U.S. Male

"You care MORE about that mail than the people who mailed it!"
She was going through a stacker of letters – ones which the automated sorting machine had tossed out at the very end of the line, sending them spinning down a chute and into the reject stacker.
She held a black Sharpie marker in her hand, and was using it to cross out incorrect bar codes.
The young man insulting her stood at the end of her machine, watched her for a minute, then shook his head and walked away.
Slamming the envelopes into a mail tray, she looked up and watched the back side of him push a large, heavy cage of mail down the length of the corridor.
Her hand squeezed the marker so hard, its cap flew off.
* * * * * *
"Come on now, Lady, you're holding me up; just give me those trays of mail, so I can go on break!"
"Go on break then, who's stopping you?"
He ripped the baseball cap off his surprising, strawberry blond hair, ran his hand through the thick, tight buzzcut and then suddenly aware of what he was doing, smacked the hat back on his head, and blurted: "I can't go anywhere until I get this cage of mail on the 5:30 truck!"
The two of them glared at each other, and then finally, it burst, and she heard herself yelling, "Go Fuck Yourself!" and realized in one swift instant that she would probably now get fired because the U.S. Postal Service has a zero tolerance policy when it comes to swearing at fellow employees and as her hand flew up to cover her mouth, the young man took a long, hard look at her, probably for the first time ever, threw his head back and laughed.
"Oh my God," he said, when his laughing slowed down and he wiped his eyes.
"Wow!" she replied, suddenly aware that he was not the least bit offended, her job was safe, and something between them had very much changed.