Pollution Solution

You could hear a pin drop. An aisle in a huge discount store should be teeming with the sound of a place that supplies everything a household might need. This aisle was dead silent. Halfway down the aisle there was an older lady riding an electric scooter with a half full basket. Right in front of her was a young man with a push cart and three huge packages he was in the process of putting in an already overstuffed cart. He stood frozen staring down the barrel of a pistol the old woman was pointing at him. It looked disproportionally large for her hand, yet she held it steady while aiming at what appeared to be the man’s groin area. Every few seconds she would adjust the pistol. Cycling from his groin to his chest (upper right where his heart was) and finally his face. It seemed she was, if she fired, ensuring she hit a vital part of his body.

She was wearing a skirt that revealed a pair of knee high stockings and an ugly pair of orthopedic or diabetic shoes. Her hair was what appeared to be freshly coiffed as from a beauty parlor. Her makeup was perfect, also with a beauty parlor demeanor to it. Her overall appearances suggested she might be in her ‘70’s or ‘80’s. She had a scowl on her face as she wielded the firearm.

Her target seemed to be in his ‘20’s with a Fu Manchu moustache and a three day growth of beard. Scraggly would what a post office wanted poster might describe it. He wore a baseball cap sideways on his head with the letters FTW in gothic script, and a sleeveless t-shirt with the logo from what had to be a Metal band emblazoned on the front. His jeans were full of holes and rips but not in a store bought sense. They were more like an old pair of pants that had been worn too long and thrown in the corner. He had ratty looking steel toed boots with the leather on one of the toes worn off. The jeans were stuffed inside cuffs tucked into them in a half blouse.

“Young sir, I will need you to put most of what you have in your basket back on the shelves. Now.” She spoke in a cultured accent, much the same as someone’s grandmother might. She looked directly at the man with a stern glance. He loosened up a bit and started to complain

.

“You have chosen to fill your basket with what must be much more that you need. There are many people currently doing without due to this practice you are participating in at the moment. I observed you glaring in a threatening manner at that young couple and their child. You pushed your way past them and took the last package of the item they were reaching for. I dislike rude people. I also dislike ill-mannered younger people. You appear to fit both those descriptions. Are you married with children at home?”

“No you old bitch! Get that fuc…”

BLAM!

The old woman shot the package in his right hand making it burst in what seemed like a white snowfall. Everyone in the aisle dropped to the floor. The man froze for a moment and then looked to see if he had been shot. There was a spot on his forearm that was trickling blood.

“Now this is a Smith & Wesson Governor. It is what is called a .410 Bore Gun. Some call it a “shotgun pistol” but that is not entirely accurate. One of the features of this particular firearm is that it can fire a .410 shotgun round; I used a bird shot round on you to lessen the impact. It also has the ability to fire a 45 caliber bullet. The next round in this pistol is a 230 grain jacketed hollow point which is an awful large amount of punch. Now if I am forced to use it I will reach into my purse and drop a .25 automatic next to your body…after I put it in your hand to ensure only your fingerprints will be found. I will tell the folks on the aisle to leave and find the nice police officer that is in the front to come assist me. They will all probably scatter to the winds, and you will be left here on the floor…dead. My deceased husband was a criminal judge for fifty years. He saw to it that myself and my five children, all attorneys, knew how to shoot and are all permitted to carry the firearms on their persons.

Now it looks like you have a knife on your belt. Why don’t you go to the bandage aisle and get something to wrap that arm of yours. Then it would be prudent go to the men’s room, dig that small birdshot pellet out, and bandage it. Use something to clean the wound first. Then you can go find some other place to go and act like a barbarian.”

She reached her thumb up and pulled back the hammer

.

“Y-y-yes Ma’am.” The wannabe barbarian said and turned to leave

“And dear, leave the shopping cart here so these folks can find what they came for in the first place.” She pressed the lever to make the cart move, stopping by the barbarian’s basket to retrieve a four pack of Charmin.