On why I hate old men in post offices with a postcard in their hand

I being a man of old thoughts and beliefs was entering the post office to send some money to my parents. And it was near the huge red post box that adorns most post offices that I met him.

“Sir, I cannot read or write, could you help me write a letter,” he said.

The man`s brashness upset me, and I almost ended up suggesting that it was not hard to guess his educational background.

Anyways, the good in me took over, and I readily agreed to do him the favor. We went inside the post office, and I started writing the letter on the post card he gave me.

The old man dictated as if he was some corporate honcho and I went about my job as if I were Lily, the silly.

“Here, you go old man. Your letter is complete,” I said after I finished.

“Just the address sir,” he requested.

“Fine,” an indignant me replied.

After I was finished with writing the address, he had another request.

“Sir, could you please sign at the end of the letter. My name is Mohana Karrupan.”

I had given up resistance, and went about signing his name.

I saw a smile on the old man`s face. I was happy, that I had done my good deed of the day. But the old man`s smile slowly vanished…and he seemed worried.

“Now what?” I asked.

He said, “nothing sir. Just wanted you to add a line at the end of the letter.”

“What line?” It was about to blow my top.

“Just that I am in a hurry, and hence the bad hand writing,” the old man announced.