Scorchio
So, I've been having a clear out and I came across a couple of objects that I thought, "You know what, [friend] might like these."
I merrily boxed them up and toddled down to the post office to send them.
Waited in line in the small local post office, thinking about nothing in particular. The elderly chap had been harrumphing about the wait, and then did all his banking and bills. He paid £70 off his electric, £40 off his gas and harrumphed some more about the lady at the counter being the only one on, with a mildly apologetic nod to the queue. The shop assistant from the other area took someone out of the queue to deal with them to help out.
So it was a busy scene, a grouchy scene, people waiting, the lady on the counter feeling under pressure and us shuffling around like zombies stuck in a post office.
Anyway, I get to the counter and plonk my parcel on the scales and all is fine, and then she asks "what's in the parcel?"
Which takes me aback. "What, why?"
"I have to ask," she said. And rather rudely, I felt, "Haven't you ever sent a parcel before?"
Which considering my advanced age seemed an unlikely option and did spark some resentment in me.
Of course I've bloody sent a parcel before, I just can't recall ever being asked this question. (I don't say this. She may have seen me think it.)
I hem and haw and say " a couple of things", which I admit is not the most helpful or satisfactory of responses.
She needs to know, though.
And my brain has just gone into freeze mode, and I cannot think of how to elegantly describe the contents with an interested audience behind me wondering why I'm being so fucking awkward about telling her what's in the parcel.
I can either tell her or take it away and use a courier instead, I'm informed. (I'm seriously considering finding a bin to be honest).
So off I go, back into the shop area, defeated, taking my dubious, inexplicable parcel with me in shame, while the queue debate my bizarre behaviour with her, thinking I've fucked off entirely.
I have not. (I am looking for packaging for a coat I have vinted.) I can hear them.
I take a few breaths, to find my zen and the perfect padded envelope. And peer back into the post office section to see the queue have all been served and have pissed off.
I go back in. "Can we try that again?" I ask.
She is a bit reluctant to come back to the counter, seeing it's me, but she finishes whatever she's doing to the sack and stoutly comes over.
"Sex toys" I tell her. "That's what's in the parcel. I didn't want to say in a room full of people."
She laughs. All is forgiven.
She says her next question genuinely has to be "Does it have batteries?" We both laugh.
It does not have batteries. (I do not explain the type of sex toy it is, but it's not that sort.)
We discuss postage costs and she asks the value, and I don't know (and jiminey what an ordeal this has turned out to be, my face is glowing).
At least she has a mildly amusing anecdote to relate to the next customer.
One of whom chimes in when I continue explaining that I hadn't been trying to be an arsehole with "yes you were" despite being a new arrival to the scene and having no idea what was going on, the cheeky badinager.
I was really unprepared for this level of embarrassment today.
She tells me next time to just say it's Anne Summers. Or pass a note.
I can't imagine there being a next time.
