Vera Peterson received a phone call. The management at the factory where she 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’d retired, and yet they remembered her. Even if it was just a card, it would mean a lot.
The day arrived. Vera dressed up nicely, even put on some lipstick, and set off early to avoid being late. There were six “birthday celebrants” like her, all knowing each other and delighted to reunite. The deputy director gave a speech and handed out envelopes containing a £20 note. Afterward, a woman from HR led them to the factory canteen for lunch. It was a nostalgic meal, reminding them of old canteen days.
At the end, they were each given a “grocery package”: five kinds of 1kg grains, a 2kg bag of flour, three cans of fish, and a 3-liter glass of apple juice.
The gifts were nice, much appreciated, and practical, but how would she carry it all home?
A friendly woman from HR said, “Dear ladies, don’t worry, you can leave something in my office and come back for it later. Nothing will go missing!”
Vera had seen much in life and internally chuckled at the suggestion. Sure, leave it behind and it might disappear!
She decided to take all of it immediately. She always carried a supermarket carrier bag, which claimed it could hold 10 kg. She packed the grains, flour, and cans, taking the juice under her arm. Slowly and carefully, she made her way along the icy pavement.
Vera lived just two bus stops away and had always walked to work. Today was no different; how could she manage the bus with her hands full? It was heavy, but her spirits were high. She didn’t even need the 3 liters of juice; she had plenty at home, but you don’t turn down a gift. And the grains, though unfamiliar like lentils and barley, would be put to use eventually! Reaching the corner, she took a breather.
Now to cross this little road while cars waited at the light. She’d cut across diagonally to save time instead of going to the pedestrian crossing far away. The icy tracks made her tread cautiously.
In the driver’s seat of the fancy car she tried to pass sat a young man with his girlfriend. Perhaps they found it amusing to see her awkwardly crossing, and for some reason, the young man blared his horn sharply, loudly, and suddenly!
Startled, Vera jerked, slipped on the ice, and executed a flailing dance before falling onto the road. The glass broke.
She fell on her bag, bursting two sachets of grains onto the ground. The flour bag split open.
Vera got up, faced the expensive car. Through the wipers brushing snow from the windshield, the young couple was laughing hard, waving her out of the way. They couldn’t hear her through the music blaring inside, only seeing her angry red face. Bending down, presumably to gather her scattered groceries, he honked again. In her mind, something snapped.
She recalled her veteran father’s stories of throwing grenades at Nazi tanks and him teaching her to stand up for herself. Picking up a bag of grains, she poked it to spill the contents, swung it, and launched it at the car’s windshield. Then another bag followed.
The young man honked but dared not exit. Vera hurled the bags one after another. When they were done, she grabbed the flour packet, heaving it onto the car’s roof, where it burst, blanketing it with a snowy sheath. Once her “ammunition” was spent, she lifted the canned goods, holding one as if deciding where to aim, suddenly seeing terror in the driver’s eyes.
They probably looked like those Nazis facing our soldiers. Placing it back in her bag, she dusted her hands, crossed the road, and headed home. Her breathing was easy, her spirits calm. They wouldn’t have eaten those grains anyway, and she had better juice at home, and she’d taught that rascal a lesson her father would’ve been proud of.
The traffic light had been green a while, yet the handsome car was still being circumvented and noticed by amused bypassers. The young man stayed inside, making phone calls. The wipers exhaustedly spread the white silt over the windshield.
That evening, her grandson unexpectedly visited with a cake and champagne. “Gran, I thought you only made delicious pies, but you can take on a tank with a grenade! You’re on YouTube!”
Vera Peterson was now a local legend.
Who knew what the “old guard” could do in moments of desperation? Best not to find out.
