My Cardboard Balcony

My Helmet Cracked by Belinda Roddie My helmet cracked as I toppled off my bicycle and slammed into the asphalt. I thought for sure that I was set to die, to shuffle off this life and taste the salt beneath the earth's crust. No! I was okay; my helmet has served its purpose quite well, protecting me from brain damage today, a shield for my dear, vulnerable skull. My legs were scraped up badly, and my arms were bruised, but no broken bones, certainly not a broken head. I was hardly harmed, though I limped back home less than happily. My helmet was my new hero, although I'd have to buy a new one tomorrow.

The customer faulted me for the bad product, which of course infuriated me. It was not up to me to check every box to see if a blender of microwave operated properly; that was on the manufacturer, not the cashier. And yet, here I was, staring down my scrawny manager, who drummed his fingers up and down the armrest of his chair like he was about to die at any moment. "I might have to write you up for this," he warned me. I scrunched up my nose. "That's fucking stupid."