I’m not allowed to tool up in my workplace thanks to the big, bold 30.06 sign on the front door. A policy that I’ve questioned multiple times with my site leader to no avail. Subsequently, when I leave the building for lunch, I generally stop by my truck to grab my XD(m). If a coworker is driving, this makes for a conversation starter. One of my coworkers has repeatedly chided me for carrying. He’s also 6′ 6″ and a former collegiate athlete. I tried the usual approaches to change his mind, and while he was accepting of my decision to carry, he still felt it was unnecessary. Felt it was unnecessary . . .
This afternoon he relayed a story to me about a urban outdoorsmen [ED: homeless guy] physically threatening him as he got in his car at Starbucks yesterday. He managed to use his imposing size and a firm tone to get enough room to get in his car and beat feet which I’m thankful for. However, it warmed my soul to hear him say, “For the first time in my life, I wished I had a gun.” And it threw me over the edge of the happiness cliff to hear, “Hey and I’m sorry I made fun of you for wanting to carry.”
He was quick to point out that he wouldn’t want to ever pull the trigger, but he now sees why I’m armed nearly every time I’m anywhere I’m legally allowed to carry. He’s asked me to check out some firearms his father in law gave him, make some recommendations, and train him up a bit. Next stop, CHL class.
I firmly believe an armed society is a very polite society. I have no doubts that my coworker and friend would have exited the situation alive yesterday gun or not. But I’m also glad to see another join the ranks even if it took an angry vagrant to do it.