Wynterbourne
New member
Well, I had one interesting morning.
It started off with my wife getting a call from work, asking if she would be willing to come in about 3 hours early. We'd left her car at work last night, so naturally I had to drag my lazy assets out of bed and drive her.
I get home, putter around a little bit, and quite simply can't get back to sleep. So I decide to go in to work a bit early for some overtime. Overtime is good, it means more ammunition.
So I take a quick shower, hop out, and start to go through the motions. I have to admit, and this may be TMI, but one of the small pleasures in my life is 'drip drying' when the wife is not around. So I've towel dried my hair and am brushing my teeth when I hear a loud 'BANG' come from the front door.
This would be a good time to mention that within the past 3 weeks we've had, all within 300 feet of my apartment, two break-ins, one shooting, and two fist fights. All but one of these occured within 100 feet of my apartment.
So I come out of the bathroom to check it out and hear 'BANG' again. This time, I see the door physically move. So I'm thinking at this point that someone is trying to come inside of my apartment. As you can expect, I went for the nearest gun first. In this case, it's the PX4.
I keep the 'living room' pistol right next to the phone. Yeah, I know, I should've called 911. But with someone possibly coming in the front door, well, I think I made the right choice.
I pop the case open and realize that I, as of that moment, am an idiot. Inside of the case are fully loaded magazines. Unfortunately, the fact that they are in the case means that I've got my 'practice' magazine, the one loaded with snap caps, loaded in the pistol.
*BANG* The door actually moves inward somewhat.
I'll be perfectly frank, I didn't worry about what is 'tactical' or 'spiffy' or 'proper'. The practice magazine came out, hit the floor, and the new one went in. I start to slingshot the slide when there's another *BANG* and the door comes open.
Walking through the doorway is a rather gruff looking Hispanic individual. He's wearing severely ripped and faded grey jeans, beat up tennis shoes, a blue shirt that looked like something a mechanic would wear, and a blue 'doo rag'. He sees me, sees the gun, and starts with this stream of Spanish that approached a speed of Mach 1.2.
Oh, by the way, the guy had a buck knife in his hand. It had a blade about 4 inches long. It looked extremely well used.
Keep in mind, I'm standing there buck naked, with an almost loaded pistol in my hand, and he'd just 'busted' in the door to my apartment with a knife in his hand. I shout, "WHO ARE YOU!", to which he responded, "No Habla! No Habla!"
The slide slips out of my fingers, which are still wet and wrinkled from the shower, right as I'm yelling, "You'd best learn!"
It's amazing. He learned english REAL blooming quick, as he advises me that he's with my apartment complex's maintenance department. Good grammer and diction too.
Now, the man has no name tag on his clothing. I don't see a tool box. And my apartment hadn't notified me that anyone was coming for any maintenance tasks. I'll be damned if I'm letting him move his hands ANYWHERE out of my line of sight to reach for any kind of I.D..
Yeah, the police got called.
So a friend of mine with the local PD responds. We got lucky and only had to wait a minute or two. The guy didn't drop the knife until the police pulled up. You can guess how happy this made me.
And let me tell you, it's somewhat embarassing to have a police officer walk in and start laughing at your naked and somewhat shriveled self.
It turns out that it was in fact the maintenance man. The officer knew him from a call earlier in the week. Someone thought he was breaking into an apartment and had called the police.
His tools were outside of the apartment, out of view. The reason he didn't have a name tag is because he's a contractor, working for the apartment complex resolving some minor structural issues with a number of the apartments.
He'd come to my apartment to work on my door frame, and ultimately on my water heater, at the request of the apartment complex. Somehow, some way, he'd managed to jam the door from the outside while working on the exterior frame. He'd been kicking the door trying to get it to unjam, so he could fix what he'd broken.
Anyone want to guess just how long and how loud I screamed at my apartment complex for not notifying me that someone was coming to work in my apartment? Particularly after we'd had all these issues within recent weeks?
Want to guess the look on their face when the officer, who accompanied us to the office, stated, "You see, I would've just shot him. Man had a knife in his hand, wouldn't see day one of jail."
I did learn a few important lessons however.
First of all, I'm a dumbass. I can't put it any plainer. I put my primary defense pistol away with NON-FIRING AMMUNITION. I know better. I was taught better. I've taught my wife not to do it. And here I am, making a bonehead move that could've gotten me killed if it had been something bad.
Potentially dangerous situations have this way of warping time. The police responded in about 3.5 minutes, he'd been driving in the other end of the complex. It took me about a minute and a half from the moment the door came open to talk with the individual and call the police.
I lived about 6 years in those few minutes, and they weren't pleasant ones. While the police are coming I'm wondering where and how to shoot him if he comes at me. Should I take a shot if he runs? Should I change angles and possibly escalate the situation by moving?
Training and familiarity with a weapon does make a difference. Learning my PX4 meant that my hands new exactly where to go, in not the friendliest, though definitely not the worst circumstances. My thumb went right to the safety after the slide went into position. My grip was firm, hitting the sweet spot on the grip.
Potentially dangerous situations make your willy shrink. However, it is possible to be intimidating with water dripping from your shrivelling ne-ne's. One must have something, such as a handgun, or be named 'John Holmes' to accomplish this though.
The 'Clint Smith' quote in my sig line remains true.
All joking aside, this stammered me. I didn't have my defensive ammo ready. That could have killed me. I was caught flat footed, and if that door hadn't held, and it had been one of the robbers, he would've had me.
What if it had been one of the thieves, and my wife'd been home. I can handle putting my own life at risk. Not hers. Never hers.
As it was, when I saw the knife, I came ---->.<---- close to shooting him.
Christ, I've needed a beer all day long.
It started off with my wife getting a call from work, asking if she would be willing to come in about 3 hours early. We'd left her car at work last night, so naturally I had to drag my lazy assets out of bed and drive her.
I get home, putter around a little bit, and quite simply can't get back to sleep. So I decide to go in to work a bit early for some overtime. Overtime is good, it means more ammunition.
So I take a quick shower, hop out, and start to go through the motions. I have to admit, and this may be TMI, but one of the small pleasures in my life is 'drip drying' when the wife is not around. So I've towel dried my hair and am brushing my teeth when I hear a loud 'BANG' come from the front door.
This would be a good time to mention that within the past 3 weeks we've had, all within 300 feet of my apartment, two break-ins, one shooting, and two fist fights. All but one of these occured within 100 feet of my apartment.
So I come out of the bathroom to check it out and hear 'BANG' again. This time, I see the door physically move. So I'm thinking at this point that someone is trying to come inside of my apartment. As you can expect, I went for the nearest gun first. In this case, it's the PX4.
I keep the 'living room' pistol right next to the phone. Yeah, I know, I should've called 911. But with someone possibly coming in the front door, well, I think I made the right choice.
I pop the case open and realize that I, as of that moment, am an idiot. Inside of the case are fully loaded magazines. Unfortunately, the fact that they are in the case means that I've got my 'practice' magazine, the one loaded with snap caps, loaded in the pistol.
*BANG* The door actually moves inward somewhat.
I'll be perfectly frank, I didn't worry about what is 'tactical' or 'spiffy' or 'proper'. The practice magazine came out, hit the floor, and the new one went in. I start to slingshot the slide when there's another *BANG* and the door comes open.
Walking through the doorway is a rather gruff looking Hispanic individual. He's wearing severely ripped and faded grey jeans, beat up tennis shoes, a blue shirt that looked like something a mechanic would wear, and a blue 'doo rag'. He sees me, sees the gun, and starts with this stream of Spanish that approached a speed of Mach 1.2.
Oh, by the way, the guy had a buck knife in his hand. It had a blade about 4 inches long. It looked extremely well used.
Keep in mind, I'm standing there buck naked, with an almost loaded pistol in my hand, and he'd just 'busted' in the door to my apartment with a knife in his hand. I shout, "WHO ARE YOU!", to which he responded, "No Habla! No Habla!"
The slide slips out of my fingers, which are still wet and wrinkled from the shower, right as I'm yelling, "You'd best learn!"
It's amazing. He learned english REAL blooming quick, as he advises me that he's with my apartment complex's maintenance department. Good grammer and diction too.
Now, the man has no name tag on his clothing. I don't see a tool box. And my apartment hadn't notified me that anyone was coming for any maintenance tasks. I'll be damned if I'm letting him move his hands ANYWHERE out of my line of sight to reach for any kind of I.D..
Yeah, the police got called.
So a friend of mine with the local PD responds. We got lucky and only had to wait a minute or two. The guy didn't drop the knife until the police pulled up. You can guess how happy this made me.
And let me tell you, it's somewhat embarassing to have a police officer walk in and start laughing at your naked and somewhat shriveled self.
It turns out that it was in fact the maintenance man. The officer knew him from a call earlier in the week. Someone thought he was breaking into an apartment and had called the police.
His tools were outside of the apartment, out of view. The reason he didn't have a name tag is because he's a contractor, working for the apartment complex resolving some minor structural issues with a number of the apartments.
He'd come to my apartment to work on my door frame, and ultimately on my water heater, at the request of the apartment complex. Somehow, some way, he'd managed to jam the door from the outside while working on the exterior frame. He'd been kicking the door trying to get it to unjam, so he could fix what he'd broken.
Anyone want to guess just how long and how loud I screamed at my apartment complex for not notifying me that someone was coming to work in my apartment? Particularly after we'd had all these issues within recent weeks?
Want to guess the look on their face when the officer, who accompanied us to the office, stated, "You see, I would've just shot him. Man had a knife in his hand, wouldn't see day one of jail."
I did learn a few important lessons however.
First of all, I'm a dumbass. I can't put it any plainer. I put my primary defense pistol away with NON-FIRING AMMUNITION. I know better. I was taught better. I've taught my wife not to do it. And here I am, making a bonehead move that could've gotten me killed if it had been something bad.
Potentially dangerous situations have this way of warping time. The police responded in about 3.5 minutes, he'd been driving in the other end of the complex. It took me about a minute and a half from the moment the door came open to talk with the individual and call the police.
I lived about 6 years in those few minutes, and they weren't pleasant ones. While the police are coming I'm wondering where and how to shoot him if he comes at me. Should I take a shot if he runs? Should I change angles and possibly escalate the situation by moving?
Training and familiarity with a weapon does make a difference. Learning my PX4 meant that my hands new exactly where to go, in not the friendliest, though definitely not the worst circumstances. My thumb went right to the safety after the slide went into position. My grip was firm, hitting the sweet spot on the grip.
Potentially dangerous situations make your willy shrink. However, it is possible to be intimidating with water dripping from your shrivelling ne-ne's. One must have something, such as a handgun, or be named 'John Holmes' to accomplish this though.
The 'Clint Smith' quote in my sig line remains true.
All joking aside, this stammered me. I didn't have my defensive ammo ready. That could have killed me. I was caught flat footed, and if that door hadn't held, and it had been one of the robbers, he would've had me.
What if it had been one of the thieves, and my wife'd been home. I can handle putting my own life at risk. Not hers. Never hers.
As it was, when I saw the knife, I came ---->.<---- close to shooting him.
Christ, I've needed a beer all day long.
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