Here’s my story:
It was midday, about 11:00 a.m., and I was the only person at an outdoor public range. I was there shooting my first handgun for the first time. When a car pulled into the lot behind me, I decided to leave. I had already shot quite a few rounds, and the magic of having the place to myself was gone, so I put the trigger lock on the gun, put it in my shooting bag, and pulled my targets down. Approaching the lot, my hands full of gear, I saw three gangster-looking males (gold teeth, oversized jogging suits, Timberland boots, flat-brimmed baseball caps). At least one of them had a lit cigarette in his mouth, and they were all pulling handguns from the trunk of their car. The range was about 10 miles from a city of 100,000, but I’d gone there all my life and only ever seen old-timers sighting in their deer rifles, never the gangster type.
At the time, I was sure one of them was loading a small silver revolver as he leaned into the trunk. I wondered to myself, if he’s here for target practice, why can’t he wait until he gets to a shooting station to load his gun? In retrospect, I’m not certain whether he was loading it or not. He may have just been checking the cylinder, but in any case, I was on the verge of sh*ting myself. One had a case for his gun, but the others just held theirs. I thought I was going to get robbed; that I was going to lose my vehicle and my brand-spanking-new gun (which was useless to me since it was locked up and ready for transport) and, who knows, maybe even die.
I had to walk past these guys to get to my van, and as I did, one of them asked me for a light. I had gone to college in east Cleveland, and I knew a lot of muggings start like that: do you have the time? can I have a dollar? do you have a light? An attacker will say anything to get you close, to get you to stop, to distract you, so they can surprise you. I said, “No,” and kept walking. Then he asked if my van had a lighter.
Let’s recap. He’s the smoker, but he doesn’t have a lighter. His friend is smoking, but he asks me instead. When I tell him no, he presses the issue, asking if I’ve got one in my vehicle, as if his vehicle doesn’t. Smell like a load of crap? It does to me.
Of course, those are things that occurred to me later. At the time, I was scared. Too scared to lie. As I walked, I simply said, “Yeah.”
D*MN! I couldn’t believe myself. I knew I had made a mistake the instant I said it. I made it to the far side of my van, positioning the vehicle between us. I opened the sliding door and put my gear in the van. I wanted to hop in and peel out, throw dirt and gravel in their faces, but something kept me from doing that. The thought occurred to me that they didn’t know that my gun wasn’t on my hip. Of course, that wasn’t much comfort. I think I didn’t jump in because I didn’t want them to know I was scared. Something told me if they knew I was scared they’d fall on me like a pack of wolves. I closed the sliding door, walked around the front of the van (they were near the back), and climbed in. As I started the engine and put it in gear, I rolled down the window and said that my cell phone was in the outlet, not the lighter, and took off.
What do you think? Was I paranoid and stereotyping these people because of how they dressed? Was it a cultural misunderstanding?
I understand I could have handled this situation differently. Does anyone have any suggestions?
My most burning question, however, is how do you keep your cool in a stressful situation? I think it would have been better to have told him my van didn’t have a lighter, but I reverted to the truth when I was stressed.
It was midday, about 11:00 a.m., and I was the only person at an outdoor public range. I was there shooting my first handgun for the first time. When a car pulled into the lot behind me, I decided to leave. I had already shot quite a few rounds, and the magic of having the place to myself was gone, so I put the trigger lock on the gun, put it in my shooting bag, and pulled my targets down. Approaching the lot, my hands full of gear, I saw three gangster-looking males (gold teeth, oversized jogging suits, Timberland boots, flat-brimmed baseball caps). At least one of them had a lit cigarette in his mouth, and they were all pulling handguns from the trunk of their car. The range was about 10 miles from a city of 100,000, but I’d gone there all my life and only ever seen old-timers sighting in their deer rifles, never the gangster type.
At the time, I was sure one of them was loading a small silver revolver as he leaned into the trunk. I wondered to myself, if he’s here for target practice, why can’t he wait until he gets to a shooting station to load his gun? In retrospect, I’m not certain whether he was loading it or not. He may have just been checking the cylinder, but in any case, I was on the verge of sh*ting myself. One had a case for his gun, but the others just held theirs. I thought I was going to get robbed; that I was going to lose my vehicle and my brand-spanking-new gun (which was useless to me since it was locked up and ready for transport) and, who knows, maybe even die.
I had to walk past these guys to get to my van, and as I did, one of them asked me for a light. I had gone to college in east Cleveland, and I knew a lot of muggings start like that: do you have the time? can I have a dollar? do you have a light? An attacker will say anything to get you close, to get you to stop, to distract you, so they can surprise you. I said, “No,” and kept walking. Then he asked if my van had a lighter.
Let’s recap. He’s the smoker, but he doesn’t have a lighter. His friend is smoking, but he asks me instead. When I tell him no, he presses the issue, asking if I’ve got one in my vehicle, as if his vehicle doesn’t. Smell like a load of crap? It does to me.
Of course, those are things that occurred to me later. At the time, I was scared. Too scared to lie. As I walked, I simply said, “Yeah.”
D*MN! I couldn’t believe myself. I knew I had made a mistake the instant I said it. I made it to the far side of my van, positioning the vehicle between us. I opened the sliding door and put my gear in the van. I wanted to hop in and peel out, throw dirt and gravel in their faces, but something kept me from doing that. The thought occurred to me that they didn’t know that my gun wasn’t on my hip. Of course, that wasn’t much comfort. I think I didn’t jump in because I didn’t want them to know I was scared. Something told me if they knew I was scared they’d fall on me like a pack of wolves. I closed the sliding door, walked around the front of the van (they were near the back), and climbed in. As I started the engine and put it in gear, I rolled down the window and said that my cell phone was in the outlet, not the lighter, and took off.
What do you think? Was I paranoid and stereotyping these people because of how they dressed? Was it a cultural misunderstanding?
I understand I could have handled this situation differently. Does anyone have any suggestions?
My most burning question, however, is how do you keep your cool in a stressful situation? I think it would have been better to have told him my van didn’t have a lighter, but I reverted to the truth when I was stressed.