The fluorescent lights of the Spar supermarket hum overhead, casting a harsh white glow over the aisles of tinned goods, fresh produce, and refrigerated sections. It's early evening, and the shop is moderately busy with customers picking up last-minute items for dinner. Amanda Montgomery stands behind the counter, her Scottish accent softening her customer service voice as she scans items for an elderly woman. The queue behind grows longer. As the elderly woman shuffles away with her shopping, a young man in his early twenties approaches the counter, tossing a four-pack of Stella Artois and two packets of Marlboro cigarettes onto the conveyor belt.
CUSTOMER:
Just these, love. And make it quick, yeah? I've got places to be.
Amanda looks at the items, then at the customer, her expression immediately wary.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
I'm sorry, but I'm going to need to see some identification before I can sell you these items. Company policy, you understand.
CUSTOMER:
What? Are you having a laugh? I don't need to show you anything. Just ring them through.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
I'm afraid I do need to see some ID. You look quite young, and we're required by law to verify the age of anyone who appears to be under twenty-five when purchasing alcohol or tobacco products. It's not personal, it's just the rules we have to follow.
She speaks politely but firmly, her Scottish lilt making her sound almost apologetic despite her resolve.
CUSTOMER:
This is ridiculous. Absolute nonsense. I come in here all the time, and I've never had this problem before. Who do you think you are, asking me for ID like I'm some sort of child?
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
I understand your frustration, sir, but I really do need to see some form of identification. A driver's license, a passport, anything official with your date of birth on it. If you can show me that, I'll be happy to complete your purchase.
CUSTOMER:
I don't have any bloody ID on me! I left it at home! But I'm old enough, I can assure you of that. I'm twenty-three, not that it's any of your business. Now just sell me the beer and fags and stop wasting my time!
His voice is rising now, and other customers in the queue are starting to shift uncomfortably, exchanging glances.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
I'm very sorry, but without seeing proper identification, I can't sell you these items. It's not that I don't believe you, it's just that I could lose my job if I don't follow the proper procedures. I'm sure you understand that I'm just trying to do what's right here.
CUSTOMER:
Do what's right? You're being a jobsworth, that's what you're being! A bloody jobsworth! It's beer and cigarettes, not weapons-grade plutonium! What's the harm in just letting it slide this once?
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
The harm is that I could be fined, the shop could be fined, and I could lose my position here. I need this job, sir. I'm putting myself through college, and I can't afford to jeopardize that. So please, either show me your ID or I'll have to ask you to leave those items here.
The customer's face is flushing red now, and he leans forward across the counter, getting uncomfortably close to Amanda's personal space.
CUSTOMER:
Listen here, you little Scottish bitch. I don't know who you think you are, coming down here to England and telling English people what they can and can't buy in their own bloody country. This is ridiculous! You're on some sort of power trip, aren't you? Getting off on telling people no. Well, I've had enough of it! Ring these through right now, or I'll make sure your manager hears about this!
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step back and lower your voice. You're being aggressive and it's making me uncomfortable. I've explained the policy clearly, and I'm not going to change my mind no matter how much you shout at me. If you'd like to speak to my manager, that's absolutely fine, but he's going to tell you exactly the same thing I've told you.
CUSTOMER:
Don't tell me what to do! Don't you dare tell me what to do! You think you're so much better than everyone else, don't you? With your policies and your rules and your sanctimonious attitude! You're nothing but a minimum wage checkout girl with delusions of grandeur!
He slams his fist down on the counter, making the cigarettes jump. The queue behind him has grown silent, everyone watching the confrontation unfold. Some customers look away, embarrassed. Others watch with morbid fascination.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. You're being abusive and disruptive, and I won't tolerate being spoken to like this. Please take your business elsewhere.
Her voice wavers slightly, betraying her nervousness despite her brave front.
CUSTOMER:
I'm not going anywhere until I get what I came for! You think you can just throw me out? I'm a paying customer! I have rights!
From the back of the queue, Anthony Howard has been watching this entire exchange with growing irritation. He's been holding a basket containing a loaf of bread, a tin of baked beans, some bacon, eggs, and a newspaper. His cockney accent cuts through the tension like a knife.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
Oi! You! Yeah, you, sunshine! The one having a go at the young lady! How about you wind your neck in and behave yourself, yeah? She's doing her job, and doing it properly by the looks of it. You're the one making a right spectacle of yourself, carrying on like a toddler who's been told he can't have sweeties before dinner!
The customer whirls around to face Anthony, his expression a mixture of surprise and indignation.
CUSTOMER:
Who the hell are you? This has got nothing to do with you, mate. Mind your own business and stay out of it!
ANTHONY HOWARD:
It's got everything to do with me when you're holding up the queue and terrorizing a young girl who's just trying to earn an honest living. She's asked you politely—more politely than you deserve, I might add—to show some ID or sling your hook. You've got neither the ID nor the manners, so how about you take yourself off before this gets embarrassing for you?
Anthony steps forward, setting his basket down on a nearby shelf. He's not particularly tall, but there's something about his bearing that suggests he's no stranger to confrontation.
CUSTOMER:
Embarrassing for me? You're the one who should be embarrassed, sticking your nose in where it don't belong! This is between me and her, not you! So why don't you just back off and wait your turn like everyone else!
ANTHONY HOWARD:
See, here's the thing, sunshine. I've been waiting my turn. Very patiently, I might add. But watching you abuse this young lady is testing my patience something chronic. She's told you the score. You don't like it, that's your problem. But you don't get to take it out on her. That ain't how this works. That ain't how any of this works.
CUSTOMER:
And what are you going to do about it if I don't leave? Huh? What are you going to do, old man?
The insult hangs in the air. Anthony's expression doesn't change, but something hardens in his eyes.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
Old man? That's what you're going with, is it? Let me tell you something, son. I've been in more scraps than you've had hot dinners. I've dealt with gobby little toerags like you since before you were a twinkle in your father's eye. Now, I'm going to give you one more chance—and this is me being generous here—to apologize to this young lady, pick up your attitude problem, and walk out of here with what's left of your dignity intact. What do you say to that?
CUSTOMER:
I say you can go fuck yourself! How about that? How about you and this Scottish cow both go fuck yourselves! I don't need this! I don't need any of this!
He reaches across the counter as if to grab the beer and cigarettes anyway. Anthony moves with surprising speed for someone his size, grabbing the customer's wrist.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
Now that was a mistake, sunshine. A big mistake. I gave you a chance to walk away, and you chose to make it worse. You chose to put your hands on shop property after being told no, and you chose to continue being abusive. Well, you've made your bed, mate. Now you're going to lie in it.
CUSTOMER:
Get your hands off me! Get your fucking hands off me right now!
He wrenches his arm free and shoves Anthony hard in the chest. It's an aggressive, two-handed push that sends Anthony back a step. The shop goes completely silent. Even the background music seems to fade away.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
Right. That's it. You've just crossed a line, son. You've gone from being a mouthy little prat to committing assault. And now I'm going to show you what happens when you push the wrong person.
What follows happens so quickly that many of the customers will later struggle to describe the exact sequence of events. Anthony lunges forward with a straight right hand that catches the customer square on the jaw. The crack is audible throughout the shop. The customer staggers backward, his eyes wide with shock, but Anthony doesn't give him a chance to recover. He follows up with a left hook to the ribs, then another right hand to the face. The customer tries to raise his hands to defend himself, but Anthony is relentless.
CUSTOMER:
Stop! Stop it! I'm sorry! I'm—
His words are cut off as Anthony lands another heavy punch to his jaw. The customer's knees buckle, but Anthony grabs him by the shirt to hold him up, then delivers another punch. And another. The customer's face is bleeding now, his lip split, his nose streaming blood. His attempts to defend himself are feeble and uncoordinated.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
Anthony! Anthony, that's enough! You're going to kill him!
But Anthony doesn't seem to hear her. He's in some kind of zone now, his face set in grim determination. He releases the customer's shirt, and the young man crumples to the floor. Anthony follows him down, kneeling beside him and landing two more heavy punches to the side of his head. The customer is barely conscious now, his arms flopping uselessly as he tries to protect himself.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
You don't... talk to... women... like that! You don't... put your hands... on people! You don't... disrespect... working folk... who are just... trying to do... their jobs!
Each phrase is punctuated with another punch. Other customers are shouting now, telling him to stop, but nobody moves to intervene. Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is probably only fifteen or twenty seconds, Anthony lands one final, devastating punch directly to the customer's jaw. There's another sickening crack, and the customer goes completely limp.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
There. That's what you get. That's what you bloody well get.
He stands up slowly, breathing heavily, his knuckles scraped and bleeding. He looks around at the shocked faces of the other customers, then down at the unconscious man on the floor. The customer's jaw is already swelling grotesquely, clearly broken. His face is a mess of blood and rapidly forming bruises.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
Right then. Someone call an ambulance. And the police too, if you like. I ain't going nowhere. But he asked for it. You all saw that. He put his hands on me first. Self-defense, that's what that was. Self-defense and teaching a valuable lesson about respect.
He walks back to where the customer had been standing and picks up the four-pack of Stella and the cigarettes. He looks at them for a moment, then walks back to the unconscious man and drops them onto his chest.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
There you go, sunshine. Your beer and your fags. Hope they were worth it. Hope they were worth getting your jaw broken and your face rearranged. Because that's what you've got now. That's your prize for being a disrespectful little shit.
Amanda has come out from behind the counter, her face pale but her expression determined. She crouches beside the unconscious customer, checking his pulse.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
He's alive. His pulse is strong. But you're right, we need an ambulance. His jaw is definitely broken, and he might have a concussion or worse.
Another customer has already picked up the shop's phone and is dialing 999, speaking rapidly to the emergency operator.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
Is he breathing properly? Make sure his airway is clear. If his jaw's broken, sometimes the tongue can obstruct the breathing.
Amanda checks, then nods.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
He's breathing fine. But Anthony, what were you thinking? You could have killed him! You could go to prison for this!
ANTHONY HOWARD:
I was thinking that nobody deserves to be spoken to the way he was speaking to you. I was thinking that some people need to learn that actions have consequences. And I was thinking that I've had just about enough of seeing decent people being abused by entitled little pricks who think the world owes them something.
He flexes his fingers, wincing at the pain in his knuckles.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
Thank you for defending me. I mean it. That was... well, it was terrifying, but it was also the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long time. Nobody's ever stood up for me like that before.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
You don't need to thank me, darling. You were doing your job properly, following the rules, being professional. He was the one in the wrong. He was the one who escalated it. All I did was show him that there are still people in this world who won't stand by and watch someone be abused.
The sound of sirens can be heard in the distance, growing louder. Other customers have started to drift away, not wanting to be involved when the police arrive. A few remain, clearly intending to give witness statements.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
You should probably pick up your shopping. Before the police get here. Get what you came for.
Anthony nods and retrieves his basket from the shelf where he left it. He walks to the counter and begins placing his items on the conveyor belt. Amanda hurries back behind the counter and starts scanning them through, her hands trembling slightly.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
Steady on, love. It's all over now. He's not going to bother you again, I can promise you that. And even if the police give me grief for it, it was worth it. Absolutely worth it.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
Your total comes to... let me just... actually, you know what? I'm giving you a discount. A significant discount. For helping me. For standing up for me when nobody else would.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
You don't have to do that, darling. I didn't do it for a reward or a discount. I did it because it was the right thing to do.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
I know I don't have to. But I want to. Consider it a thank you from a grateful Scottish girl who's never had a proper English gentleman defend her honor before.
She applies the staff discount to his shopping, reducing the total by thirty percent.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
Well, if you're sure. That's very kind of you. Very kind indeed. Though I'm not sure "gentleman" is the right word after what you just witnessed. More like "violent thug" if we're being honest.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
You're no thug. A thug would have started hitting him for no reason. You only acted after he pushed you. After he put his hands on you first. That's self-defense in my book.
The sirens are very close now. Blue lights flash through the shop windows. Anthony pays for his shopping, and Amanda bags it up for him.
AMANDA MONTGOMERY:
If the police ask me what happened, I'm going to tell them the truth. That this man was aggressive and abusive, that he refused to leave when asked, that he assaulted you first, and that you defended yourself. I'll make sure they know that you were trying to help me.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
I appreciate that, darling. I really do. Though I suspect they might take a dim view of just how enthusiastically I defended myself. Might have taken it a bit far, in hindsight. But you know what? I don't regret it. Not one bit. He needed to learn a lesson, and I was happy to be the teacher.
Paramedics burst through the door, followed closely by two police officers. They immediately attend to the unconscious customer, while the officers begin taking statements. Anthony sets his shopping bag down and raises his hands slightly, making it clear he's not a threat.
ANTHONY HOWARD:
That was me, officers. I'm the one who did that. He pushed me first, and I responded. Self-defense, though I'll admit I might have taken it further than strictly necessary. But he had it coming. You ask anyone here. They'll tell you.
As the police begin to question him, Amanda watches from behind the counter, her expression a mixture of concern and gratitude. The unconscious customer is being loaded onto a stretcher, his broken jaw carefully stabilized by the paramedics. The shop, so ordinary just twenty minutes ago, has been transformed into a crime scene. But Anthony Howard stands tall, his cockney pride intact, ready to face whatever consequences might come from defending a young Scottish woman who was just trying to do her job.