Wherever she went, Jenny never failed to turn heads. She dressed in such a way that the entire staff of the grocery shop where she worked as a cashier would quietly stifle their laughter. A plump, ginger-haired woman in her thirties, she had an insatiable sweet tooth, and a packet of sweets always lay by her till.
Her love for gaudy jewellery and flashy clothes far outweighed any sense of restraint. Customers often froze, staring at the woman perched behind the counter, her fiery curls piled high and adorned with ribbons, clips, and bows. Jenny always wore outrageously bright blouses and scarves, with a ring on every finger—as if she carried Christmas with her all year round.
Yet, the one redeeming quality in her character was an utter inability to take offence. No matter how people mocked her or urged her to dress more sensibly and lay off the sweets, she would only laugh airily, wave her bejewelled hand, and pop another toffee into her mouth.
Jenny was excellent at her job—precise, polite, always smiling, with a kind word for everyone. Customers left happy, warmed by her broad, white-toothed grin and well-wishes for health and love, and on their next visit, they’d seek out her till, where the cheerful, ginger-haired cashier sparkled in all her glory.
Not a single complaint, not one reprimand—only gratitude from customers. Management praised her for her work but failed to convince her to tone down her attire. So, they tolerated her eccentricities.
No one knew that beneath her cheerful exterior, Jenny carried a hidden fear—and in her handbag, a stun gun.
Five years earlier, late one evening, a gang of lads had attacked her, beaten her, and stolen her mobile, money, and jewellery. She still remembered crawling home in the rain, wiping blood and water from her face, the terror and pain she had felt.
After that night, Jenny never left the house without her stun gun. She told no one, hiding her fear behind laughter and ever more flamboyant outfits. She feared young men and the dark, but to the world, she was nothing more than a scatterbrained oddity.
Then came the day Jenny had her own heroic moment.
On her day off, she decided to stroll through town, browsing for new outfits. What else was a single, independent woman to do but treat herself? So there she sat on the bus, lost in dreams of shopping, oblivious to three lads—barely more than boys—who boarded at a stop.
The bus was passing through a deserted stretch near the park when the lads sprang up. “Stay still, you lot! No sudden moves! Wallets, phones, jewellery—hand ’em over! No funny business!” they barked, brandishing knives. One pressed a blade to the driver’s throat while the other two began collecting their spoils.
The terrified passengers obeyed without protest.
Jenny, realising what was happening, was gripped by that same sickening fear. Clutching her handbag, she fought to steady herself. One thought raced through her mind: “Robbed again… Why me? Why? God, help me!”
She remembered that dark, damp evening, the blows to her body and face, the helplessness, the humiliation. And then—she grew angry. Angry at herself, at the silent passengers giving in to these young thugs.
In difficult moments, sweets had always been her salvation. A couple of toffees, and a solution would come to her. This time, her hand, fumbling in her bag for sweets, brushed against the stun gun.
What she did next surprised even herself.
She gripped the stun gun, flicked the switch, and when one robber leaned in, she yanked her hand from her bag and jabbed the device into his stomach—right where his ridiculous T-shirt bore some printed nonsense.
The lad shrieked, collapsed, twitched, and lay still. No one understood what had happened. Jenny hid the stun gun, feigned panic, but the man beside her coughed approvingly, looking away to hide his delight. The second robber rushed over—only to get a shock to the neck.
The driver, quick-witted, slammed on the brakes and wrestled the third lad into submission. Passengers, now emboldened, helped tie up the incapacitated thieves.
When the police arrived, they could hardly believe that the one who’d subdued the criminals was a plump woman in a garish blouse, with absurd bows in her towering red hair.
At work, Jenny never breathed a word of her deed. But she noticed, for the first time in years, that the clinging fear had left her soul—and she walked home in the dark without a tremor.
She was awarded a commendation for apprehending dangerous criminals, much to the shock of her colleagues. The police captain presenting it held her hand a little too long, gazing into her blue, misty eyes. Strangely, he didn’t seem to notice the rings or the tasteless blouse.
All he saw was a woman.
