Ours was a highly unusual interaction, and it made me question the way that British people speak to one another
I
t was Sunday morning and I was grumpy enough, filling up my mum’s car. It was one of those petrol stations which is also a supermarket, so you run the risk of joining a queue of people bearing baskets of slightly overpriced groceries. This is a dreadful thing to happen when all you want to do is pay for some fuel. Dreadful.
I was fourth in the queue. There was only one person serving, a young woman. There was something unusual about her. When the faffer at the front of the queue had finally paid for his Viakal, his sausage roll and his box of eggs, I could have sworn I heard the cashier wish him a wonderful day. Odd. Perhaps I’d misheard, or maybe she did say it and was being sarcastic. I wondered if she could even be an ally in my fight against faff, sharing my contempt for people who hold up simple fuel-buyers like me.
I moved up to third in the queue. The new leader of our line discharged her fuel-only transaction with commendable speed. And there it was again: “Have a wonderful day.” No, actually, it was “have a wonderful day”. An American? In Stourbridge? She had the accent, and no British person wishes anyone a wonderful day, or even just a nice day. Highly unusual. You don’t get many Americans knocking around Stourbridge, certainly not working in petrol stations or anywhere else.
