The Fifty Pence That Does Nothing
(The post office counter at the back of a corner shop in Leeds. No queue, no hurry.)
Yusuf: Morning. I need to send this to my sister in Istanbul.
Clerk: Parcel or large letter?
Yusuf: It's a box, so… parcel?
Clerk: It's a large letter if it fits through this.
(The clerk holds up a flat plastic frame. The box doesn't go anywhere near it.)
Clerk: Parcel.
Yusuf: Right.
Clerk: Airmail or by ship? Airmail's about nine days. By ship it's eight weeks.
Yusuf: Her birthday's on Tuesday.
Clerk: Then it's late either way.
Yusuf: Airmail, please.
(The clerk puts the box on the scales.)
Clerk: Twenty-two pounds.
Yusuf: Twenty-two? The present cost twelve.
Clerk: You can take it home, put it in an envelope and post it as a large letter. Six pounds.
Yusuf: It's a mug.
Clerk: Then it's twenty-two pounds.
Yusuf: Fine. Can you check the address? My handwriting's terrible.
Clerk: It's a foreign address, so put the country in capital letters. Turkey. That's the line the postman over there actually needs.
Yusuf: Done.
Clerk: I'll print the postage. It goes out in the four o'clock bag.
Yusuf: Hang on — can I have a stamp as well?
Clerk: The postage is printed. A stamp does nothing.
Yusuf: I know. She keeps them. Every stamp I've sent her since she moved.
Clerk: Bird or bridge?
Yusuf: Bird. She likes birds.
Clerk: Twenty-two pounds fifty, then. The fifty pence does nothing at all.
Yusuf: Best fifty pence I've spent this week.