There was only one counter open in the post office. I sighed, I only wanted to post a birthday card to my sister, this could take some time. Still, there were only three people ahead of me in the queue, allow five minutes each, in 20 minutes I could be out of here. The first elderly lady was drawing out her pension, and her husband’s pension, and her neighbour’s pension, she wasn’t well enough to come in person. There followed a detailed discussion of the neighbour’s symptoms, sighs of sympathy, tutting about how hard it was to find a good badante (carer), suggestions from several of the other people waiting about who might be able to help. I shifted from foot to foot and tried not to think about the other things I had hoped to get done after posting the card to my sister. Finally, the cashier started counting out the money. The old lady watched, beady eyed. The money was pushed under the counter window. With trembling hands the old lady reached for the money and then very slowly began to count it, note by note. Satisfied that the cashier hadn’t cheated her she reached slowly into her bag and drew out her purse and stowed the money away.
As she turned from the counter I sighed with relief, one down, two to go, if only I had remembered that it was pension day, please don’t let the other two people in the queue be collecting pensions. No, they were too young, surely they would be quicker?
The next person was called forward. The normal courtesies were exchanged. They wanted to pay a bill. This always took a while but if it was just one bill…? The cashier took the paperwork and studied it carefully then proceeded to type information from the bill into the computer. Time passed. Finally things whirred into action, now to actually pay the bill. At this point and only at this point did the man reach slowly into his back pocket and fumble for his wallet. Once found he carefully flipped through the various segments to find his card.
By now I was practically hopping from foot to foot. Still only one person to go. To my huge relief the next request was relatively straightforward, just posting a parcel. The parcel had to go through the special airlock at the end of the counter, be weighed and the correct postage calculated, the postage label printed, affixed and then paid for, but now finally it was going to be my turn. I took one step forward. A younger women darted up to the counter “scusi, solo una domanda….” To my anguished astonishment, rather than telling her to wait her turn the cashier, sternly waved me back behind the yellow line and listened attentively to the question. Only it wasn’t a question it was a whole long saga about a parcel that should have been delivered to her father only he was too slow to get to the door and the post person had left a note saying the parcel would be returned to the post office. Was it here? A long discussion ensued, what was the address? When had it been delivered? If it was this morning it might not have got back to the post office yet. She wasn’t sure but her father had rung her in a panic, could the counter clerk just check? Did she know what was in the parcel? What size it might be? Because big parcels go in the back room and small parcels are locked in the cupboard.
Eventually the parcel was located. Of course it had to be signed for. And then go through the airlock.
Finally, finally it was my turn. I strode forward, thrust my envelope under the window and gabbled, just a stamp for Canada please. The counter clerk scowled. How rude! No good morning, no discussion about the weather, the health of her mother, honestly these foreigners have no manners! Too late I realised my mistake. In my haste and with limited Italian I had used ‘voglio’ (I want) not ‘vorrei’ (I would like). I was used to it being polite to take up as little time as possible in a queue, here it is rude not to engage in pleasantries before making your request. The final few minutes I was in the post office were undertaken in a frosty silence. Chastened by my cultural faux pas I slunk from the post office, vowing that my brother would have to make do with a virtual card when his birthday came round.