Page 57 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
“What the hell just happened?” I rub the spot where I’m sure it’s already bruised. This is going to put a real damper on how my legs look in fishnets for pole dance classes.
Vance glares over my shoulder where the headsets are. I follow his gaze to where a woman is tossingmyheadset intohercart.
Oh hell no.
“Excuse me.” I shake off Vance’s hands. “That’s mine.”
The woman, an inch taller and twice as large, gives me a once-over, looking like what she sees does not impress her. “Doesn’t look like it.” With an expression of superiority that would make the Queen of England feel like a peasant, she starts to push her cart away.
Oh fuck no.
I sidestep her, grabbing the side of her cart. “You stole that headset out of my hands. I want it back.” I hold my free hand palm up.
She swats it away, leaning into my space. “Last I checked, your hand wasn’t on it, missy.”
My anger boils, narrowing onto this woman like a Death Star laser beam. I can’t believe she just called me missy. That as a woman she would use such sexist language to patronize another woman.
In the back of my mind, I know the headset isn’t worth an altercation. I can just order it later no problem.
But the front of my mind is busy feeling insulted on all kinds of levels. Even my fashion level, seeing as she’s wearing white athletic ankle socks with royal blue Crocs.
Who does that?
“The only reason my hand wasn’t on it was because you hip-checked me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vance frowning, leaning slightly forward then leaning back, as if unsure of what to do. I tighten my grip on the woman’s cart.
She shrugs, her shoulders almost touching her ears due to lack of a neck. “Little girl, if you can’t hack Black Friday, then stay home.”
I might look like a high school student in Vance’s T-shirt, which I knotted at the waist with my jeans and flat sandals, but I straighten to my full five-foot-six height and try to look impressive. “Black Friday refers to sale prices, not WWF style of shopping,ma’am.”
The woman jerks her cart out of my grasp. “Just fuck off, bimbo.”
“Hey now, there’s no need for that.” Vance finally decides to step up, trying to come to my rescue.
Bless him.
But I’m Rose fucking West. I don’t need rescuing.
Tit for tat, I hip-check the woman’s cart into her stomach, making her stumble back into a phone case display. While she steadies herself, I take the headset out of her cart.
“Why you…” Her eyes narrow onto the headset, now in my hands.
“Your hand wasn’t on it.” I cringe internally at my snide remark. Black Friday isnota good look on me.
I register movement at both ends of our aisle and realize a crowd has gathered. Apparently, two women about to brawl is enough to stop even the most formidable bargain shoppers in their tracks.
Vance’s eyes are ping-ponging between Croc Woman and me. It’s amusing enough to break the Black Friday spell I’m under. Sighing, I resign myself to buying the damn headphones online and reach out to toss the headset back in her cart. But before I can, Croc Woman surges forward, fist at the ready.
Bam.
“Ooo, damn!” Someone in the crowd cries out.
Pain surges through my chest as I stagger back, dropping the headset. Slightly hunched over, I grab my right boob with both hands. I tilt my head up, my brain not catching up to what just happened. “Did you just… tit punch me?”
Croc Woman looks completely non-repentant. Vance, whose mouth is hanging open, snaps to, stepping between us, arms out.
“That’s enough.” Tilting his head back he bellows, “Security!”
But my adrenaline is back in full force, pulsing through my system. This isn’t about Black Friday, feminism, questionable fashion choices, or even principles anymore.
