Story, Writing / Posted by Rich
I walk into the post office. The queue is huge. It snakes around the cordoned route all the way to the entrance.
I can already hear her.
Quite a large lady. Middle-aged? Leisure-wear and bleach-blonde with black roots. Big curls in a top-knot.
She is effing and blinding right in the faces of a pair of women who are quite calm about it.
At first I think that the woman is rather animatedly telling them a story.
It soon becomes evident that she is not as she turns her attention to someone else.
‘Don’t fackin tell me ta calm darn you fackin calm darn I’ll rip ya fackin ead off bout calm darn who dya fink ya talkin to ya cant?’
Her swearing is relentless.
An older man looking at the greetings cards turns around.
‘I don’t think you should talk to people like that.’ He gently suggests.
‘I’ll fackin talk to people how I fackin like. Don’t you fackin tell me wot to do you should see my dad he’ll rip ya fackin ead off!’
She mutters more things under her breath. Tutting and swearing. Rolling her eyes.
She talks to anyone and everyone and has to have the last word. Even with herself.
Another man in the queue is caught glancing her way.
‘And wot dya fink yor lookin at?’
‘I think you’ve said enough now.’ He says quietly. I can barely hear him but I can read his lips.
‘Said enough? I’ll tell you when I’ve fackin said enough I’ll fackin take you outside ya fackin cant, fackin selfish all me me me, you’re all fackin selfish bastards!’ She gestures with her head, just to make sure we know she is talking to all of us.
She continues muttering. The odd swear word popping out here and there.
She is about to launch into another tirade at the next person that has caught her eye.
I have to intervene.
‘Give it a rest, please?’ I say, loud enough for the whole post office to hear.
‘You fackin give it a rest ya lairy cant.’
‘Just stop for a minute and think about what you’re saying.’
‘I’ll fackin…’ I cut her off.
‘You’ll listen.’ I step closer. She does not retreat. ‘If you carry on like this you’ll have a heart attack, right here, in the middle of the post office, and no one here is going to phone for an ambulance. Not after the way you’ve spoken to them.’
‘I’ll speak to people how I fackin like…’
‘Why do this? You’re right at the back of the queue. You’re going to be here for three-quarters of an hour, perhaps more. Can you keep up this aggravation for three-quarters of an hour?’
‘Dya want to take this outside ya selfish cant I’ll rip ya fackin ead off!’
‘Selfish? Who the fuck are you to talk about selfish? All you’re doing is drawing attention to yourself. If you’re so concerned with stamping out selfishness you’d shut the fuck up and let these people continue to queue in peace!’ I step closer still, draw the Lobotomy Gun from my pocket and point it squarely in the centre of her forehead.
‘I’ll fackin…’
I pull the trigger and her face goes blank. Her eyes flick around for a moment.
She looks like she’s forgotten what she’s doing here and who she is.
This is because she has.
I put the Lobotomy Gun back in my pocket.
Everyone continues to queue in peace.