Joan was an independent young woman. She liked to go shopping early at her favorite grocery store. They had fish at decent prices, well “decent” when they had been offered for sale at a great price when various pieces of fish were reduced in price for quicker sales. She had been sold on nice looking cuts of lamb before only to find they had been on the shelf too long and were tough besides. She liked to eat good food, but hated over-paying. Her middle name was frugal.
Joan had just arrived at the store for whatever good dinner prices she could find on a late, late Friday afternoon. She had guests coming over in an hour or two, so she was just gathering what she needed to prepare and serve. She was in her car when she saw what she believed to be a possible robbery in the making. There was an old van that had seen better care in robbery circles. The words “better care” and “circles” struck home. There were two people in the front seat with collars pulled up and knitted hats pulled down. They not only looked weird, but you could feel the dishonesty in the air.
Her mind went into action. She wore a black skirt, and a black shawl over a white blouse. She had just come from Costco where she had scored big time on a brand-new hair dryer with a clear headset that would work miracles. Actually, it looked like an everyday automatic weapon. Joan thought, “if this is what I think it is going on right now, I bet the bad guys wouldn’t expect a fake Irish Nun to have a .45 revolver hidden in a nunnery costume” . . . well, hopefully not anyway.
In less than two minutes Joan was walking into the grocery store where most of the action was not going on, yet. She was able to recognize and view the fake delivery people and create a little mental map to get her near the cash drawers where the action should be going on.
Once close in she stumbled loudly on purpose forward and all eyes turned to her. She said, “Faith and begorra” or some sort of fake Irish language that she had seen several times on TV. She then said, “Oh mighty God”, bowed a little bit and then shoved her empty “.45” in the crotch of the man she figured must be the instigator boss. Ms. Fake Nun screamed loud enough for everyone to her “Everyone get on your phones and call for every police officer within two miles of here including the ferry to Vashon Island. At the mention of Vashon Island, the leader lost all pluck and handed over his pistol and raised his hands. Vashon must have been the get-a-way trail. His buddies followed suit. The next day the Tacoma News Tribune published almost an entire page. Shoppers had taken all kinds of photos of the robbery attempt and the nun who saved the day.
When the police arrived, people stopped chatting but asked and answered questions. One of the first officers made sure the bad guys’ guns were picked up. The get-away truck was quickly circled and the two fakers inside surrendered. The main policeman took Joan’s “.45 automatic” and tried to release the clip. Joan shrugged her shoulders and said, “It was getting dark and I couldn’t see the bullets to load a clip.” The policeman looked at her in shock and said, “You captured robbers with an empty gun?” Joan responded “As Father Dunnagin would say, “Take what you’re given.”
