I have a pen, thankyou.

How many people will we meet in our lifetimes? Most of them are these slight, split-second interactions that could take place over a shop counter; through a telephone line; that happen only because you happened to cross the road and intersected the path of somebody else; resulting in that awkward side-step and mumbled 'sorry' before you returned to your intended path, the uninterrupted one. The number of people we'll associate with ever so briefly, whether it be on a single occasion or as a result of the routine you fall into without realising (wake-walk-train-work-walk-shop-eat-sleep), must soar into the thousands, whereas the people we hold close and dear to our hearts can be counted on fingers and toes.

There are those interactions that happen regularly; a rapport is built up between you and the other person. You may greet each other in the same way; the same conversation topics are generally breached and the same outcome results each time (if there is an occasion where this doesn't happen, it leaves you both feeling slightly strange, lost). The 9-5 working week is a guaranteed way to build up this type of continued encounter.

1. The Afternoon Postman - arrives between 3.30pm-4.30pm to collect the mail that needs to be sent out that evening. This exchange is longer than that with The Morning Postman because there's the awkward offering of a pen, signing of the form and tearing off the adjacent slip. There seems to be a rotation with The Afternoon Postman - I certainly have my preferred favourites.

One of these likes to surprise me with his attention to detail - he commented when I was away for two days sick, has abbreviated 'Rachael' to 'Rach' and may make statements like 'You wear a lot of black.' He always wishes me a good afternoon/evening/weekend and our conversations are said in bold - when he leaves I realise I have been animatedly shouting about not-much-really.

A close second favourite is the postman who falls into my classification of being a Weather Person. I'm a secret weather person myself, probably as a result of my Dad, who frequents the Beaureau of Meterology website tracking the satellite movement of rain, comments on wind direction and humidity and makes regular estimations of the current temperature (Oh no, won't be 42 yet. Barely 36 I would think.) Weather People have a perverse fascination for discussing the climate, not just as a conversation filler but through genuine interest. Second Favourite Postman will usually come in with a comment like 'Phew it's hot/cold out there' which provides the opening for me to question things like how much rain has fallen and whether his truck has air conditioning and how good it is. I look forward to these conversations as it provides evidence to me as to whether what outside looks like through my office window is actually what outside feels like.

2. Gary Bell the guy from Canon - is a bristly-moustached gentleman with a bumbly nasal voice who provides our company with toner and printer servicing and who has the exact same conversation with me every single time he calls to speak to the IT Manager. This type of encounter is an example of situations that always stay the same, no matter how much time passes. I know Gary's voice to a tee, know exactly who he wants to speak to every time he phones but without fail, we go through the rapport of him telling me who it is and me asking who he needs to speak with. This is another example of interactions that can exist solely through the phone; when actual physical visits occur, it's almost surreal and neither of you know what to do.

3. The Express Post delivery man - and I do not have a good relationship. This is an example of a forced interaction that I resent with every fibre of my being from the moment I see his truck pull up in front to the moment he dumps the parcels on my desk, asks me to spell my last name and then makes me sign his digital notepad as 'R Humphers' instead of 'R Humphris.' I used to make the effort with the standard boring greetings and 'how-are-you-don't-respond-honestly' queries but now we don't speak. I have a magic buzzer underneath my desk that allows me to unlock the door when there's someone waiting; meaning I'm alerted to his arrival and have time to prepare my stony expression. But if he manages to slip in as other people leave, the only way I realise he's standing directly behind me is when I hear the barcode beep as he scans the package I'm about to take, in which case I'm taken off guard and might accidently exchange pleasantries.


Consequently it's easy to pass off these short and slight encounters as nothing-really; every now and again there might be a conversation or an exchange of eye contact or a witnessing of actions that might take place and you think it holds a lot of significance until the following week when a similar scenario plays out and you forget about the other one, letting it get lost amongst the messy fillings of short term memories.