Thursday, 27 September 2012
As I entered the Royal Mail sorting office to collect a parcel, I sensed that the atmosphere was very tense. There were four people queueing in front of me and the second person in the queue was being really noisy and disruptive. He seemed to be talking to himself but was playing to an audience (the queue). He said that on his list of people he hated was the police and his Mum and Dad and on his list of things he loved was money. He than started screaming out abuse against authority.............then it was his turn to be served.
When the Postal Officer asked him for I.D his abuse reached new heights, screaming at the top of his voice and using every taboo expletive you could ever imagine. At that point I wondered if my parcel was that important and whether or not I should collect it another time. Then I had second thoughts thinking that if I walked out of the door I would get his attention so I just waited patiently in the queue.
The Postal Officer asked him to refrain from using foul language as it was offensive to the people queueing. Well, that set him off even more! He screamed so loud it felt like my ears were about to bleed. The Postal Officer then refused to serve the man and went in search of a manager.
I felt so vulnerable just waiting whilst the man was ranting and raging. Postal Officer no.2 came out to serve the rest of us in the queue and the man was still standing at the serving hatch. I went up and stood next to him as I requested my parcel. I kept thinking what if he takes me hostage? What if he has a knife? How should I react? As Postal Officer no.2 went to get my parcel, the Manager and Postal Officer no.1 came out to speak to the man. My throat was tight, my heart pounding so loudly I thought he could hear it. After a final round of expletives, standing just inches away from me he stormed out of the sorting office screaming that he would be back with his gang and a gun.
I showed my I.D, hastily put the package into my bag, and watched my back all the way home.