gallas

simon's note:

It's ok if you don't know William Gallas too.Never heard of him.

William Gallas: A Day In The Life

Posted 26/11/08 15:47

I am just coming out of the front door in the morning when I am confronted by a postal man. He seems very sure of himself, despite the fact that he is very young.

"Package here for a Mr Gallas," he says in a loud voice.

"Lower your voice when you speak to me," I tell him. "I have 69 caps for France. You have just one silly cap with 'Post Office' written on it."

"Er, right you are mate," he says. "Just sign here if you would."

I tell the man I am not his 'mate'. He is a very cheeky man. I tell him that too.

"Are you going to sign it or not, sir?" asks this man, who is nothing, a nobody, somebody whose name I do not want to demean myself by revealing, which is the next thing I explain to this Postal Delivery Worker Paul Jackson of the Totteridge and Whetstone Branch.

But he still stands there, holding out his little notepad thing. The arrogance of the individual amazes me. I think to myself that it is important here to show courage and leadership to the neighbours, some of whom are standing on their doorsteps now watching this situation.

One of them shouts: "Just sign for the package, you plum."

The neighbours respect me as I am a senior figure in the community.

"Yeah Gallas, you w*****," says the man next door, who looks up to me very much I know.

I decide to rise above the situation by running off to the end of the garden and sitting on the grass with my legs crossed.

This is the sort of dignity and standing firm skills that we older members of the community must show in the face of an arrogant postal worker. They are not scared of us, they come to the house to try and deliver letters.

The man, who cannot be more than 25 or 26 or 40, stands on the doorstep for a while. Obviously he has been shown to be foolish.

Eventually he comes down the garden. I am crying. He is not used to seeing a man brave enough to cry for what he believes in (that is to say, the correct way to deliver letters).

"Can you just sign for Mr Gallas's package mate? Only I'm knocking off in a minute and I've got to pick my kid up from the doctors," he says.

"Don't you know who I am?" I ask him. He says he does not care if I am Elvis Presley as long as I sign for the package.

I write my name. He leaves, defeated. I open the package. It is a dog mess. This is typical.