the post office carnage

One wintery Friday mornign in January, I woke up with a start. The wind was howling against the window pane so fiercely, I thought it was going to come in on me. However, all I could think was, ‘shit, I never posted that bloody package!’ Apparently, it was a ‘very important’ piece of mail, one which I promised my daughter I would post this week. She had given it to me on Monday and couldn't stress enough how vital it was for it to be sent this week.

I looked over at my small, square, reliable old clock, the back of the battery compartment missing, and jumped out of the bed when I saw it was almost ten. I ran into the shower and, after a quick wash, I put on my eyebrows with haste, trying to look somewhat alive. I was out with the girls the night before, and was a bit worse for wear.

I had heard that the weather was going to be bad, but I hadn't expected it to hit us, in particular, that badly. I opened the front door and saw several broken slates from the roof on the driveway, a big dent in the bonnet of the car from where one had fallen onto it. I gasped. The tree in front of the house, the one we had tried to almost bribe the council to cut down, was swaying further than I had ever witnessed. I looked at the package on the telephone table and saw my daughters face when she asked me to post it. The amount of times I had walked past it and told myself that I would, ‘do it tomorrow!’ was hard to justify.

I put on the warmest coat I had, a hat, a scarf, and a pair of gloves, grabbed the package and the keys, and decided to brave the elements. I closed the front door behind me and opened the porch door, the wind nearly knocked me over as I stepped onto the driveway. I was holding the package, with not an iota what was in it, like a rugby ball. A gust of wind blew my hat off as I maneuvered myself towards the driver’s side of the car, picking up slates off the roof as I went, throwing the pieces towards the side gate, them smashing further as they hit the ground.

When I finally reached the car door, I remembered that I hadn't pressed the open button on the keys. ‘Shit!’ I said, patting down my coat, trying to remember which pocket I had put them in. I decided to crouch a little, to get some shelter from the gusts of wind that were blowing my way. Feeling the keys in my right-hand side pocket, I carefully moved the package into my left arm. My glove, being bulky, removed the dexterity I had to reach the keys. After three goes of attempting to put my hand into my pocket, with no luck, I took it off with my teeth and opened the car with ease.

As I was opening the car door, I was careful that it didn't let the door blow away while still trying to not damage the package. In the end, I had faith in my daughter that she had wrapped it up well and threw it onto the passenger seat, it bouncing off it and hitting the gear stick before landing on the accelerator. I rolled my eyes up to heaven, thinking, ‘typical!’

Once I eventually got into the car, I had great difficulty in closing the door. It was a workout all on its own. I knew my muscles were going to ache later. In order to get the package off the accelerator, I had to move my chair back, stepping on the precious cargo as I did so. ‘Whoops!’ I said aloud putting my hands on my head. ‘Please don't be broken, please don't be broken!’ I chanted. Eventually, I was able to pick up the cursed thing and shook it. I could hear bits and pieces rattle inside. At that stage I didn’t really give a shit! Such an ordeal to simply get into a car! I began to curse my daughter and her ‘important post!’

I pulled the car out of the driveway, very, very carefully, and drove to the post office. As I drove very slowly, I still found it hard to keep the car steady. Everyone l past was going over and back between the white line in the middle of the road, and the number of umbrellas that were inside out was alarming!

As there weren’t as many gobshites like me out in gale force winds, I was able to find a parking space that was very close to the post office. Our one was in a grocery shop. It had its own little area just inside the shop to the left. There was just one problem…how was I supposed to get out of the car without letting my car door fly away like a used tissue.

I cautiously pulled the handle to open the door with one hand, the other was on the door of the car, predicting it was going to fly away. Oh, how wrong I was! The wind was, in fact, blowing in the other direction. So instead of the door getting away from me, I had to push it open.

Now, I wasn't one for sports! When I was with my ex-husband, I never let him watch any football or rugby matches on the television. As far as I was concerned, he could go and watch them live in a pub! I had my programs that I watched at the time, like the soaps, which were a big part of my life then as we didn't have a satellite dish. We thought that six channels were enough. Hell, we didn't even have a remote control for the tv! But I guess, after twenty-three years, technology has moved on, I moving with the times, thanks to the kids! A part of me regretted not seeing how a rugby tackle was executed. It would have been very useful in this situation!

I pushed, and pushed, and pushed the door with my hands getting nowhere. As I was convinced I had already broken the package, so I roughly pushed it under my left arm and pushed at the door once more, this time using my shoulder. Slowly, it began to open. ‘Wahoo!’ I shouted, putting my right leg out onto the footpath…carefully. I knew if I had let go of the door, my leg would be gone, that’s how strong the wind was! I began to push with my artificial hip, the door opening easier as I did so. I got my other leg out and then my arse and, instead of closing the door, I just let it go, it slamming shut, taking my other glove with it. Passersby would think that there was a severed hand stuck in the door, but I wasn't too fussed in getting it back!

I put my hood up, it quickly blowing down and said, ‘fuck it! My hair is already all over the place!’ I crossed the almost deserted road, others being sensible and not going out in what I later realized was a red warning storm.

I got into the shop, my hair tussled, my eyebrows with bits missing out of them, my glasses all fogged up and, instead of breathing a sigh of relief, I gasped at the carnage that I was facing.

You see, I had forgotten that Friday was pension day. There were two lines going into the post office, as there were two entrances into the shop. So, one line was coming from the front door, the other from the back. I sighed loudly and joined the line from the front door. I was in awe of what I saw next!

There was a fight where the lines met between a woman on a Zimmer frame and another with two sticks. I wasn't there long enough to know why, but there were others getting involved. There were sticks flying, a Zimmer frame thrown across the width of the shop and l was watching open mouthed. I had always avoided the place on a Friday on purpose, but I never imagined it to be this brutal!

Behind me, a woman in a wheelchair whizzed passed me, and, well, just rammed into the middle of the chaos. The cashiers couldn't leave their posts, but these were exceptional circumstances! Everyone who was wheeling a trolley abandoned them, and tried to break up the fight. There were eight people in the fight suddenly. I stood there thinking, ‘where’s the popcorn?’ It gave me the drive to come down to the shop more often on a Friday.

I moved closer to the action, taking a bag of M&M’s from the confectionary stand as I did so and rested my back side on a chair that was just there. I still had my daughter’s package under my left arm, and, for comfort, I rested it on a little ledge that happened to be beside the chair.

As one woman tore another’s wig off and hurled it towards me, I caught it, and thought it looked like a very hairy hamster. It was hideous! Then I looked at it again, and tried it on, just to see if it fit. It was as warm as a hat, and, because my whole body was cold, I decided to keep it on!

I looked up, put another cluster of M&M’s in my mouth, and began chewing on them. I had forgotten how nice they actually were. As my gaze wandered back towards the fight, an old man on the floor clutching his hip, I quickly shielded my eyes just in time to stop a set of teeth from hitting me in the face. Thank God I was wearing my heavy coat because they were moving at such speed, it would have hurt! I watched as they hit the ground, two teeth going in opposite directions to the main pallet. I began to laugh. Yes, it was highly inappropriate, but after the morning I had, it was exactly what I needed.

I watched as the owner of the shop ran out the front door, the wind nearly knocking him over. I let out a laugh, and returned my attention to the carnage in the post office line. The auld ones were dropping like flies, and the ones next in line were kicking their limbs out of the way, gagging for their pensions. I swallowed my mouthful of M&M’s and took out some more from the packet. Man, if I knew it was like this every Friday, I’d come with a thermos flask and a few biscuits to watch.

I began to count how many of them were on the ground, my total came to four, but there were nine legs, so I must have missed one under the pile. I put my hand back into the bag of M&M’s, but they were all gone, so I stood up and picked up a packet of crisps this time, cheese and onion flavor, my favorite! I opened the packet, all the cashiers trying to get an old woman’s leg free from the walking aid it was caught in, when the gardai arrived, alongside the owner. They were helping the fallen auld ones up, when a man, who must have been in his nineties, who was hunched over, hit one of them over the head with one of his sticks. He was attempted to be taken away immediately by the ban Garda, who wasn't even able to handcuff the fella because his hands wouldn't go behind his back.

‘Eh, sarge?’ she said to the guy who was rubbing his head with one hand, holding back an irate, bald, toothless woman with the other. ‘What!’ he replied with grit in his tone. ‘His hands won’t…’ ‘Just get him the fuck out of here!’ the sergeant ordered, ‘and get your ass back here when he’s secure!’ The ban Garda knew that this particular man wouldn’t be able to walk across the road to the station on his own, so she just picked up a random rollator and helped him into it before putting her own arm under his as he was very shaky on his feet. I sat up straight, waiting for a gust of wind to blow him over. To my dismay, the ban Garda managed to keep him upright.

As the automatic doors opened and shut, some of the senior citizens being taken away, the others still in the thick of it, I heard a siren. I rolled my eyes. The cavalry were here. There was a total of three police cars and six gardai.

One by one, the troublemakers were taken off the pile, the staff of the shop providing chairs. A vague thought came into my mind, should I relinquish my seat…but it was only vague.

As the gardai had obviously been there before, like this was a common occurrence, five transit wheelchairs were pushed into the shop. Those who were able, were placed into the seats and removed to the squad cars, they returned minutes later to get the rest.

With the troublesome old age pensioners that were able to be driven away gone, just left three who were on the ground writhing in pain. The gardai were trying to get them into chairs, but it was evident that their artificial hips were broken by the angel of their legs. I picked up another packet of crisps and sat there, waiting for the ambulances to arrive. I had an up close and personal view of them and really though about my soaps years ago. There was no way in hell they were nearly as dramatic as this.

An hour passed before the line was open again for the post office. There was a garda presence around the front of the shop as the roller blinds opened again for business. With my M&M’s and two packets of crisps eaten, I rushed ahead, the others not knowing they were open yet and posted my daughter’s package.

Just as the automatic doors opened for me to exit back into the wind, I went up to the cash register and paid for my snacks. After all, I didn’t want to be done for shop lifting!

Knowing how hard it was going to be to open the car door, I asked one of the guards to help me, ‘yea it’s the one with the glove in the door, officer,’ I cringed and braved the elements for the final time. He was a fine, hefty fellow, and had it open enough for me to get in.

On the way home, driving very, very carefully, I asked myself, ‘did that really happen?’ and began to laugh.