Upsetting the Lady Courier.

I had two parcels delivered by a courier today, each weighing 28lbs. I heard the first being dropped in the porch, and when I went out she was coming up the path with the second and breathing heavily. She’s a regular on this route – been coming here for twelve years – and she’s usually a model of affability. Not so today.

‘This is the worst bloody drop I ever get,’ she began, panting, frowning and looking decidedly irritated. ‘This is a job for a man, or at least they should give me a power trolley. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was on the flat; it’s that path that does it.’

I apologised, of course. The path is around 70ft long and quite steep, and even I would find the job difficult now that this damned angina (or whatever it is) has started. It doesn’t take much physical effort to set it off. I mentioned, purely as a point of interest, that the last courier – a man – who delivered two equivalent parcels had carried them both at the same time. She seemed to assume that I meant an affront to her weak and feeble woman-ness, which I didn’t.

‘Well he’s a lot bigger than me!’ she said, giving me that sideways, accusatory glance that certain women do well when their weak and feeble woman-ness is being subjected to affront. And then she stomped off without another word.

It occurred to me that when I was in the navy I spent half a day carrying 56lb bags of potatoes up the gangway and tipping them into the hold. Not only did I find it easy, I even enjoyed the exercise. I didn’t mention it, of course, and I was seventeen at the time.

When I got the email from the company confirming delivery there was a box to tick which said ‘Rate you courier.’ I gave her five out of five stars. I do hope they tell her.