The man saunters into the post office. He stands opposite one of the counters, adjacent to the head of the queue. There are five people waiting, neatly spaced at two metre intervals.
He lets Bakery Lady go up with her takings while he pretends to look at his phone.
Post Office Lady spots him and says: d’you want the post office? the queue’s by there.
He widens his eyes, all exaggerated innocence: oooooh, didn’t realise, been waiting fifteen minutes, you don’t mind do you?
This last addressed to Translator Lady, who’s next in the queue. She bloody well does mind, but what can she do, because he’s already sidled in front of her, and he isn’t wearing a mask. But sweet Jesus, she has murder in her heart.
He stands there smugly, while waves of loathing roll towards him from Post Office Lady and the whole of the queue. King of the Castle, the Guy Everyone Frigging Hates.