Why I don't carry concealed

  I have made a conscious choice to not carry a gun. I support the right to do so, and will defend it vehemently. It's just not the right choice for me at this point in time.

  There are two major reasons for that - the first is that I don't feel that I live the kind of life where carrying a gun on a regular basis is a good part of my EDC (Every Day Carry) kit. Two pocketknives, a flashlight, and my Leatherman Wave, sure. A gun is just extra weight for a one-tenth-of-one-percent chance of being the right tool.

  The other reason is because I simply don't trust myself to carry right now.

  On the night of October 22, 2007, I was mugged on my way to work (I was working graveyards doing technical product support in Seattle). I'll paste in some of my LiveJournal post from the next day and then talk about what the last almost six years have meant to me.

Note: Pictures inline, might be distressing for some.



----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I was walking down S 160th St from my apartment to the bus stop, and a couple guys walked past me, going the opposite direction. They asked for fifty cents for the bus, I told them I didn't have it, have a good evening, and kept on my way. Rounded the corner to International and two guys blocked my access to the bus shelter. One guy asks me for a dollar, I tell him I have no money and he starts arguing with me over it.

Then the two guys from earlier came back 'round the corner and they blocked me up against the fence at the Dollar Rentacar lot. That's when I knew that I was going to get jacked, unless something miraculous happened.

So, now there's 4 guys. Middle-aged black guy in a Kings jersey and a denim longcoat, a Hispanic guy about my age in a Dodgers sweatshirt, and the two Hispanic kids from earlier - one in a black hoodie and the other just in black (he's Nondescript Hispanic Kid in my police report. NHK for short). They were all bigger than I was.

Dodgers guy starts telling me I NEED to give him something. I tell him I don't carry cash, terribly sorry. The Kings guy says I can go to the ATM and get them some money. Dodgers guy asks if he can see my wallet. No fuckin' way. I tell him I don't show it to anybody for any reason.

Then he starts telling me that he's from South Central LA. Pulls up his sleeve to show me his "LA" tat on his right arm. Totally trying to scare me, but I already know how this is going to end. You can't intimidate me like that.

Dodgers guy starts railing on me because I'm White. As such, I HAVE to have money. And I owe it to him. He's from South Central, do I know what that MEANS?

It means you're a fucking shithead, actually. Douche.

I'm keeping an eye open. The other regular at this bus stop walks past, sees the cluster of guys and keeps his head down. He doesn't see me, and walks into the shelter to wait for the bus

Where's the goddamn bus?

Dodgers guy has been doing almost all the talking, with Kings guy (he's form New York, he informs me after I get reminded that Dodgers guy is from South Central) offering quips about how I need to get them some money.

They demand to know what's in my bag. Black Hoodie guy puts a hand on it. I ask him to not touch my things.

I've got a knife in my pocket, and I know how to fight with it, but I toss that theory aside pretty quickly. It's 4 on 1 and I don't know what weapons they might be packing. I'm not going to escalate unless doing so gives me a clear superiority. I pull my knife, and at the very least, I end up with it inside of me... and I prefer to keep it outside, where it belongs. It stays in my pocket. If I'm gonna come out of this in anything resembling OK shape, I gotta play Gandhi. I look past Hoodie Guy and NHK and think, if I can find a way to dart into the road, I'm safe. But they've got me pinned, I can't do that without risking a serious beatdown.

I reach inside my coat pocket, thumb off the Sleep Mode on my Blackberry and dial 911 (counting keys) and hit 'Connect.' I know that the phone is going to lock into the EMS system and my location will be reported. I hope it's in time. Where's the fucking bus?

After about another minute of being yelled at for not sharing my money with them and being told that I have to give them something, he's from South Central and that if I don't, well, that's not something I want to do.... after another minute of that, my Blackberry rings. Dodgers guy demands to know why I didn't tell them I had a phone. I say it's for work and that I'm on call. The display is a 206 number, it's gotta be EMS calling back to see if I'm OK. As I'm glancing at the display, Dodgers guy steps up and fires a right hook into my right eye.

Kings guy steps up and smashes me in the nose. He steps back and hoodie guy and NHK step up and take their shots. I scream FUCK as somebody grabs my bag and they run off. I can't see this, because they pulled my shirt up over my head. I take my chances and dart into traffic as I get my shirts and jacket pulled down. I lost the bag, which sucks. I reach for my jacket pocket- they got the Blackberry, and my personal phone was in the bag. Shit

I stagger over to the shelter, the guy's horrified to know that a) somebody got jacked and he didn't realize there was a problem, and b) that it was ME and he didn't recognize me. He pulls out his cell, dials 911 and puts me on the line. I'm a mess at this point. There's blood on my hand, my face feels weird and I'm starting to get nauseous. The dispatcher has to keep me on track, getting descriptions of my assailants. I look over, and I can see the black guy and Dodger guy at the Subway across the street.

No
Fucking
Way

{snip}

Went into work to do some paperwork, like my timecard. Dropped off the Blackberry with our telecom guy. He asks if tonight is soon enough to fix it... Got HR to take some pix of me, because Officer Friendly recommended getting pix along the way, to show the development of bruising. "The more black and blue, the better!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Please forgive the florid prose, I wrote this after a long, sleepless night

  So, friends, that is your humble narrator less than 24 hours after an attack that left me permanently damaged. I didn't know it at the time, but my assailants broke several parts of my skull, cracked my sinus cavities and damaged the Eustachian tube on the right side of my head. I get frequent sinus  infections, get carsick, and have trouble equalizing pressure when I change elevation rapidly. Elevators can be painful, mountain passes are a trial, airplanes are a waking nightmare.

  Three of my four assailants were arrested at the scene, I got (almost) all of my stuff back that night. The fourth assailant was never identified or arrested. I went to the hearing and sentencing of each of my attackers. One was only 16, the younger brother of the guy with the LA tattoo. During his sentencing in juvenille court, he addressed me directly, told me how sorry he was and that he hoped I could find it in me to forgive him. Afterwards, in the hall, the procesuctor told me he'd never in his career seen that happen. All three received the maximum sentence - and as it was the first time any of them had been before a court, that maximum was 90 days in jail with credit for time served. Justice moves so slowly that the teenager and the third guy had already served more than that, and they left the courthouses as free men.
  A few days afterward the attack and feeling a little off-center, I bought a 650,000 volt stun gun. It's a little bit bigger than a pack of cigarettes and runs off of a 9v battery. It fit right into the pocket of my greatcoat and made me feel a little less uncertain. A little less vulnerable.

  Two months later, I was at Northgate Mall and a young man clowning around triggered something inside of me and I was halfway through drawing the stungun before I realized that I wanted to hurt him, wanted to knock him down and shock him - fortunately for us both, I stopped myself in time and I don't think he ever realized I freaked out at him. That's when I realized that more than just my physical being had been broken. I never had nightmares or other classic signs of emotional trauma, but that event messed me up. I'm a fairly mellow guy most of the time, but groups of young African-American or Latino men really freak me the hell out. I don't like this, I don't like the fact that I have completely understandable but equally irrational reaction to people who are innocent of harming me. I don't like that fact that I had a sadistically gleeful impule to hurt a kid for acting like a teenager.

  I still have those reactions, five and a half years later. I'm not over it yet - and with the strength of the impulse I felt with that poor kid at Northgate I simply do not think that I am a good candidate to pack heat. I worry that I'll end up reacting out of fear and not rationally - and a firearm makes it so much easier to turn bad judgement into tragedy.

  I know many people who choose to carry, and I think that's a perfectly valid choice for them. I see absolutely zero moral or legal issues to concealed carry (though I have to admit supporting classes and education for concealed carry. I approve of mandating firearms education and safety under a number of circumstances), and support the rights of people who wish to do so.

  At this time, though, having a gun hidden on my person does not make me feel safer. It makes me feel like a danger to myself and to society, and that means that I am the wrong person to carry.