Vera Parker received a phone call. The management at the factory where she had worked for 50 years wanted to congratulate her and present her with a gift for her 75th birthday.
She was thrilled! It had been ten years since she retired, and they still remembered her! Even a simple card would be a lovely gesture.
Finally, the day arrived. Vera dressed up nicely, even putting on some lipstick, and left early to make sure she wouldn’t be late. Six retirees, including her, had gathered for the occasion. They all knew each other and were delighted to meet again. The deputy director made a congratulatory speech and handed each of them an envelope containing a ten-pound note. Then, a woman from HR took them to the factory canteen for lunch, reminiscing about the good old factory meals.
At the end, they each received a “hamper” filled with essentials: five kinds of grain, a 2kg bag of flour, three cans of fish, and a large jar of apple juice.
It was all very thoughtful and useful, but how would she get it all home?
The friendly HR lady said, “Dear ladies, don’t worry. You can leave something in my office and come back for it later. It will be safe with me!”
Vera had seen a lot in her life and even chuckled inwardly at the suggestion, thinking, “Sure, leave it with you and then never see it again!”
She decided to take everything in one go. She always had a sturdy shopping bag with her. The bag claimed it could hold 10kg, so she packed the grains, flour, and cans, holding the jar of juice under her arm. She gingerly made her way across the frosty pavement.
Vera lived two bus stops away from the factory and had walked this distance all her life. Today, she chose to walk again—both hands were occupied, after all. It was heavy, yet she felt a warm glow inside. She didn’t really need the jar of juice; she had prepared plenty with this year’s bumper apple crop herself. But since it had been given, it felt wrong not to take it. The grains weren’t part of her usual diet—lentils and barley, some other unfamiliar ones—but they’d come in handy! Vera paused at a corner to catch her breath.
Just a little road to cross now. Cars were waiting at the traffic lights. She thought she’d cut across diagonally rather than walk to the far-off pedestrian crossing. The icy ruts required careful stepping.
At the wheel of a shiny, expensive car that Vera was aiming to cross in front of was a young man with his girlfriend. They probably found it amusing to see an old lady struggling in the road. He suddenly beeped the horn, loud and abrupt!
Vera flinched, lost her balance on the ice, performed a little involuntary dance with arms flailing, and fell onto the road. The jar shattered.
She toppled onto the bag, bursting two pockets of grains that spilled across the ground, and the flour bag tore open.
Vera got back on her feet and faced the posh vehicle. Through the working windscreen wipers clearing snow, the young man and his girlfriend were laughing hysterically and waving, urging her to hurry off the road. They couldn’t hear her angry words over the thudding music inside and their own laughter, but they saw her red, furious face. She bent down to gather her scattered belongings when the young man beeped the horn again. Something snapped inside Vera.
Instantly, she recalled her father’s stories—a war veteran who taught her never to let anyone take advantage. Vera indeed picked up the burst bag of grains. Sticking her finger in to pour some out, she hurled it at the car’s windscreen. Then the next bag followed suit.
The young man kept honking but didn’t dare step out. Vera kept throwing the grains until she ran out, then she took the flour bag and flung it onto the car roof, watching it burst and cover the snow-wet vehicle with a near-perfect layer of whiteness.
Satisfied that she had no “ammunition” left, Vera picked up the tin cans and, holding one as if deliberating where to throw it, suddenly glimpsed the sheer terror in the young man’s eyes. Probably the same eyes the enemy had when they faced her father in battle.
Vera placed the cans in her shopping bag, brushed herself off, crossed the street, and headed home, feeling a sense of peace and accomplishment. They didn’t eat those grains anyway, and her homemade juices were much tastier than store-bought ones. Her father would have been proud of her for standing up to that brat.
The traffic light had long turned green, and cars were maneuvering around the large, beautiful vehicle, drivers smiling as they went. The young man never got out, still frantically calling someone on his phone, as windscreen wipers ineffectively smeared white goo across the glass.
In the evening, her grandson unexpectedly turned up. He brought cake and champagne. “Gran, I thought you only baked delicious pies, but now I know you could handle a tank grenade too! You’re on YouTube!”
Vera Parker had become a local celebrity.
Ah, the folks who underestimate what the “old guard” can do in desperate moments. Best they never find out.
