The last few weeks have been a mostly full of trips to the Royal Mail sorting office. Not for fun, you understand – I do almost all my Christmas shopping online, as all sane people should – but because I always miss the deliveries. Last night, I took my latest red “We Missed You” slip along to the post office, performed my usual pleasantries with the office guy behind the counter and waited for my parcel.
While I was waiting, an elderly mother and her daughter came in, handling over their red slip in anticipation. A christmas present, I expect they thought. The daughter was plainly excited: “It better be good, we’ve come 15 miles for this”, she said, rubbing her hands with glee. Evidently, it was an easier delivery to find than mine, as the man came back with both mine and their letters within 15 seconds. “Ah yes,” he said to the excited daughter, “it’s a christmas card. They haven’t put a stamp on it. That’ll be 69 pence please.”
Now, I’m not one for public announcements to strangers. But as the “bah humbug” nature of the situation dawned on the couple and all the onlookers, I couldn’t stop a smirk spreading across my lips. I looked around. Several others in the now-silent room were having the same problem. The couple, meanwhile, just stood and stared at the envelope (sans stamps). I couldn’t stand the silence any more. “Ha. Merry Christmas!”
To dissolved fits of giggles from the onlookers, and fixed stares from the couple, I waltzed out. Nothing so far this Christmas has cheered me up quite as much as their disappointed faces, and for that I will surely go straight to hell.