Big, bad bullies

I am sick of self-important people with no authority telling me what to do. Maybe it’s because I look 16 years old (I’m actually 23) that random strangers think they are entitled to push me around. Still, there are too many people who think their business is other people’s business.

My annoyance was recently provoked at the Reno main post office. Being the RN&R’s resident intern, I get the unpleasant job of asking people questions for Streetalk. Believe me, nobody wants this job. The public can be disagreeable enough, but at the post office I had to deal with a tall, mustachioed dolt who told me I couldn’t even talk to the public.

I had just finished telling six people to “Go ahead and rant” [See Streetalk, page 5], enough fortunately for the column, when the dolt stepped directly in front of me, violating my two-foot area of personal space. He looked at my hands, tried peering inside my bag and began reprimanding me.

“What are you selling? Didn’t you know there is no soliciting on post office premises? Didn’t you see the sign when you came in?”

Understanding these sorts of rules, I explained that I was not selling anything, looking for donations or requesting signatures. I politely said that I worked for a local newspaper, and I was just asking people to rant about anything that bothered them. Failing to understand my simple and articulate speech, he said, “You’re handing out pamphlets, let me see.”

Again, I explained my purpose and the man, barely catching on, made me tell him what people had been saying. His spit landed on my arm, and his eyes gleamed from the rush he was obviously getting from bullying me. I am sure he was expecting to hear that people had been saying nasty things about his precious post office, but in fact few had mentioned the place.

He took the RN&R’s phone number and informed me that I could not speak to anyone until he came back. After five minutes, he returned and flashed a piece of paper in my face that apparently mentioned something about solicitations and commercial businesses—both of which were unrelated to my purpose—and then insisted that I leave. When I asked for a copy of the paper, I was told it was meant only for the eyes of postal workers.

I’m sure if I had been asking people something different like, “What do you like about postal employees, particularly the tall, tyrannical-looking guy with the mustache?” he would have let me continue. That not being the case, he thought he’d indulge himself with an officious power trip.

This guy is not the only person I have encountered in recent weeks who thought I was worth ordering around. There is a grumpy old man with a straw hat who sits outside a building at the University of Nevada, Reno, and watches people park their cars. If you park in a spot without the correct permit—which I admittedly have done, willing to leave my fate to the meter attendants—he will wait till you are almost inside and then tell you he wants you to move your car.

And the other day I was at the grocery store, buying granola from a bin, and upon testing a teaspoonful to see if I liked it, a woman shopper said, “You’re not supposed to do that.”

I’m not sure if she thought she was doing the store a favor, or if she just hadn’t bossed someone around in a while, but why would she ever think it was acceptable to tell a total stranger what to do? Come on, people, mind your own business!

Miranda Jesch, a senior in the English department at the University of Nevada, Reno, is the RN&R’s summer intern.

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