CathyInBlue
Tool Maker
Call me naïve, but I honestly did not expect the fiasco that ensued tonight. That being said, the only thing that I'm sorry about is that upwards of six police officers wasted about a total of an hour each to deal with it.
Background: Where I live is right next to a four-unit apartment building. That's putting it charitably. On an average day, I refer to it as a slum. The clientele for this slum are not of either the brightest intellect, nor the highest moral fiber. I'm working toward getting a larger barrier between me and them than the current 3' chain link fence, to whit, a 6' wood privacy fence. As yet, that is not a reality. Part of this privacy fence project requires me to drop seven trash trees that are growing in the chain link and are perennially impinging on the utility lines (NOT power lines). Once the trash trees are gone, the old fence gets gone and the new fence can go in.
Two days ago, was one of those days that was bright and clear and warm and I was in the back yard playing amateur lumberjack. Some of the trees are angled out, toward the utility lines, and even the ones that aren't, they're pretty tall and there's a danger that, if merely felled with a bird's mouth cut plus back cut, they could hit a car or the back of my house, so I'm taking full precautions to attach a chain up in the trunk being felled and lashing that to a ground anchor with a come-along. Suffice it to say that absolutely every precaution I could take to insure the trees are going to fall where I want them and not fall where I don't want them have been taken.
That being said, when felling a 60' tall tree, I'm NOT going to work toward that end when there's a neighborhood snot-nosed brat (SNB) standing 10' away. I'm just not going to be the one who takes that kind of risk. After I'd made a beautiful bird's mouth cut, removing 50% of this tree's trunk, said SNB comes up and stands in the alley way, on my property. "You can't stand there. It's dangerous. You need to walk away." "I'm not in your way. You can't tell me anything." That last bit may have been paraphrased. "One more time. You're standing on my property, and you're standing in a danger zone. You need to walk away." SNB steps off my grass and onto the gravel of the alley, "There, now I'm not on your property, and you can't tell me to walk away. I have a right to be here." "You're still in the danger zone. I can't finish dropping this tree while you're standing there. Walk away, or I'll go get your parents and THEY can tell you to walk away." "My parents aren't home, haha!" I had no reason to disbelieve the SNB. "Fine, then I'll go call the police and THEY can tell you to walk away." "Call the PoPo! See if I care. They ain't gonna tell me ****." That part was not paraphrased in any way. "One last time, kid. Where you're standing is dangerous. Walk away or I go call the cops." "Call the PoPo!"
So I went inside and called the city police (NOT 911). After about 25 rings, the dispatcher picks up and I gave the run down of who I am as a property owner, cleaning up, SNB being dangerous, I need him gone for the time it takes for me to dispense with the danger, he's not cooperating. Okay, I'll send a unit over.
I get back into the yard and the SNB is nowhere to be seen now, so I proceed to ready the back cut. JUUUUUST as I'm about to start the back cut, three officers appear in the front/side yard (I'm in the back yard, but can see right through to the front curb). We have a very pleasant conversation about the safety chains and other safety measures and how I'm not going to be responsible for endangering the welfare of a minor, but said minor disappeared. Okay, we'll check out front, be safe, have a nice day. Have a nice day.
I drop the tree just a few feet off from my target, clean it up and put the tools away. That was two days ago.
Today, I finally pulled the trigger on the purchase of a handgun I've been lusting after for months if not years. I'm so excited to have this gun. I also bought a retention holster (holster that came with it was not retention-capable). When I got home from the purchase, I attended to some chores, which included putting the trash out at the alley. Another neighbor kid (not a SNB) called over to me to inform me that the SNB had thrown a rock at my house. I thanked him and admonished him that he needs to disassociate himself with the SNB because he has a bad attitude (When I had earlier felled a trash tree on my property, the SNB yelled at me, "Why did you cut my tree down?") and that if the non-SNB stuck around the SNB, the SNB would take the non-SNB down with him. After taking out the trash, I ambled around the back yard for several minutes eyeballing other trees and the angles I would need for the safety chains and other lines to insure that THEY come down safely. Finally, I went inside and had supper.
Two hours after I was last in my own back yard, I had read the safety instructions that came with my new sidearm, fitted the retention holster to my belt and figured out the magazine loader, loaded up some ball ammo, and had the sidearm on my hip and adjusted just how I like it. I'd been out most of the afternoon and felt like sipping at my ice water outside, so I went out onto my back stoop with my personal protection sidearm in its retention holster to watch the sunset and to sip at my ice water. And everything just went to Hell from there.
There are people out on the slum's back stoop too, mostly children. I never addressed them. I never gave anyone the stink-eye. I just sat on my stoop, sipped my ice water, watched the sun set, and felt an odd rain drop on my skin from time to time.
"Hey! Is that a real gun?" "... Yeah, it is."
"What kind of gun is it?" "... .45"
"Fourty-five caliber?" "... Yeah, fourty-five caliber."
"Hey, why'd you call the PoPo on me?" Oh geez, not this kid again.
Thus began a series of what I'm sure were imaginative lies he told his mother (who was actually home at this time) claiming I'd made all kinds of threats against him with my gun. She came out talking hystericly on her phone describing me sitting on my own back stoop sipping my ice water. I just smiled and waved to her, "The ***** just waved at me. She's got a gun. I can see it right now. It's on her hip." She was trying to describe it, badly, so I decided to help her out by calling out the make and model to her, which she botched as she tried to relate what I'd told her to the police. The police, having gotten a "***** with a gun threatening my little angel" call got there in a matter of minutes. At least I now know their reaction time for when I have a legitimate need for their presence. The klieg light of a spot went to the slum's back porch. The panicky hoplophobe yelled, "That's her over THERE!" I held up an open hand and waved to the cruiser as the klieg light swivvelled over onto me still sipping on my ice water.
Couldn't really see much after that, but I saw a weak LED flashlight bobbing around an all but demolished back gate so I called out and pointed, "The main gate's a little further over." When the bobbing LED flashlight made its way over to that gate, "There ya go."
"You've been threatening people with a gun? Where is it?"
"I haven't touched my gun since I came out here and sat down, officer. I'm not threatening anybody."
I wish I had had the opportunity to confer with my lawyer over that question I've asked IAT. As it is, after being shown the firearm on my hip, the officer proceeded to attempt to snatch it off my hip. My mind immediately leapt to the stories of inexperienced officers yanking and yanking on personal protection sidearms in retention holsters, and I just wanted to not get shot with my brand new gun because Rosco P. Coletrain can't figure out a Serpa holster. "You can't do that. It's a retention holst--" He found the release and my side arm came out of its holster easily. I'd still like to have a legal citation to recite as an incantation to prevent that kind of crap.
"Do you have a permit for this gun?"
"First of all, I'm on my own property, so I don't need one."
"You're out, in view of the public."
"That doesn't matter, officer. When I'm on my own property, I don't need a permit to carry a gun."
"Do you have a permit for this gun?"
"It's inside."
"Would you go get it, please?"
"Okay, one more time, as I'm on my own property, I am not required to produce a permit, but I'm going to go get it to show you anyway, because I'm a good person."
I don't know if he noted the mag holder with the other magazine that was on my other hip or not. I got my wallet as well as a pad of paper and pen to start taking down names, badge numbers, and bald-faced lies said against me.
When I got back out, it was now thoroughly dark. Absent the police being called, I'd have already finished my water and gone back inside of my own accord. I provided my pink slip. He asked for my DL as well, I ponied that up. "I see my loaded magazine on the step, but I don't see my sidearm anywhere." "I still have your gun." All of the police were on my property, not the slum's property. A couple were over at my north fence talking to the panicky hoplophobe. A couple of officers, one of them, I think the community social worker, because she wasn't really in a proper police uniform, were standing as if guarding me against getting to my feet and doing "something". Another officer comes around the corner and I do a double-take. "Weren't you here-- yesterday?" It was two days ago, but he just smiled and nodded, "Yeah. Same kid still giving you trouble?" "Yeah. Same kid." The gun grabber was busy in the middle of the yard running my particulars on the radio. Everything came back clear, five-by-five, of course, and he gave me back my cards, as we began to talk about my whys and wherefores.
Meanwhile, I can hear the panicky hoplophobe talking loudly to the other officers, "What makes it okay for her to have a gun?"
I turned to an officer on the opposite side of me from the PH, so there would be no mistaking that I was not addressing the PH, and said, "It's Indiana... It's America..." Punctuating my words with fingers counting off the things that make it okay for me to have a gun. The officer I addressed just nodded and said, "Yep. It's your Constitutional right." I grinned big and happy at that coming from a police officer. The rest of the PH's words with those officers were more muted and I wasn't of a mind to strain to make out what she was saying. When the officers finished admonishing her that I was entirely, completely, and 100% legal and within my rights, they all came over and I had about 6 city officers arrayed 180° around me. As we began a discussion about discretion being the better part of valour, the PH still standing at my fence tries to interject, "What did my son do to make you threaten him with a gun?" I replied directly to her, "I never threatened anyone with anything!" The police replied to her, "Do not address her. We've gotten your story."
Between us, the discussion went on about the efficacy of retention holsters, the philosophical bounds of open carry versus concealed carry, how the police would prefer if I concealed, even on my own property, how I was within my rights to carry openly and the PH had been admonished as such, how I should erect a 6' privacy fence to establish a barrier between me and my neighbors, how that was the goal of me felling the trees, two of which were already reduced to trunks on the ground, how I'd already told some of the neighbors of my intention, if things do not improve, of installing a video security system.
It was actually getting kinda cold and as we conversed, I had to take to breathing out through cupped hands to keep my fingers warm, emphasizing that being out at this point was entirely the doings of the decisions of others, not my own.
"Do you understand that there are some people who are just freaked out by people with guns?"
"I absolutely understand that there are hoplophobes (yes, I consistently used that term with the police) in this world that just can't deal with the sight of a gun. Even the gun on your hip will freak out some hoplophobes even with your badge and your uniform."
"Can you see how it would be better if when you were out in your yard if you just untucked your shirt and covered it up?" In point of fact, my plain white tee is NOT, actually long enough to cover this sidearm in its holster, so his question is largely moot.
"I understand how some people can disagree with private gun ownership and be panicked at the sight of a person with a gun, but at some point, their emotional distress is just going to have to yield to my rights, not the other way around."
At some point, the officer who still had my sidearm, had run my particulars, and who was evidently running point on this clusterfudge of a waste of police time asked a fateful question, "Would you open carry in Walmart?" "Well... In point of fact, I would. There has been some degree of discussion on some gun rights web forums I frequent *cough* =) about just what the Walmart corporate policy is with regard to open carry versus concealed carry in their stores. Some people say, 'I got a letter from Walmart corporate who said this,' or 'I got a letter from Walmart corporate who said that.' So, just this very morning, I got on the Walmart website and sent them an e-mail asking for clarification, for an authoritative statement of company policy on that very issue."
"Well, I know for a fact that if you carried openly in Walmart, we will get called because their policy is to not allow open carry—"
"Well, no, that's not true, they've changed that." It was another officer speaking up. "Their policy is to follow whatever state law says." So, apparently, even the POLICE aren't sure just WTF Walmart corporate policy is on legal firearm possession in their stores. I really look forward to getting a response to my e-mail to corporate and post it here.
At this point the guy who STILL has my sidearm starts trying to equivocate, "Well, even if they allow it, would you really want to have it around kids who might try and grab it?"
"Officer? Remember? Retention holster. That's precisely why I had it in a retention holster."
"Well, even we have retention holsters. There are several levels of retention holster. A child might still be able to pull your trigger while it's in your retention holster."
"IIIII don't think so. I don't think my retention holster allows access to the trigger at all." In point of fact, the Serpa completely shrouds the trigger and trigger guard.
"Well, mine, even though it's still in the retention holster, it can still be fired. Here. Right now, I have my finger in the trigger guard and could fire it in its holster." I'm staring at his sidearm in its holster and one finger sticking inside the holster and his sidearm pointing right down at the meat of his leg.
"I wish you wouldn't," I squeak. Part of that was, "I wish you wouldn't fire it right now." Part of it was, "I wish you wouldn't have your finger INSIDE THE TRIGGER GUARD OF YOUR SIDEARM!"
Ultimately, and largely unnoticed by me, the crowd of officers around me had dwindled down to just three, and while there was plenty more I would have liked to have discussed with these fine, upstanding examples of the thin, blue line, the one thing that would actually have traction in coercing me to conceal full-time is the colossal waste of police time and resources in dealing with PHs like this neighbor of mine. The officer acknowledged one last time that I was entirely within my rights, handed me back my sidearm correctly, with the slide racked open, pointed down, grip toward me, and ordered me not to load it until they had left.
When their klieg light went out and I was again blind from my pupils being too narrow, I waited until I could see again, dropped the one round back in the chamber, closed the slide, reseated the mag, and returned it to its holster.
I looked over to see that the only neighbor still out on the slum's back stoop was the SNB. I gave him no visual reaction, and did not bother to note if he had any reaction for me. I just picked up my wallet, pad, and pen, got up, went back in my house and locked the back door behind me.
Tomorrow will be spent entirely indoors.
Background: Where I live is right next to a four-unit apartment building. That's putting it charitably. On an average day, I refer to it as a slum. The clientele for this slum are not of either the brightest intellect, nor the highest moral fiber. I'm working toward getting a larger barrier between me and them than the current 3' chain link fence, to whit, a 6' wood privacy fence. As yet, that is not a reality. Part of this privacy fence project requires me to drop seven trash trees that are growing in the chain link and are perennially impinging on the utility lines (NOT power lines). Once the trash trees are gone, the old fence gets gone and the new fence can go in.
Two days ago, was one of those days that was bright and clear and warm and I was in the back yard playing amateur lumberjack. Some of the trees are angled out, toward the utility lines, and even the ones that aren't, they're pretty tall and there's a danger that, if merely felled with a bird's mouth cut plus back cut, they could hit a car or the back of my house, so I'm taking full precautions to attach a chain up in the trunk being felled and lashing that to a ground anchor with a come-along. Suffice it to say that absolutely every precaution I could take to insure the trees are going to fall where I want them and not fall where I don't want them have been taken.
That being said, when felling a 60' tall tree, I'm NOT going to work toward that end when there's a neighborhood snot-nosed brat (SNB) standing 10' away. I'm just not going to be the one who takes that kind of risk. After I'd made a beautiful bird's mouth cut, removing 50% of this tree's trunk, said SNB comes up and stands in the alley way, on my property. "You can't stand there. It's dangerous. You need to walk away." "I'm not in your way. You can't tell me anything." That last bit may have been paraphrased. "One more time. You're standing on my property, and you're standing in a danger zone. You need to walk away." SNB steps off my grass and onto the gravel of the alley, "There, now I'm not on your property, and you can't tell me to walk away. I have a right to be here." "You're still in the danger zone. I can't finish dropping this tree while you're standing there. Walk away, or I'll go get your parents and THEY can tell you to walk away." "My parents aren't home, haha!" I had no reason to disbelieve the SNB. "Fine, then I'll go call the police and THEY can tell you to walk away." "Call the PoPo! See if I care. They ain't gonna tell me ****." That part was not paraphrased in any way. "One last time, kid. Where you're standing is dangerous. Walk away or I go call the cops." "Call the PoPo!"
So I went inside and called the city police (NOT 911). After about 25 rings, the dispatcher picks up and I gave the run down of who I am as a property owner, cleaning up, SNB being dangerous, I need him gone for the time it takes for me to dispense with the danger, he's not cooperating. Okay, I'll send a unit over.
I get back into the yard and the SNB is nowhere to be seen now, so I proceed to ready the back cut. JUUUUUST as I'm about to start the back cut, three officers appear in the front/side yard (I'm in the back yard, but can see right through to the front curb). We have a very pleasant conversation about the safety chains and other safety measures and how I'm not going to be responsible for endangering the welfare of a minor, but said minor disappeared. Okay, we'll check out front, be safe, have a nice day. Have a nice day.
I drop the tree just a few feet off from my target, clean it up and put the tools away. That was two days ago.
Today, I finally pulled the trigger on the purchase of a handgun I've been lusting after for months if not years. I'm so excited to have this gun. I also bought a retention holster (holster that came with it was not retention-capable). When I got home from the purchase, I attended to some chores, which included putting the trash out at the alley. Another neighbor kid (not a SNB) called over to me to inform me that the SNB had thrown a rock at my house. I thanked him and admonished him that he needs to disassociate himself with the SNB because he has a bad attitude (When I had earlier felled a trash tree on my property, the SNB yelled at me, "Why did you cut my tree down?") and that if the non-SNB stuck around the SNB, the SNB would take the non-SNB down with him. After taking out the trash, I ambled around the back yard for several minutes eyeballing other trees and the angles I would need for the safety chains and other lines to insure that THEY come down safely. Finally, I went inside and had supper.
Two hours after I was last in my own back yard, I had read the safety instructions that came with my new sidearm, fitted the retention holster to my belt and figured out the magazine loader, loaded up some ball ammo, and had the sidearm on my hip and adjusted just how I like it. I'd been out most of the afternoon and felt like sipping at my ice water outside, so I went out onto my back stoop with my personal protection sidearm in its retention holster to watch the sunset and to sip at my ice water. And everything just went to Hell from there.
There are people out on the slum's back stoop too, mostly children. I never addressed them. I never gave anyone the stink-eye. I just sat on my stoop, sipped my ice water, watched the sun set, and felt an odd rain drop on my skin from time to time.
"Hey! Is that a real gun?" "... Yeah, it is."
"What kind of gun is it?" "... .45"
"Fourty-five caliber?" "... Yeah, fourty-five caliber."
"Hey, why'd you call the PoPo on me?" Oh geez, not this kid again.
Thus began a series of what I'm sure were imaginative lies he told his mother (who was actually home at this time) claiming I'd made all kinds of threats against him with my gun. She came out talking hystericly on her phone describing me sitting on my own back stoop sipping my ice water. I just smiled and waved to her, "The ***** just waved at me. She's got a gun. I can see it right now. It's on her hip." She was trying to describe it, badly, so I decided to help her out by calling out the make and model to her, which she botched as she tried to relate what I'd told her to the police. The police, having gotten a "***** with a gun threatening my little angel" call got there in a matter of minutes. At least I now know their reaction time for when I have a legitimate need for their presence. The klieg light of a spot went to the slum's back porch. The panicky hoplophobe yelled, "That's her over THERE!" I held up an open hand and waved to the cruiser as the klieg light swivvelled over onto me still sipping on my ice water.
Couldn't really see much after that, but I saw a weak LED flashlight bobbing around an all but demolished back gate so I called out and pointed, "The main gate's a little further over." When the bobbing LED flashlight made its way over to that gate, "There ya go."
"You've been threatening people with a gun? Where is it?"
"I haven't touched my gun since I came out here and sat down, officer. I'm not threatening anybody."
I wish I had had the opportunity to confer with my lawyer over that question I've asked IAT. As it is, after being shown the firearm on my hip, the officer proceeded to attempt to snatch it off my hip. My mind immediately leapt to the stories of inexperienced officers yanking and yanking on personal protection sidearms in retention holsters, and I just wanted to not get shot with my brand new gun because Rosco P. Coletrain can't figure out a Serpa holster. "You can't do that. It's a retention holst--" He found the release and my side arm came out of its holster easily. I'd still like to have a legal citation to recite as an incantation to prevent that kind of crap.
"Do you have a permit for this gun?"
"First of all, I'm on my own property, so I don't need one."
"You're out, in view of the public."
"That doesn't matter, officer. When I'm on my own property, I don't need a permit to carry a gun."
"Do you have a permit for this gun?"
"It's inside."
"Would you go get it, please?"
"Okay, one more time, as I'm on my own property, I am not required to produce a permit, but I'm going to go get it to show you anyway, because I'm a good person."
I don't know if he noted the mag holder with the other magazine that was on my other hip or not. I got my wallet as well as a pad of paper and pen to start taking down names, badge numbers, and bald-faced lies said against me.
When I got back out, it was now thoroughly dark. Absent the police being called, I'd have already finished my water and gone back inside of my own accord. I provided my pink slip. He asked for my DL as well, I ponied that up. "I see my loaded magazine on the step, but I don't see my sidearm anywhere." "I still have your gun." All of the police were on my property, not the slum's property. A couple were over at my north fence talking to the panicky hoplophobe. A couple of officers, one of them, I think the community social worker, because she wasn't really in a proper police uniform, were standing as if guarding me against getting to my feet and doing "something". Another officer comes around the corner and I do a double-take. "Weren't you here-- yesterday?" It was two days ago, but he just smiled and nodded, "Yeah. Same kid still giving you trouble?" "Yeah. Same kid." The gun grabber was busy in the middle of the yard running my particulars on the radio. Everything came back clear, five-by-five, of course, and he gave me back my cards, as we began to talk about my whys and wherefores.
Meanwhile, I can hear the panicky hoplophobe talking loudly to the other officers, "What makes it okay for her to have a gun?"
I turned to an officer on the opposite side of me from the PH, so there would be no mistaking that I was not addressing the PH, and said, "It's Indiana... It's America..." Punctuating my words with fingers counting off the things that make it okay for me to have a gun. The officer I addressed just nodded and said, "Yep. It's your Constitutional right." I grinned big and happy at that coming from a police officer. The rest of the PH's words with those officers were more muted and I wasn't of a mind to strain to make out what she was saying. When the officers finished admonishing her that I was entirely, completely, and 100% legal and within my rights, they all came over and I had about 6 city officers arrayed 180° around me. As we began a discussion about discretion being the better part of valour, the PH still standing at my fence tries to interject, "What did my son do to make you threaten him with a gun?" I replied directly to her, "I never threatened anyone with anything!" The police replied to her, "Do not address her. We've gotten your story."
Between us, the discussion went on about the efficacy of retention holsters, the philosophical bounds of open carry versus concealed carry, how the police would prefer if I concealed, even on my own property, how I was within my rights to carry openly and the PH had been admonished as such, how I should erect a 6' privacy fence to establish a barrier between me and my neighbors, how that was the goal of me felling the trees, two of which were already reduced to trunks on the ground, how I'd already told some of the neighbors of my intention, if things do not improve, of installing a video security system.
It was actually getting kinda cold and as we conversed, I had to take to breathing out through cupped hands to keep my fingers warm, emphasizing that being out at this point was entirely the doings of the decisions of others, not my own.
"Do you understand that there are some people who are just freaked out by people with guns?"
"I absolutely understand that there are hoplophobes (yes, I consistently used that term with the police) in this world that just can't deal with the sight of a gun. Even the gun on your hip will freak out some hoplophobes even with your badge and your uniform."
"Can you see how it would be better if when you were out in your yard if you just untucked your shirt and covered it up?" In point of fact, my plain white tee is NOT, actually long enough to cover this sidearm in its holster, so his question is largely moot.
"I understand how some people can disagree with private gun ownership and be panicked at the sight of a person with a gun, but at some point, their emotional distress is just going to have to yield to my rights, not the other way around."
At some point, the officer who still had my sidearm, had run my particulars, and who was evidently running point on this clusterfudge of a waste of police time asked a fateful question, "Would you open carry in Walmart?" "Well... In point of fact, I would. There has been some degree of discussion on some gun rights web forums I frequent *cough* =) about just what the Walmart corporate policy is with regard to open carry versus concealed carry in their stores. Some people say, 'I got a letter from Walmart corporate who said this,' or 'I got a letter from Walmart corporate who said that.' So, just this very morning, I got on the Walmart website and sent them an e-mail asking for clarification, for an authoritative statement of company policy on that very issue."
"Well, I know for a fact that if you carried openly in Walmart, we will get called because their policy is to not allow open carry—"
"Well, no, that's not true, they've changed that." It was another officer speaking up. "Their policy is to follow whatever state law says." So, apparently, even the POLICE aren't sure just WTF Walmart corporate policy is on legal firearm possession in their stores. I really look forward to getting a response to my e-mail to corporate and post it here.
At this point the guy who STILL has my sidearm starts trying to equivocate, "Well, even if they allow it, would you really want to have it around kids who might try and grab it?"
"Officer? Remember? Retention holster. That's precisely why I had it in a retention holster."
"Well, even we have retention holsters. There are several levels of retention holster. A child might still be able to pull your trigger while it's in your retention holster."
"IIIII don't think so. I don't think my retention holster allows access to the trigger at all." In point of fact, the Serpa completely shrouds the trigger and trigger guard.
"Well, mine, even though it's still in the retention holster, it can still be fired. Here. Right now, I have my finger in the trigger guard and could fire it in its holster." I'm staring at his sidearm in its holster and one finger sticking inside the holster and his sidearm pointing right down at the meat of his leg.
"I wish you wouldn't," I squeak. Part of that was, "I wish you wouldn't fire it right now." Part of it was, "I wish you wouldn't have your finger INSIDE THE TRIGGER GUARD OF YOUR SIDEARM!"
Ultimately, and largely unnoticed by me, the crowd of officers around me had dwindled down to just three, and while there was plenty more I would have liked to have discussed with these fine, upstanding examples of the thin, blue line, the one thing that would actually have traction in coercing me to conceal full-time is the colossal waste of police time and resources in dealing with PHs like this neighbor of mine. The officer acknowledged one last time that I was entirely within my rights, handed me back my sidearm correctly, with the slide racked open, pointed down, grip toward me, and ordered me not to load it until they had left.
When their klieg light went out and I was again blind from my pupils being too narrow, I waited until I could see again, dropped the one round back in the chamber, closed the slide, reseated the mag, and returned it to its holster.
I looked over to see that the only neighbor still out on the slum's back stoop was the SNB. I gave him no visual reaction, and did not bother to note if he had any reaction for me. I just picked up my wallet, pad, and pen, got up, went back in my house and locked the back door behind me.
Tomorrow will be spent entirely indoors.
