Member-only story
Vigilante Justice
Is it sometimes the best answer?
I am working in the produce section of a grocery store. It’s early and there are few customers. I feel a presence behind me, and before I have a chance to even move, a man’s body is pressing into my back. He grabs my breasts, and he licks the inside of my ear. I scream and pull away, running to the ladies’ restroom, where I stand at the sink crying and washing my defiled ear over and over again. My attacker? The Produce Manager.
Of course, I complain to the store manager, my boss. He laughs. He sees no harm done. He tells me to get over it. Then, later in the day, when I am alone in the employees’ break room, the store manager comes in, pushes me against the wall, and “feels me up.”
I go home and tell my father, who is a cop. He tells me to do nothing about it. He tells me that he has seen cases like mine go to court, and the only result is a woman shamed and a man exonerated. I feel betrayed.
My uncle overhears the conversation. He has always been a rebel. Also, my uncle loves me unconditionally, and has always been there for me.
When I return to work the next day, I overhear the produce manager complaining to the store manager that his Cadillac (the car that is his pride and joy) has been damaged in the store parking lot. He is trying to push the grocery…
