I'm not what you'd call an avid mingler with people in authority. I don't have any issues with them, nor do I fear their wrath, but I do tend to end up on their wrong side so as a rule I stay out of their way. Of course, when other people are involved in this calculation, the whole plan goes to shit. But sometimes, in this crazy melting pot of civilisation we call Earth, there is a person in a place of authority who is on our side, and their existence should be held up as a beacon of all that is good in this world. As follows...
As with most stories of surprising authoritarian generosity, we begin in the Post Office. A parcel for me was too big to fit through the letter box (despite the fact it was smaller than a gnat's mind) so I had to pick it up from the local depot. Not a problem, as I usually set off a bit earlier on my way to work and nip in. On the Friday I was told it hadn't yet been returned to them so to try tomorrow. "No probs" quipped I and I off I went.
The following day I duly returned. Due to the busyness in the town centre I had to park in a car park a couple of hundred yards away. It's a pay and display but I thought "Fuck that, I'll only be 5 minutes" and neither paid nor displayed. Back in the post office I was told that again, the parcel was not back. He had a good scout round for it and it was nowhere to be seen, so after 10 minutes he began to take my details down so he could call me when it rocked up. I noticed however that he had written my house number down wrong, so I picked him up on it. He then studied the correct number, turned his head a quarter turn and picked my parcel out of a box right next to him. Now, pardon my cynicism, but is their system so complicated that only the house number can guide them to a parcel's existence? Surely the street or even area would have rung a bell with him, but it was only when he was given the correct number that the penny dropped. Absolutely ridiculous, but I had my parcel and was on my way.
Of course, with Lady Luck already taking the piss with the Post Office episode, I shouldn't have been surprised to find a traffic warden eyeing my car with unnecessary suspicion when I returned. I naturally panicked and ran the remainder of the journey, beginning with a feeble "Am I too late?" like a schoolboy who'd been caught dawdling across the playground after break. But here's where a quite wonderful thing happened. He casually explained that he always gives unticketed cars 5 minutes to return, given the propensity for locals to nip into the PO the same as I did. Put simply, here was a traffic warden who knew the area, knew his client base and used his common sense to excellent effect. I was completely taken aback by the let-off, offered a semi-patronising "Good man" and got out of it before he changed his mind.
In the grand scheme of things, this interaction is unlikely to pull up any trees. Indeed, the BBC are refusing to return my calls about a documentary based upon the exchange, but it goes to show that despite all the hunger, rape and terrorism on this fair isle, there are still some decent folk out there. Folk who don't abuse the power bestowed upon them when they don their black cap with the luminous yellow piping. God bless them all.
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