Hater

my eldest son to the toilet,' she begins as she repacks her bag. No time for niceties, she's straight into her complaint. 'In those five minutes my car was clamped. Now I know that I shouldn't have been parked there, but it was only for five minutes and I was only there because it was absolutely necessary. I want to speak to someone who has the authority to sort this out and I want to speak to them now. I want that clamp removed from my car so I can get my children home.'
    I clear my throat and get ready to try and respond. Suddenly my mouth is dry and my tongue feels twice its normal size. It had to be Leftbank Place, didn't it. It's an area of waste ground just ten minutes walk from our office. Sometimes it feels like just about every other car that's clamped in this town is clamped at Leftbank Place. The enforcement team who cover that area are notorious. Someone told me they're on some kind of performance-related pay scheme - the more cars they clamp each week, the more they get paid. I don't know whether or not that's true but it doesn't help me now. I know I have no choice but to give this woman a stock response from procedures. I also know that she's not going to like it.
    'Madam,' I begin, tensing up in anticipation of her reaction, 'Leftbank Place is a strictly no parking area. The council…'
    She doesn't give me chance to get any further.
    'I'll tell you about the council,' she yells, her voice suddenly uncomfortably loud. 'This bloody council needs to spend less time clamping people and more time making sure that public amenities are in proper working order. The only reason I had to park at bloody Leftbank Place was because the public toilets in Millennium Square have been vandalised! My son has a bowel condition. I didn't have any choice. He couldn't wait any longer.'
    'There must have been other toilets…' I begin to say, instantly regretting having opened my mouth. Christ I hate this job. I wish I was back dealing with rubbish collections, rat infestations or even broken street lamps again. My biggest problem is that it sounds like this woman has been genuinely hard done by and I'd probably have done exactly the same as she did if I'd been out with my kids. It sounds like she's got a fair point and there's nothing I'd like to do more than call off the clampers but I don't have the authority. My options now are bleak; follow procedures and get yelled at again by this lady or get yelled at by Tina Murray if I don't do things by the book. Chances are I'm going to cop it from both of them. Before she can react to my stupid comment I try and cover it up. 'I understand what you're saying, Madam, but…'
    'Do you?' she screams, this time loud enough to wake the baby in the pushchair who starts to whimper and moan. 'Do you really? I don't think you do, because if you did understand you'd be on the phone to someone right now getting that bloody clamp removed from my car so that I can get my children home. They're cold, they're hungry and…'
    'I need to just…'
    'I don't want excuses, I want this dealt with.'
    She's not going to listen. This is pointless. She isn't even going to give me a chance.
    'Madam...'
    'I suggest you go and speak to your superiors and find someone who's prepared to take responsibility for this shoddy mess and come and sort it out. I was forced to park at Leftbank Place because of this council's inefficiencies. I have a son who has a medical condition and I needed to get him to the toilet urgently. If the council had done their job properly in the first place and had made sure the public toilets were in full working order then I wouldn't have been parked there, I wouldn't have been clamped and I wouldn't be stood here now talking to someone who clearly can't or won't do anything to help me. I need to speak to someone who's a little higher up the chain of command than the receptionist so why don't you do us both a favour and go and find someone who is actually prepared to do something before my son needs to use the toilet again.'
    Patronising bitch. I stand and stare at her, feeling myself getting angrier and angrier. But there's nothing I can do…
    'Well?' she snaps.
    'Just give me a minute, madam,' I stammer. I turn and storm back into the office and walk straight into Tina coming the other way.
    'What are you doing in here, Danny?' she asks, her tone of voice as patronising as the woman outside. 'If you're in here, who's manning Reception?'
    She knows full well there's no-one out