Stamping Ground

Amazing how certain things in life are great levellers. Regardless of your education, politics or religion, you grow old.
Yet another post about queueing at the Post Office. Today I joined the pensioners queue in the Old City post office. It was as slow as the central post office, and once again it took 40 minutes to reach the counter to buy stamps.
However, in that 40 minutes, I watched the world walk and shuffle by, queue, argue, pester, laugh and extend hands of compassion. One very sick man showed up in his pyjamas, accompanied by what looked like a grown up grandson. He was ushered to the front (rightly so). Another old lady wasn't tall enough to reach the counter to sign her paperwork, if she had been able to write. Most of the senior citizens were signing for their pension with a thumb print.
As all of my fellow queuers were Arab, I was around 10 inches taller than all of them, except one. He was a tall Ethiopian, with the bearing of a prince. He leaned on his stick as he gave his print. Another chap stood on the sidelines like a nightclub bouncer, making sure no one jumped the queue who was under 80 years of age.
The Postmaster remained cheerful throughout and disposed of me very quickly. 6 stamps, no problem, have a nice day.