It always amazes me how soon the news hits home. How quickly the tears come. I suppose the uniform puts them on alert from the start. Makes them nervous. Wary.
I do get a kick out of it, telling them how little Sally got run over outside of school, how their husband had suffered a fatal heart-attack or how their mother had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck.
I have never repeated myself and I am proud of that. It is a challenge to keep it fresh yet plausible.
I always dress like a local police officer and stand stiff after rapping on the door.
I keep my hat on so that I can remove it while delivering the news, ‘I am sorry to have to inform you ma’am…’
I do my research, check out their social media, stake out the building for a few days.
There is no profit in it of course, just a hobby. A bit of harmless fun at the weekends. A job well done is its own reward.
My pockets are stocked with tissues. I am never hesitant to give a sympathetic hug.
It’s hard to keep a straight face at times.