NOTE: In order to protect the anonymity of everyone involved here, some details of the following story have been altered. The message remains the same. This incident happened over a year ago, but I didn’t want to post it until the criminal case had made its way through its final appeal.

There’s been a lot of talk locally in recent weeks about gun control. The pro-gun people say this, the anti-gun people say that, and most people simply get lost in the crossfire. I’m willing to bet that the overwhelming majority of people in Central PA who don’t have a specific opinion on gun control simply couldn’t care any less about the subject. I’m willing to further state that most of you who don’t care probably tune most of the debate out as rhetoric. As well you should.

It seems that we’ve been polarized on the topic of gun control for eons. You’re either an all-American gun-lovin’ patriot, or a commie pinko Constitution-ignoring America-hating scumbag. Actually, I’m being nice; it seems like the argument really polarizes towards screaming “THE LIBERALS WANT TO STEAL YOUR GUNS AND BURN THE FLAG AND MURDER YOUR CHILDREN AND LET SOMEONE WITH BROWN SKIN LIVE NEXT DOOR TO YOU” versus “I’m just not really into guns”. There seems to be no in-between; both sides have made it clear that you’re either with them or against them. Nobody supports the moderate majority. As a result, most people probably feel pretty alienated on the subject. Up until recently, that was me.

Last summer I found myself at pistol range at the Carlisle game lands burning through about 400 rounds of ammunition on my then-new handgun. It was early in the summer (I’m thinking May?) and was the first nice weekend we’d had that year. There’s nothing like the smell of gunpowder and the kick of a .40-caliber to clear the mind after a long week at work, and if the weather is awesome, so much the better. After finishing up, I packed up my gear and headed home. Everything was fine until I got off at my exit, made a few turns, and wound up in a construction zone.

Here in Pennsylvania, you’re legally assured a right to own a firearm. I took it one step further and have a concealed carry permit, allowing me to tote the gun wherever I go. I personally carry a .40 caliber Hi-Point with me at all times (for any gun snobs reading this, I also own a Beretta 96D and conceal a Bersa Thunder 380, so sit down). Although I know plenty of people who will work themselves into a rabid frenzy defending their god-given constitutional right to carry their gun everywhere they go, I prefer to leave mine locked up when I’m in crowded areas. The risk of an accident far outweighs the risk of not having it when I need it — especially when there are children running around. But when I’m driving — and especially when I’m driving back from the range — it’s by my side.

“Why would you ever need to keep a gun handy while driving? What could possibly happen from inside the safety of your own car? Why wouldn’t you just drive away?” All good questions. I’ll answer them right now.

The line of cars was stopped. Concrete barriers on my left. Concrete barriers on my right. I was in a good old-fashioned PennDOT cattle chute. A dozen cars behind me. One car in front of me. No cars in front of him. The driver of the car in front of me — who had been driving aggressively and recklessly for the past few miles — spent at least a minute glaring at me through his mirrors before he got out of his car. Not just staring, but glaring. There’s a difference.

Let me reiterate: I was blocked from going forward by Idiot’s car. I was blocked from going backwards by a dozen other drivers. I was not able to pull around, as both sides of my car had only inches of clearance between my vehicle and the barriers. Nobody was going anywhere. And being neither the confrontational nor the suspicious type, I decided to remain within the safety of my 3800-pound SUV.

“What’s your f’in problem,” inquired the idiot. “You a f’in faggot?” Obviously, he didn’t actually say “effing”.

I was puzzled. Is this guy drunk? “I think you need to go back to your car,” I suggested. Understand that I am not a tough guy. Unlike some of my pro-gun friends, I don’t wave my gun around as a status symbol. I will openly admit right here and now that I will gladly run away from just about any fight. I have nothing to prove to anybody and prefer to avoid physical confrontation whenver possible. Call me a wuss if it helps you sleep better at night; I prefer the term “adult”. So I would’ve been happy if Captain Knucklehead had gone back to his car and driven off. He felt otherwise.

“Yeah. That’s what I f’in thought. Faggot. You ’bout to get f’d up, motherf’r. F’n faggot.”

Back up a few seconds. This guy had been driving aggressively and glaring at me for some time. I had done nothing to aggravate the situation. When we got to the cattle chutes, he decided to stop his car, get out, and walk back towards me.

As soon as I saw him get out of his car, I placed my handgun on my lap. Even though it was still in the holster, and even though the safety was still on, and even though the chamber was empty, that two-pound mass of polymer and steel added a degree of security that, being belted into my seat and at a definite locational disadvantage, I wouldn’t have otherwise had.

More importantly, it put a stop to the situation.

My right hand was on the grip the whole time. When Tough Guy said “you ’bout to get f’d up”, I moved my right index finger out so that if I had to draw (which, thankfully, I didn’t), the holster would slide off the gun. I assume that he noticed the slight movement, because he immediately stopped talking. He had sunglasses on (NASCAR-style, of course) so I couldn’t see what he was staring at. But I can guess. He stood in silence for another 10 - 15 seconds before backing up to his car and driving away.

I’ve relayed this story to a few people verbally now, and aside from the disturbing “OMFG U WERE LEGALLY ENTITELD TO SHOOT THEN” cheers from the pro-gun crowd, I’ve had two reponses: “Why didn’t you just call 911?” and “You didn’t even need to use your gun, and that proves why guns should be outlawed.” My answer to the first observation is simple: it wasn’t safe. The situation did not lend itself to my ability to reach down, open my cell phone, and call the police. Doing so would’ve required me to take my eyes off him; not a smart move. And with an aggressor this stupid and confrontational, there’s no telling if my act of picking up my phone would’ve pushed him to the next level. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he was on crack. Maybe his sexuality was threatened by a Honda Element. Once he was a safe distance away, yes - I called 911. And the second observation is simply wrong: I did actually use my gun, and it performed exactly as it was designed to. It stopped an attacker. You don’t have to actually fire a gun to benefit from one; in my case, the very sight of my gun is what defused a highly dangerous (and mental) situation. Who knows what would’ve happened next?

Moral of the story?

We hear a lot about guns. Most of it is utter garbage. With this being an election year, the pro- and anti-gun sides are going to go into Fanatical Overdrive Mode any day now. If you want to live your entire life without every seeing-let-alone-owning a handgun, no problem. I respect your decision and will defend your right to hold that position as vigorously as I defend my own. But for me, the $180 I spent on that gun, the time I devoted to the safety courses, the countless hours spent at the range … it all paid off that day along 81.

Incidentally, he was ultimately found guilty of disorderly conduct.