a while this becomes background noise, ever present unpleasant facts that become a steady drone of something which we sensibly decide we can’t do…

  • Celebrity

    Anyway, there I am looking so 1972 with a big shirt collar and a porno moustache to boot, being seriously assertive while saying nothing of any substance. Once I’d got over the shock of seeing myself looking so fucking young, I was immediately reminded of a number of similar interviews I’ve seen on telly with…

  • Innocence

    Anyway, this particular setback to my innocence happened on a rainy day at the family farm (Mendip Hills) in North Canterbury, two or three hours north of the now blighted city of Christchurch. Mendip Hills was the jewel in the crown of the Rutherford family, our forebears on our mother’s side. Our grandfather, Norman Rutherford,…

  • The Cat’s Bar

    ..the resting of containers and consumed beer by glass – or in New Zealand by the jug. I can still remember a bar in Sydney with white tiles on the floor and sawdust on the floor for the same reason as abattoirs had them – it made it much easier to hose the blood and…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *