Public arguments can end in laughter - Kevin Page

Public arguments can fizzle out as quickly as they flare up, writes Kevin Page. Photo / 123rf

Most of us I’m sure will have been involved in some form of public argument at some time in our lives.

It may have been a tif we have had some vociferous (or otherwise) input into ourselves or it may have been a row we witnessed from afar or, as happened to Mrs P and I this week, one that was a little too close for comfort.

More on that one later. First a bit of history.

In bashing out my ramblings this week I was reminded of my first really big argument – disputes between my brother and I over whose turn it was to ride in the front after school aside – when I was but a cadet reporter more years ago than I care to remember.

Long story short I said something rather unpleasant in response to a comment/directive from a senior journalist but he did not appreciate the straight-shooting manner in which I delivered it.

Consequently, after a few moments of consideration, he decided to, er, shall we say remonstrate with me.

Now at the precise moment he decided he was going to do that I had scarpered to the smoko room at this particular newspaper office.

More importantly, thank goodness, a rather long and wide table was between me and the entry door.

So when he came roaring in, guns blazing, intent – I was certain – on physical retribution he had to come round the table to get to me.

Naturally, because I’ve watched a lot of those silly Benny Hill-type TV chase scenes (remember those? Youngies look up YouTube) I took off in the other direction.

I vividly recall becoming totally cheesed off after a couple of laps of him shouting at me, etc so I screeched to a halt and turned to face my protagonist.

It would be fair to say my 16-year-old fists were clenched and I was shaking.

Thankfully, common sense prevailed, adrenalin levels subsided as quickly as they had ramped up and after a level-headed chat with an intermediary all was well in the world again.

I should add the other bloke remains to this day the best reporter I ever worked with.

He went on to much, much bigger things than laps of a smoko room table and I am privileged to be able to list him as a mentor.

Anyway.

The point of all that was really just to show how quickly things got out of hand and equally quickly how they moved on.

As I said earlier, Mrs P and I were witness to the same thing this week while we were out scouring a few retail establishments where we are parked up at the moment.

It was one of those old corner stores with stuff everywhere. I’m sure you know what I mean.

We are the only ones in the shop, besides the manager, and are working our way through the aisles which are cleverly set up like those rows to the check-in at the airport.

You enter at one point but can only exit 10 miles away after you’ve walked up and back for two hours.

Anyway, we are doing just that when a rather officious looking lady comes in and, somehow, manages to get through the barriers and is now standing at the front counter ahead of us where she’s having a go at the manager.

It seems she’s not happy with the layout of the shop. In her view it’s dangerous and the manager needs to do something about it.

Her voice is rising with each sentence slash accusation.

In response, the manager, who we soon learn is also the owner, lifts her voice an octave or two in defence as she tells the woman the shop has been operating thus for many years with all the appropriate council permits etc. and suggests the woman doesn’t have to shop there if she doesn’t want to.

At this point Mrs P and I are basically stuck a yard or two from this slanging match which shows no sign of fizzling out any time soon.

We only need to get past the complainant and we’re at the exit but the woman is showing no sign of backing down.

She’s been shopping there for years, she yells, and will continue to do so. The manager can’t tell her what to do. Apparently.

The angry customer fires a parting shot. “This is disgraceful,” she yells. “I’m never setting foot in here again.”

With that she turns and marches out. Presumably never to be seen again.

As we shuffle past the front counter and the outside world, the manager offers an apology for the uproar.

Then, just as we reach the exit, the angry customer returns like nothing had happened a bare five minutes earlier.

“I forgot to ask if you have any new jigsaw puzzles in?,” she calls across to the manager, politeness slathered all over the query.

Mrs P and I didn’t wait to hear the reply, although it would have been interesting to have been a fly on the wall at any future conversation, particularly if she’d bought a 1000-piece jigsaw, eventually got to the end and found there was a bit missing.

I bet that would have been more entertaining than watching two blokes chase each other round a smoko room table.

Catch up on the debates that dominated the week by signing up to our Opinion newsletter - a weekly round-up of our best commentary.