independence
Regular Member
Still catching up on my open carry stories...Here's a negative one that happened to me about 4 or 5 months ago.
I was at a gas station in a small town, OCing a .357 when an older guy using the opposite side of the pump starts muttering something unintelligible in a very gravelly, raspy voice. Then, he starts saying it louder. I could hear it now: "Thra fuftuh SEvun???!!!!!" He kept saying it over and over wildly and shaking his head. It was really hard for me to make out but I finally figured out that it referred to the caliber of the handgun I was carrying. Then, he started adding to it stuff like: "Whize anybudy gotta carrya thra fufty SEvun???!!!....CRAaaazy....Maaaan....thra fufty SEvun???....Whide anybudy need a thra fufty SEvun????!!!!..."
I found this mildy amusing until he started walking towards me very slowly - kinda shuffling like a zombie and still muttering the 357 nonsense. I had kids in the car and became very uneasy about things at the point he stepped onto the concrete island and into my face.
Now this was an older guy and I could see that there were no weapons in his hands, but I decided things had escalated to a point where I needed to react. I put out my weak hand and said something like "Hey! Stop! Back off!" I did *not* place my strong hand on my gun at that point, but left it hanging at my side in case I needed it. I also retreated. I walked backwards like 5 steps from where I was standing pumping gas (driver's side) over to the open driver's door, while remaining facing the threat.
At that point, my zombie friend slowly turned a right angle like some kind of robot and again started slowly coming towards my new position. Then, one of my children popped their head out of the open driver's door area, and said, "What's going on, Dad?" I said to get back in the car "now". All this happened in an instant, I guess. Mr. Zombie shuffled up in my face again but this time I not only put my weak hand out and told him to get back, but I also placed my strong hand on the grip of my handgun. I did *not* pull it from the holster.
At that moment, I felt that I was delicately balanced in that place where one wants to wait until the very last second to use force, but one does not want to wait too long and end up dead. If I did have to use force, it might not have to be the gun, it could just be a kick or a push. But I was now at the point where if he advanced toward me one more millimeter I would have to do something. I had waited until the very last possible second.
He stopped. He didn't seem to look at anything but my eyes. Pretty creepy, actually. He didn't even glance for a second at my hand on my firearm. He just stood there with my weak hand outstretched in front of him defensively. Time stopped and I think I might have prayed silently.
A few more nonsensical mutterings later, he slowly turned away and did his little zombie shuffle all the way back to his car and left.
Was he drunk? I dont know. Is it odd that he was able to identify the caliber but seemed to be a gun hater? Yes. Was this just his twisted strategy to try and intimidate an open carrier? I don't know. What was his problem? I don't know, but he was definitely not behaving normally.
It scared my kids. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you it scared me, too.
I've went over it in my mind and critiqued myself. I think I could have been more authoritative in my tone of voice. But I mean, the hardest part is that I don't really want to push an old man and have him fall on the ground with a cracked head. Hard to get past that. Also, driving away would have required turning my back to him in order to get in the driver's seat, not to mention the problem of the nozzle still connected to my car. I think my biggest take away from this though, is the importance of training my children how to react when in a threatening situation.
I was at a gas station in a small town, OCing a .357 when an older guy using the opposite side of the pump starts muttering something unintelligible in a very gravelly, raspy voice. Then, he starts saying it louder. I could hear it now: "Thra fuftuh SEvun???!!!!!" He kept saying it over and over wildly and shaking his head. It was really hard for me to make out but I finally figured out that it referred to the caliber of the handgun I was carrying. Then, he started adding to it stuff like: "Whize anybudy gotta carrya thra fufty SEvun???!!!....CRAaaazy....Maaaan....thra fufty SEvun???....Whide anybudy need a thra fufty SEvun????!!!!..."
I found this mildy amusing until he started walking towards me very slowly - kinda shuffling like a zombie and still muttering the 357 nonsense. I had kids in the car and became very uneasy about things at the point he stepped onto the concrete island and into my face.
Now this was an older guy and I could see that there were no weapons in his hands, but I decided things had escalated to a point where I needed to react. I put out my weak hand and said something like "Hey! Stop! Back off!" I did *not* place my strong hand on my gun at that point, but left it hanging at my side in case I needed it. I also retreated. I walked backwards like 5 steps from where I was standing pumping gas (driver's side) over to the open driver's door, while remaining facing the threat.
At that point, my zombie friend slowly turned a right angle like some kind of robot and again started slowly coming towards my new position. Then, one of my children popped their head out of the open driver's door area, and said, "What's going on, Dad?" I said to get back in the car "now". All this happened in an instant, I guess. Mr. Zombie shuffled up in my face again but this time I not only put my weak hand out and told him to get back, but I also placed my strong hand on the grip of my handgun. I did *not* pull it from the holster.
At that moment, I felt that I was delicately balanced in that place where one wants to wait until the very last second to use force, but one does not want to wait too long and end up dead. If I did have to use force, it might not have to be the gun, it could just be a kick or a push. But I was now at the point where if he advanced toward me one more millimeter I would have to do something. I had waited until the very last possible second.
He stopped. He didn't seem to look at anything but my eyes. Pretty creepy, actually. He didn't even glance for a second at my hand on my firearm. He just stood there with my weak hand outstretched in front of him defensively. Time stopped and I think I might have prayed silently.
A few more nonsensical mutterings later, he slowly turned away and did his little zombie shuffle all the way back to his car and left.
Was he drunk? I dont know. Is it odd that he was able to identify the caliber but seemed to be a gun hater? Yes. Was this just his twisted strategy to try and intimidate an open carrier? I don't know. What was his problem? I don't know, but he was definitely not behaving normally.
It scared my kids. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you it scared me, too.
I've went over it in my mind and critiqued myself. I think I could have been more authoritative in my tone of voice. But I mean, the hardest part is that I don't really want to push an old man and have him fall on the ground with a cracked head. Hard to get past that. Also, driving away would have required turning my back to him in order to get in the driver's seat, not to mention the problem of the nozzle still connected to my car. I think my biggest take away from this though, is the importance of training my children how to react when in a threatening situation.