That's a toughie, and relevant as I've been sick for weeks now — the darned "Michael Travels Too Much" virus...or ebola. I'm rooting for ebola, 'cause it'll be over quicker!
There was one day I didn't carry because the flu drugs left me, for lack of a better word, fuddled...of course, I only went the two miles to the grocery store for liquids.
On one of the worst sick days I've ever had, I WAS carrying and I believe it saved my life. I was in Tennessee arranging my father's funeral...it was a nightmare, dealing relatives, blah blah while dealing with a stunning shingles attack that invaded my right eye. i ended up in the hospital in the middle of the night in East Memphis, where I grew up and not far from RangeMaster, with crippling pain, my right eye swollen shut...big fun. So the hospital tells me my symptoms are "consistent" with a late stage brain tumor, and I gotta get MRI'ed at 2AM to see whether I'm going to die the next day...of course, no brain tumor, so at 3AM they kick me out with a prescription for pain killers and a map to the closest open drugstore. Super...a 24-hour drugstore in a war zone. So I stop by my hotel and pick up my father's 1911A1 Remington Rand, the only thing of my father's that his new improved family would allow me to take (other than the bill for the funeral). I stick it in my pants Mexican style, throw on a vest and go get the dope.
I'm coming out of the drugstore and, as if on cue, an oil-slick black Impala rolls between me and the door of the store. There are four bangers in the car; the passenger, who I think of as "Snoop" because of the corn rows, says, "What in the bag white boy?"
Cliff Note's Version...I go to the gun and time stops. The old warhorse is still behind my back, my strong-hand thumb on the little safety bump; cover is four steps to my left; nobody — absolutely nothing — is moving. The horrific pain in my head has vanished, I actually feel my heartbeat slowing as I relax and let go of the pain. I know you're going to think this is stupid, but I remember laughing out loud. In my head — maybe I said it; I really don't know — I thought, Let's do this thing and go home...
The moment lasted maybe a couple of seconds, or maybe forever depending on where you stand. "Snoop" broke the moment. "You crazy, white boy," he said as the window slid up. "Have yourself a good night, y'hear?" And the shark rolled out of the lot and back into traffic.
I went back to the hotel and threw up.
Michael B