Vera Thompson received a phone call. The management of the factory, where she worked for 50 years, wanted to congratulate her and give her a present for her 75th birthday.
How delighted she was! It’s been a decade since she retired, and yet they remembered her! Even if it’s just a card, it would be a lovely gesture.
The day arrived. Vera dressed up, even put on some lipstick, and left early to avoid being late. There were six “birthday celebrants” like her, all familiar faces, and they were thrilled to meet again! The Deputy Director delivered a congratulatory speech and handed out envelopes with £20 notes. Then a lady from HR led them to lunch at the factory cafeteria, revisiting the taste of the factory meals.
At the end, they were each given a “grocery pack”: five types of grains, a bag of flour, three tins of fish, and a glass bottle of apple juice.
All these were useful, but how was she to carry everything home?
A kind woman from HR said, “Dear ladies, don’t worry; you can leave something in my office and come back for it later. Don’t fret; nothing will go missing!”
Vera, having seen much in her life, inwardly chuckled at the offer. Sure, leave it with you and never see it again!
She resolved to take everything at once. She always had a shopping bag with her, capable of holding 10 kg. She packed the grains, flour, and tins, and took the juice bottle under her arm. Careful not to slip on the icy pavement, she headed out.
Vera lived two blocks from the factory and always walked. Today was no different—how could she get on a bus with both hands full? The load was heavy, but she felt joyful. She didn’t even need the juice; she had plenty of her own, but since it was a gift, she took it!
Some of the grains she wasn’t accustomed to—lentils and barley, and another unfamiliar one. No matter, it would all be useful. Vera reached the corner and rested a moment.
Now, she’d cross the little road, where cars were waiting for the traffic light. She took a diagonal path, closer than the pedestrian crossing. Ice made the road tricky.
In a sleek car she’d tried to cross in front of, sat a young man and his girlfriend. Finding humor in the old lady’s struggle, he honked loudly and unexpectedly!
Vera flinched, slipped on the ice, legs and arms in a flurry, and fell. The bottle shattered.
She landed on the bag, bursting two grain packets, spilling them onto the street. The flour bag split too.
Vera stood, faced the sleek car. Through whirling wipers, the young man and his girlfriend laughed and waved her off the road. They didn’t hear her angry words through their laughter and blaring music. Bending down to gather her things, he honked again. Something snapped inside her.
Her father’s wartime tales flashed—how he taught her to never stand for disrespect. Vera picked a grain packet, punctured it to let grains pour, and hurled it at the car’s windscreen. Then another packet.
The young man honked but dared not step out. Vera kept throwing; once grains ran out, she flung the flour bag onto the car’s roof, covering it in a snowy layer. With her “ammo” spent, she grabbed the tins, eyeing where to aim next, until she saw sheer fear in his eyes.
She imagined the terror of soldiers facing her father. Retracting, she returned the tins to her bag, brushed off her hands, and crossed the road. Her heart felt light; peace filled her soul. These grains weren’t their taste anyhow, and she had plenty of superior homemade juices. That brat got what he deserved; her father would’ve been proud.
The light had long turned green; cars maneuvered around the expensive car, drivers smirking. The young man stayed inside, making phone calls. The wipers smeared white mush across the windscreen.
That evening, her grandson unexpectedly showed up with cake and champagne. “Grandma, I thought you only baked delicious pies, but you could take on a whole tank with a grenade! You’re on YouTube now!”
Vera Thompson, the local celebrity.
Oh, who knows what the “old guard” is capable of in moments of desperation? It’s better not to find out.
