I was furious. Staples’ CD Reader was broken…which means I had to put off printing my business cards AGAIN. Not to mention the fact that I had been on the phone with a sales person from Staples’ Copy Center and she had failed to mention this fact. So I unknowingly made the trek to a different section (a not so nice section) of Brooklyn for these copies…just to find out that it was a pointless trip.

I stepped out of the annoying chain store to discover the rain had started to trickle down. Not too heavily yet, but enough that I was grateful to have stuffed my umbrella into my purse prior to leaving. Grudgingly and with a dozen things on my mind, I opened my umbrella, taking a left turn onto the street. After walking a couple minutes, I realized that nothing I passed looked familiar. There were parking garages and construction zones…mechanics and car shops and other industrial looking businesses. I must have taken a wrong turn.

As I turned to walk the other direction, I saw a small man walking toward me. He had an odd look in his eyes and he irked me; I shrugged it off, thinking I was probably overly touchy and still riding the wave of fury from my Staples interaction. Sure enough, as his shoulder brushed mine, he haphazardly tried to slip my bag from my arm. He was passive about it–gentle almost.

It took me about half a second to realize what was happening and he and I exchanged a moment, looking directly into each other’s eyes. With adrenaline pulsing through my veins, umbrella in one hand, purse in the other, I brought the arm with the umbrella crashing down over his head. The butt of my umbrella (which was shaped like a leopard head) connected with his forehead. I brought it down again and again beating his face until he ran off behind me. I stood there shaking for a minute and when I looked up a couple of construction men were standing only a few feet away.

“You ok, lady?”

I nodded, still shaking a little.

“You sure? I mean, I was gonna jump in, but it seemed to me like you had it handled.”

I laughed, my voice quivering a bit. “Staples couldn’t print my business card.” I don’t know why I chose these words to say. Like it was some sort of explanation–of course the construction worker returned my blank gaze with a confused stare.

It wasn’t until I got home that I noticed the dried blood and the broken spokes on my umbrella. Whoever that kid was–he messed with the wrong chick that day. Maybe he’ll think twice before attempting to rob someone else. Or maybe he’ll just stick to the little old ladies. But I’ve got news for you, kid–when I’m 80, I’ll be no less feisty than I am today.