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Gamer at the Mini-Mart

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Ankeny

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Jun 27, 2003
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I get a kick out of reading the critiques and posts of some of the misadventures of the forum members. I'll share an experience I had last summer. Be nice.

I shot an IDPA match at Ghost Town Shooters. When I finished the match I put my Les Baer back in the bag and removed my Kydex holster. I stuffed my IWB back in my britches, filled with a Kimber Pro Carry stoked with 230 HydraShocks. OK, we can stop right there, how many of you guys are thinking, "For crying out loud, it's a freaking IDPA match. At least shoot what you carry." :rolleyes:

So I am headed down I-25 and I need gas, a snack, and I really need to take a leak. I get to the next exit and there is a Mini-Mart at hand. Right off the interstate, right into the parking lot, then right back on the Interstate. I exit knowing this is the bad part of town and there was a drug related muder three blocks from the Mini-Mart only a month earlier. I thought about going on, but I exited anyway. Stop rolling your eyes.

I pull into the Mini-Mart and I am in condition yellow. I am fueling the old pick up truck and this car pulls up with one trophy scumbag behind the wheel. I mean this guy looks hard core. Ink, hair, and leather. The guy gets out of the car 45 feet away in front of the entrance and leaves the car running. Hmmm...that's not good. As he gets out of the car, his leather vest and t-shirt sticks to the seat and raises up, he has a huge freaking knife carried small of the back. I can't tell if it's an Arkansas tooth pick or a Bowie, but now I am in condition red. There are no other vehicles around so I assume it's just the scum bag and the clerk.

I watch him enter the store and he is acting normal. I take the pen out of my pocket and quickly write the vehicle description, plate number, and time on the back of a scoresheet and place it on the driver's seat in plain sight. The fuel is dispensed. I am thinking wait for the guy to come out, then go pay for the gas. He is still inside and I can see him away from the entrance getting a beverage. I figure, crap if he tries something with that clerk I'll never forgive myself. I lean inside the cab take my .45 out of the holster and place it in my sweatshirt pocket. You know, the type with a front pocket like a kangaroo pouch.

I enter the store and walk down an isle that puts me where I can watch the guy and also be at 90 degrees to him when he pays the clerk. He gets his coffee and walks to the clerk and I follow watching his hands. He doesn't even look at me so I figure everything is cool, but I stay red. He is in front of me and he has one of those big freaking wallets on a log chain in his hip pocket, only inches from the knife. I walk right up behind the guy, far enough away to not invade his space, but close enough not to miss. I had my hand on the gun, but no one is the wiser. His left hand is on the counter. As he reaches back for his wallet I figure I'll draw if his hand goes past the wallet and lifts the vest. The dude is all muscle and no way in hell am I going to latch onto the guy. He gets his wallet out, pays the clerk and leaves. I finally get to go take a whizz.

As I grow older and society gets even creepier, I find myself paying more attention to everything around me. I have even gotten to where I carry on a routine basis. I almost feel like I am paranoid. For crying out loud, I live in Wyoming. I really feel for those of you who live in the metroploitan areas where violent crime is a way of life for so many people. Get a gun. Stay sharp. Be safe.
 
Just your presense in the store probably gave him pause to think twice. I woundn't doubt that he was waiting for you to get in your car and leave, but changed his mind when you came in the store. BG don't like witnesses (especially when they are armed :) )
 
I love WYOMING.... deversity in life, culture, people, and land.
Ankeny you must be talking about the Minimart at "F" and McKinnley??? North of I-25 in lovely Casper, WY!!! That part of town is a little rough but really nothing to worry about, hell I've taken early morning and late night jogs thru that part of town, no biggie really. Then again it is always better to be safe than sorry. I see alot of the "gang" members (if that is what you want to call'em)/ druggie types with my work, the nice thing is they stick to themselves here and rarely bother the rest of us. Once in a great while they decide to help out society and kill each other, but almost never involve the good people of Casper. Looks can be decieving, I somethmes carry a knife, and the tatooed rough exterior, vest, chaindrive wallet and all describes about half my friends...the other half look like bankers, cops, firemen, docs, nurses, etc... :D I doubt he was up to no good, but ya never know.
BTW ...I'd like to join you guys in some IDPA shoots, if I couild ever figure out how to get ahold of anyone in the club???? :( Let me know how to get joined up.
 
Mgraff:

Oh yeah, you know the spot. I thought about going up to Poplar, but even the toughest part of the roughest town in WY looks like a grade school playground in comparison to East Colfax in Denver, lol. Like you said some of the guys twist off and stick a knife in one another from time to time, but they do tend not to poop where they eat. I too know a lot of good guys that look about half spooky, but this guy looked mean spirited. He had "that" look. Then again, he could have been a lawyer stopping for a mug refill on his way to a friend's house to polish the Electra Glide. You just never know.
 
I have even gotten to where I carry on a routine basis.
Click to expand...

Y'know, I've done that for years now, despite living in placid, no-crime 'burbs. And when I say "carry", I don't mean "toss a P-32 in my pocket", I mean "the 296 in my purse is just a backup for the 1911 on my hip." Heck, when one is already lugging around a purse, checkbook, makeup, cigarettes, cell phone, lighter, PDA, three hundred old receipts, and other assorted crapola, what's a couple of guns? ;)


(I find the wierdest things in my purse. When a friend and I were in Texas several months back, I purged my purse in case we decided to hop the border for a case of the turistas. As I skimmed my hand through the dregs on the bottom, I thought to myself: "Where did this round of 5.7x28 come from? And what caliber is this old, verdigrised big bore rimfire round? More importantly, how did it end up in my purse?" Just the other day, while dredging my checkbook out, a small Wilson parts bag clattered out on the CVS counter. "Where in the name of the Seven Holy Dwarves did this slide stop come from?" mused I. :confused: )
 
Ink, hair, and leather. The guy gets out of the car 45 feet away in front of the entrance and leaves the car running. Hmmm...that's not good. As he gets out of the car, his leather vest and t-shirt sticks to the seat and raises up, he has a huge freaking knife carried small of the back.
Click to expand...

You just described a buddy of mine. He's a "reformed biker" type. Got serious about life, realized he liked computers and is now a very talented Unix systems engineer. He's probably one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet, but even he describes himself as a dirtbag biker.

Chris
 
Where is the handbook for raising Parents?

Mom.

Her neighborhood has gone to hell in a handbasket.

"I gotta buy gas and its cheaper down the street..."
I need to check the air in my tires, what about my antifreeze, what about...what about..."

When did my mom become a 4 yr old with fifty questions?

We go play gas station , we get her gas, we check and air tires. Against my rantings, ravings and " my attitude" . I ain't happy, I have made mom lock herself in her car, and I am watching everybody and everything while I play the role of son.

I watch "them" watching "me/ us" . I know they know I know who is dealing , who is buying- who is the pimp and who are the working girls.


Same gas station were once before I had mom with me , buying gas and yelled " stop I want to see hands!" , when matters became a "bit serious".

WE get home, and the "suggestions" of not fiddle farting around before getting out of vehicle, getting into vehicle and buy the gas at a better neighborhood ...situational awarness, no offense but mom...you are about to turn 75, can't walk very well - you look like prey....

Next day she is watching the news...about a half hour after we had left gas station the previous day -a carjacking took place .

"Honey I need to condsider buying gas in a better area, what do you think?"

Who was that lady I gave "suggestions" to earlier? :confused:

"Honey anything you need from the mall,[ Cringe] grandson wants [ whatever ] for his B-Day "

Yeah mom, see if one of the Kiosks has a IWB leather holster for a 870 will ya?

Where is the handbook? Is is okay to ground a parent?

Maybe the next time I will just take her keys and leave to buy gas and such my way...with her home and all I have less to worry about.

They don't tell you about "raising" parents - you just find out all of a sudden.
 
sm said:
They don't tell you about "raising" parents - you just find out all of a sudden.
Click to expand...

It's sad that we have to. My grandparents are the same way (I'm 22).
 
I was at a knife show last year. When I left it was with a sweet new Bowie I happily put it in the sheath in my lower back that used to house my old Arkansas toothpick. (I don't have a gun, so I carry a knife on a routine basis).

So I am headed down I-25 and I am just fading fast (I was up driving all night before). I need a cup of Joe. So I get to the next exit and there is a Mini-Mart at hand. Right off the interstate, right into the parking lot, then right back on the Interstate. I exit knowing this is the bad part of town and there was a drug related muder three blocks from the Mini-Mart only a month earlier. I thought about going on, but I exited anyway. Stop rolling your eyes.

I pull into the Mini-Mart and I am in condition yellow. There's a paranoid looking guy fueling his old pick up truck, and as I pull up he's looking at me like he thinks I'm one trophy scumbag behind the wheel. I mean this guy looks hard core. Of course I've had this happen to me before- Ink, hair, and leather naturally = "bad guy" right? Anyway, I wanna get in/out with my coffee ASAP now, so I get out of the car 45 feet away in front of the entrance and leave the car running. He's really mad-doggin' me now. Hmmm...that's not good. As I get out of the car, my leather vest and t-shirt sticks to the seat and raises up- great...he now knows I carry a huge freaking knife in the small of the back. I see his eyes bug wildly, and now I am in condition red. There are no other vehicles around so I assume it's just me this paranoid guy and the clerk.

He watches me enter the store and I try to act extra normal as not to freak him out more. He takes a pen out of his pocket and quickly writes my vehicle description, plate number, and time on the back of a scoresheet and places it on his driver's seat in plain sight. The guy's fuel is dispensed. I am thinking I should just wait for the guy to leave in his pickup, then I'll leave with my coffee. He is still outside and I can see him away from the entrance staring at me as I'm getting my java. I figure, crap if I freak him out so bad that he tries something with me or that clerk I'll never forgive myself. He leans inside the cab and takes a frigging GUN (a .45) out of his holster and places it in his sweatshirt pocket!!!

He then enters the store and walks down an aisle that puts him where he can watch me and also be at 90 degrees to me when I pay the clerk. I get my coffee and walk to the clerk and he follows me watching my hands. I make sure to avoid looking at the guy so he'll know everything is cool, but I stay red. He is in behind me, and as I go to pay I realize my big freaking wallet is on a log chain in my hip pocket, only inches from my knife- just grrreat. He walks right up behind the me, almost in my "space"- close enough not to miss. He has his hand on the gun, and I just gulp hard and pretend I'm none the wiser. My left hand is on the counter. As I reach sloooowly back for my wallet (I figure it's a given he'll draw if my hand accidentally goes past my wallet and lifts the vest like before). I'm all muscle, but that means nothing against being shot in the back with a .45, and no way in hell am I going to be able latch onto the guy if he freaks and pulls his piece. I manage to somehow get my wallet out, pay the clerk and leave (It's all a blur in my mind now- I was just pumping massive adrenaline). To hell with the coffee- I am 100% awake now, but now I have to go take a huge whizz!!!

As people grow older and society gets even "creepier" to them, they tend to judge folks like me without a second thought. I find myself paying more attention to everything around me- particularly older people packing heat in pickup trucks! I have even gotten to where I carry my blade on a routine basis. I almost feel like I am paranoid.

Hell, I need to get a gun. Stay sharp. Be safe.

;)
 
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I think the moral of these stories is that everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, but not in the face of overriding evidence to the contrary.

~Slam_Fire
"Couldn't condition yellow be a nicer color? What about condition pink? Y'know, light red."
 
"I think the moral of these stories is that everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, but not in the face of overriding evidence to the contrary."

Agreed.



Reminds me of this little gem of an anecdote:

So, due to my my own fault, my "running on vapor" on I-25 finally becomes "coasting on nothing". I manage to make it to the next exit before she stops, and I can see the sign of a Mini-Mart peeking above the rooftops in the distance. I know this is the bad part of town and there was a drug related murder three blocks from this Mini-Mart only a month earlier. Being about 3 blocks away myself, I sure feel a warm fuzzy about the Sig p229 I'm carrying today.

Anyway, after hoofing the gascan a bit I finally approach the station. Now the one thing about walking is that it gives you time to notice things you'd miss from the driver's seat. This is one of those times. Now I'm already well in condition yellow due to the neighborhood, but looking toward the pumps, I get a strong "something ain't right" vibe from this character standing next to a pickup wearing a sweatshirt.

I quietly stop about 50 ft. from the pumps in this guy's 4 o'clock. He can't see me, but i sure as hell can see him- and what I see is definitely suspicious. He's just standing there alone out by the pumps, but he isn't gassing up the pickup he's next to (if it even is his pickup- never assume). In fact, there's a running car about 45 feet from the door with nobody in it that may just be his "getaway" ride. What's really got my attention though, is that he is just lurking out here with his eyes locked on the lone customer inside, following his every move like a hawk- not even trying to make an effort to look at all normal (wiping windows, etc.). Nope, he's just locked "fangs out" on this guy waiting for him to leave (and the customer inside is this tatooed tank of a leather-clad guy, I wouldn't wanna try anything shady around him either- he'd probably pull some huge knife and stick me If I was robbing the joint).

Anyhow, I realize I might be being a wee bit paranoid here, because I see the guy lean into the cab of the pickup (whew, so it is his pickup after all- probably just finished gassing up). Probably reaching for a smoke right?.

Wrong!!!

He pulls a G-damn .45 and slips it into his pocket, and heads straight toward the door of the Mini-Mart! (Can anyone say "condition molten red"?)

Now the "pucker factor" is at 110% and frankly, I choke up for a second after having let my guard down, but I angle behind a car by the open door for cover and am totally focused on the gunman and just waiting to draw my Sig the moment he pulls his piece. Sure enough he gets in a tactical postion on the tattooed guy, and slides right up behind him with his hand firmly on the gun in his sweatshirt pocket the moment he approaches the counter.

I hold my breath for what seems like an eternity as the customer pays and eventually walks out the door (I see the expression on his face as he walks past me and it's obvious he knows he just dodged a bullet). The gunman looks instantly relaxed, like he couldn't wait to have the clerk all alone to himself. I know it's about to go down if I don't do something, so I briskly walk up to the door whistling loudly.

Sure enough, the gunman glances at me, looks at the clerk, and asks to use the john. (The last facade falls- yeah sure, this guy has to take a leak so bad that he just lurks in front of the store forever before he suddenly grabs his trusty whiz-gun????) I may be dumb, but I ain't that dumb.

So when Mr. Sweatshirt .45 heads into the john to wait me out, I quickly tell the clerk what I saw him do out front. Turns out the clerk had also got a bad vibe off the guy as well, and proceeds to dial the cops. I dash out to quickly write down his vehicle description, plate number, and run in to hunker down in the back by the drinks, hand on the butt of my Sig.

Well, when Mr. Sweatshirt finally comes out of the can and straight toward the counter he starts to reach down, and I pop up and give a loud cough.
His hand travels past his gun pocket and to his wallet which he produces (rather overdramatically in my opinion), pays the clerk, and immediately leaves straight to his pickup, and straight out of the Mart.

My hand comes off the Sig, and the clerk and I breathe a huge sigh of relief together. He is so grateful that he won't let me pay for the gas, and gives me some free nachos and a drink when I come back for the fillup. The cops don't show up the whole time I'm there, but in this neighborhood that's not surprising.

That was the closest I've ever come to drawing my gun "for real", and to come clean, it was the scariest thing I've ever experienced in my years.
It's just lucky for everyone that there are still folks like you and me to keep guys like Mr. Sweatshirt at bay.

:D
 
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Torpid, you weren't there, but go ahead and invent your own scenario if you want, but don't even attempt to apply it to my situation. I am not sure if your intent is to portray me in a poor light, or to simply point out that things aren't always as they appear.

For one thing, I am very discreet, I learned that while working drugs during my term in law enforcement. No one saw me slip the gun into my pocket (unless they have x-ray vision). While I was putting the gun in my pocket I also grabbed my check book and came out of the vehicle with the check book in my hand. Yeah, you would have thought I was rummaging around for my checkbook. I didn't stare at the guy giving him the willies. I kept track of him peripherally while going about my business. I never invaded his space. I was plenty cool about the whole thing. I also left a few details out. Like, I used to do this type of thing for a living.

When I walked by his car I looked through the rolled down driver's window. The car was a pig sty with beer bottles all over the floor, food wrappers in the back, a half empty pack of Zig-Zag wrappers on the dash board, hard core porn on the seat. When I went into the store the distinct aroma of weed was present, but that don't mean squat in this day and age of recreational drug users. It could have just been on his clothes or for that matter it could have been the clerk or a previous customer.

In Wyoming, the concealed carry permit is only for firearms so the guy was in violation of the law for carrying the pig sticker and probably for use of a controlled substance. I know it's profiling, but chances are the guy isn't a saint.

When I went into the store I was carrying my check book in my left hand. When the guy glanced at me I slipped the check book into the pocket containing the gun. I wanted him to know I had to retrieve payment from the pocket. At the checkout I reached into the pocket containing the gun and the checkbook. Guys, I wasn't born last night. Did I mention I used to do this type of stuff for a living? The guy never had a clue what I was doing and neither would you.

Maybe I stuck my nose in where it doesn't belong, but my sole purpose for entering the store was to prevent harm from coming to the clerk, not to pick a fight, and certainly not to live out some dumb azzed hero fantasy. The point of the post isn't about the "encounter", it's about the erosion of society.
 
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Maybe the guy had some sort of bad plan in his mind and maybe he didn't, but it didn't hurt any for you to be ready.
 
Now that I have thought it over, maybe I painted a poor picture. I can see where a person could envision a paranoid, frightened, middle aged fat guy preparing to throw down on a guy for scratching his butt. I can assure you that wasn't the case.

It's easy to tell when a person gets froggy, and if they jump you better have set your purse down, and you better be ready. I said something to the effect that I was going to draw as soon as the guy passed his wallet and lifted his vest. What I am saying is if the signs are there that things are hitting the fan, I am going to make my presentation in the early stages of his presentation. My pistol is coming out of my pocket a split second before his knife clears the sheath. Once the guy sees he has brought a knife to a gun fight he will probably reconsider. Believe ot or not, you can draw a pistol without shooting someone. I consider the act of drawing a gun to be very serious business and you darn well better have a reason. But only a fool would wait until he feels steel piercing skin before they realize the ballon just went up and they missed the ride.
 
Ankey-

Rest assured, I am only joshin' here. I agree with you 100% that it's better to be safe than sorry.

From the information you provided in your initial post it just really sounded like you had it in for the guy as soon as you saw him ("...this car pulls up with one trophy scumbag behind the wheel. I mean this guy looks hard core. Ink, hair, and leather...."). Hence the silly "other guy's POV" scenarios, and exaggerated goofy viewpoints.

Now that you've brought forth more details, it's really clear that you were on top of things and had more red flags than you shared initially. Hell, I've been spooked by less! It was a good call, and not a "dumb azzed hero fantasy".

I was just having a bit of fictional fun with the "don't judge a book" bent (since I've bourne the brunt of that in my time) and was enjoying expounding on my ridiculous scenario because you said, "I get a kick out of reading the critiques and posts of some of the misadventures of the forum members. I'll share an experience I had last summer. Be nice."

I took you up on it, and it was certainly meant as more of a kick than a critique- so I hope you can reread them for the laughs they are intended to bring.

(And I actually was bein' nice!)


:D

(PS: As for carrying all the time, it's not paranoid at all, consider yourself fortunate. Where I am currently located, I don't get to CCW my gun ever!)
 
Once last summer, when I worked at a Mini-Mart on I-25, I had this extremely disturbing experience. I shouldn't have been working there, knowing it was a bad part of town, and that there was a drug related murder three blocks from my store only a month earlier, but I needed the money.

So this guy pulls in and starts pumping gas for his pickup after I flip the lil switch to let it happen. I'm always alert when people step up near the door or come in, but if I don't see anyone walking in I kinda relax. Anyway, this car pulls up, a guy walks in, all hardcore looking. I kinda dug the leather he had, he had a lot of tats and really punk hair. Like an old rocker friend I used to have. Anyway, he sort of creeped me a lil, but I wasn't that worried- I'd seen all kinds of freaks passing through. I kinda thought the car might be running, but if he were going to rob the joint it would have been right by the entrance, not twelve yards away. When he came in, I thought I smelled weed and cheep bourbon, but that describes half my clientelle on any given day.

Looking on the security camera for the pumps because the one pump just rang as a finished pumping and I don't want someone running off with a tank on me again, I see the one guy writing down something furtively, then gets something out of his car, stuffs it on his body somewhere, and walks in. Right after the guy.

I don't get paid enough for this crap.

Got a little nervous. Punk rawk man gets some of the dayold joe and comes up to me to pay, and right while he's doing it, the other guy is right behind him with his hand in his roo pouch. Some other fellow was walking up from down the street, and went and hid behind a car as soon as he saw the two guys inside.

What.

The.

Hell.

Is.

Going.

ON?!

Everything else seemed to happen at once. The massive amount of tension I felt between the two guys in line faded slowly as the scary punk guy paid and walked out, the creepy guy who was acting weird backed off a bit as the guy who had been behind a car visibly relaxed his sphincter several levels and walked in with his gas can, and the creepy guy asked to use and went into the bathroom.

DAMMIT! Now I can't keep an eye on him!
Memo to self: go check later and see if he did anything to the walls or john

The scared guy walked up to me and told me everything he had seen, which lined up pretty well with what I thought was going on. He suddenly ran outside to write down some stuff, while I rang the local precinct. Not a huge chance anything was going down now, but better to call to make the scared guy happy. He dashes back in and slouches around by the drinks.

Memo to self: that mirror isn't really showing if he's shoplifting THE GODDAM SOBE.

Creepy guy comes out and walks straight toward me, the scared guy pops up and coughs.

Oh goddamnit NOT AGAIN.

Creepy guy finally FINALLY comes up, pays for his fuel, and leaves. I tried hard to see what he had in his pouch but I wasn't able to. At least he was out of the store.

Scared guy gasps with relief as I sigh and curse the choice to ever work here. I decide to give him a few gallons of gas on me just to get him out of here so no one else walks in for a repeat incident. He comes in a little later and the few gallons were worth it because he filled up a good 28 gallons. When he took four minutes to decide what snack to get, I just give him free nachos and some pepsi. He leaves. Whew again.

A little later, a lone squad car pulls in. I give him a brief rundown of what happened, and twitch as a spasm rolls over my body. I felt a huge wave of angst and a desire to write depressive goth poetry about life being darkness and hell.

The next day I tendered my resignation- taco bell paid less but had a hot and slutty female manager who ended up seducing most of the male staff right on the premises, and less scary people.
 
Lordy, HEiST- that was so great I almost cried.



Let's see here...

So it's been a month since I'd shanked that one guy for his crank stash near the local Mini-Mart, and it's time to get the cash flow going again. Also, I'm on my last brew. So what better place to do my "one stop shopping" that the friendly corner convenience store?

Anyway, I pull my ride up behind the Mart so nobody sees the make or plate, and then I put my gat in my waistband and walk around the side for a quick looksee.

Lets just say that it turns out that THREE people had beat me to the punch on this "one stop shopping concept"- I see this huge tattooed leather freak accidentally flash his blade before stomping in, then there's some intense older guy in a "unabomber" style sweatshirt lurking with a .45 in the pocket before storming in after Leatherman, and then finally some arson freak with a gas can skulks up behind a parked car by the door with a hand on his gun butt!!!

W T F ?!!!!!!!!!

The hell with this place forever, I say.

I drive home thirsty and broke, and not a just a little weirded out, resolved to wait a week before hitting the comparatively easy local Taco Hell where my slutty ex-girlfriend is the manager.
 
I laughed until I cried and I had to check my underwear.

Oh man, I want to make this as a short film so bad. Five different perspectives of the same events, with the last one as the twist and comedic payload.
 
way funny

all three of you should become screenwriters
actually combine all three (four?) viewpoints into a mini drama
we can flesh it out to 90 minutes if we show the back ground stories on the protaganists
who do we get for the slutty ex girlfreind/manager
i think helen hunt might do it just for the role
i know she is itching to be kinda the bad girl
henry rollins as the tatooed biker guy
any other suggestions for the 2 other parts?
oh yeah ben affleck or ben stiller as the clerk?
 
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