It was a Saturday morning, and I was feeling quite Zen. I’d just come back from doing a Body Balance class at the gym. The sun was shining and life felt good. There was an Amazon package I needed to return, so off I trotted to our local Post Office/ Newsagent, hoping to tick off at least one chore on a long to-do list for the day.
At the Post Office, I stood behind an older man in the queue as he communicated with the Bangladeshi gentleman serving him. I detected an American accent and wondered to myself whether he lived locally while mentally working out what else needed doing after this errand. Meanwhile, I spotted that there was in fact another customer, a pink-haired lady standing to one side waiting her turn after the American man.
So far, so very normal.
Then, the Bangladeshi shop assistant spotted the package in my hand and said, “Madam, the post has already gone for the day. The next one is on Monday…”
I replied, “That’s okay. I don’t mind when it goes out. I just need to drop it off…”
Before I could say any more, the American man turned around and snarled at me, ” I was here FIRST! DO NOT PUSH AHEAD OF ME!!!”
Startled, I responded, “Hey! It was the assistant who spoke to me first…”
He turned around again and shouted, “BACK OFF AND SHUT UP!”
His entire body was radiating rage. If he could have reached forward and hit me, he would have. There was spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth and he narrowed his eyes at me, as if just waiting for one more word so that he could smack me. When I refused to engage, he turned his back on me.
At this point, I noticed that he was shaking while counting the money he had withdrawn. I stepped farther away, sensing all was not right with this man. The woman who had been witness to all of this spoke up, saying, “There is no need to be this rude. She was not interrupting your transaction. The postmaster addressed her first.”
At this, he growled at her, “SHUT UP! DON’T TALK TO ME!”
We exchanged glances, and she mouthed, “Americans!”
Now, before I proceed further with this story, I must add that I have plenty of American friends, acquaintances and colleagues who are the loveliest people. Kind, thoughtful, giving, polite and pleasant. He was NOT one of them.
I mouthed back, “Yeah, an ugly one.”
At this, he snapped, “It’s not because I’m American, okay? You were rude!”
We both retaliated with, “No, YOU were rude! We were just waiting patiently in the queue.”
He went back to counting the money, switching from being horrible to us to being polite to the postmaster. At one point, even the postmaster looked at me and gave a tiny shrug, as if to say, “I don’t know what’s wrong with this guy?”
A few minutes elapsed while the lady and I chatted about the sad state of all the banks closing down in the area. I was still shaken from the encounter, but didn’t want him to sense that he’d frightened me in any way. He was a bully, and I refused to give him the satisfaction.
Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, he turned around and said, “I’m sorry.”
The lady looked at him and said, “I get it. It is stressful that all the banks in the area have shut down, and that you need to come to the Post Office now to withdraw money. Even so, there was no need for that sort of behaviour.”
He was still shaking and looking at her when she responded softly, “Alright, I forgive you.”
Then he turned and gave me a supercilious look, waiting for me to say the same. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “No, I don’t forgive you. Your behaviour and your language were uncalled for. That was an unprovoked attack, and no, I won’t forgive you.”
“Fine,” he muttered, “don’t forgive me then.”
When he’d finished counting his money, he peeled off £20 and handed it to the lady, saying, “Here, buy yourself something with this.”
She pocketed it happily, saying, “Thanks, I will.”
He then held out another £20 to me.
I took another step back.
“No, thank you. I don’t want your money! Back off from me right now!” I didn’t raise my voice, but I was very firm as I said this, resolute that this man’s unwarranted behaviour would remain unforgiven, at least by me.
He shrugged, threw me a dirty look, and walked out the door.
After this entire incident, the Bangladeshi shop assistant felt sorry enough for me to take my package for a Monday pickup.
My questions are:
Was I wrong not to forgive him in the first place?
Was he trying to buy my forgiveness?
Can money really be the answer to bad behaviour?
Upon reflection, I have forgiven him. Clearly, he wasn’t a well man. The problem could be psychological or physical, maybe he has a very stressful life. I’ll never know. But I am proud of myself in that I refused to be bought. My integrity and self-respect were not for sale. Perhaps my refusal of his money will make him reflect, too. Maybe he’ll learn a little something from this incident as well.
People are not commodities. Treat everyone with the respect that you wish to be accorded. A heartfelt apology is worth far more than all £20 notes you might throw around.
What do you think?