Last Saturday (yeah, I'm a lazy sod), I took a break from working at the gun shop and strolled over to the Dunkin across the street. I was carrying my Springfield V10 in a nice Galco forward-cant high-ride belt holster on my right side, and a mag pouch on the left. My clothing consisted of a grey polo shirt, khakis, and loafers.
I opened the door and entered the blessed coolness of Donut Valhalla. As I approached the counter, I took stock of those present:
1 (one) little old lady at the near end of the counter, in total Condition White,
1 (one) little old man with the bushiest beard in existence, sitting two seats down,
1 (one) youngish man with long stringy hair, a beat-to-hell face and BDU jacket, and the requisite streetwise smirk,
1 (one) Asian woman behind the counter.
I noted the youngish man as a potential threat and opened my mouth to ask for a LARGE Coke.
"Are you with the Eff Bee Eye?" quavered on the air to my right. I turned to see the little old man staring at me in abject terror.
I looked him in the eye and said "What in THE hell makes you think I'm a Federal employee of any flavor?"
He looked at the gun.
I ed at him and said, "No." Firmly.
Then the hoodlum(?) spoke up.
"Man, that's a peashooter!" he said, grinning insanely. Yes, I've seen insane grins; they're hard to mistake.
"A peashooter?" I responded, calmly. "It's a .45. You call that a peashooter?"
"Yeah," he sniggered. "I like the .357 Magnum. .45 sucks."
redux. I dismissed him and turned once again to the lady behind the counter.
"I no like gun. They scare me."
(blink)
"Ma'am, if a robber walked in here right now, would you be more afraid of his gun, or mine?"
"Well..."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Large Coke, please."
She hustled to do it, I paid, collected my change, glanced around at my questioners, and left. I don't think I'll be going back to that store, at least without my fellow instructors carrying open as well.
Life among the sheep.
I opened the door and entered the blessed coolness of Donut Valhalla. As I approached the counter, I took stock of those present:
1 (one) little old lady at the near end of the counter, in total Condition White,
1 (one) little old man with the bushiest beard in existence, sitting two seats down,
1 (one) youngish man with long stringy hair, a beat-to-hell face and BDU jacket, and the requisite streetwise smirk,
1 (one) Asian woman behind the counter.
I noted the youngish man as a potential threat and opened my mouth to ask for a LARGE Coke.
"Are you with the Eff Bee Eye?" quavered on the air to my right. I turned to see the little old man staring at me in abject terror.
I looked him in the eye and said "What in THE hell makes you think I'm a Federal employee of any flavor?"
He looked at the gun.
I ed at him and said, "No." Firmly.
Then the hoodlum(?) spoke up.
"Man, that's a peashooter!" he said, grinning insanely. Yes, I've seen insane grins; they're hard to mistake.
"A peashooter?" I responded, calmly. "It's a .45. You call that a peashooter?"
"Yeah," he sniggered. "I like the .357 Magnum. .45 sucks."
redux. I dismissed him and turned once again to the lady behind the counter.
"I no like gun. They scare me."
(blink)
"Ma'am, if a robber walked in here right now, would you be more afraid of his gun, or mine?"
"Well..."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Large Coke, please."
She hustled to do it, I paid, collected my change, glanced around at my questioners, and left. I don't think I'll be going back to that store, at least without my fellow instructors carrying open as well.
Life among the sheep.