02-14-2006, 12:16 AM
Last night I made the mistake of sticking to my only weekly outing, a trip to the laundromat. As I would never dream of subjecting my dear wife to washing the not insubstantial amount of laundry I soil on a nightly basis, I feel it is my own cross to bear in carrying out this dreary, but necessary task.
As is my custom, I chose to go on my outing fully strapped. I briefly considered bringing my new FAB-10 .223 carbine along for this journey, but soon came to the realization that going heavy need not mean being heavy. As I weigh somewhere in the region of 350 pounds due to my CSN, I decided some reconsideration was in order.
At that point I looked down towards my feet and realized that I just happened to have a shotgun there, a beautiful Mossberg 590 12 gauge with pump action.
While this "piece" is usually relegated to light duty accompanying me in a pool cue bag to the all-you-can-eat breakfast offering at the local greasy spoon, I thought that it would be well suited for tonight's outing, as nothing says "halto, Señior" to a drunken little onager better than a well-oiled, fully-loaded "street sweeper". Et tu, Juan?
As I approached the laundromat I noticed a patrol car doing a slow driveby. I waved at the on-duty LEOs but they didn't respond.
Moments later I was preparing my laundry when I heard a nervous voice behind me saying "sir, please DROP THE BAG and put your hands on the counter". As the voice sounded full of fear I decided it was best to comply, so I dropped the bag and did as I was told.
The secondary LEO (no doubt, a rookie) opened my bag and let out a shout - "this fat whacko's got a GUN!" - I turned to inform him that the correct term was in fact "weapon", not "gun", but he seized upon this instant to throw me down on the floor and demand that I lie spread-eagled. As my medical condition does not allow for lying face down (a protest that fell on dead ears), I was forced to relieve myself right there on the floor of the laundromat. The frightened little rookie said something about my guilt obviously being proven by my reaction (I believe his exact words were look at this fat fool, he's pissed himself) and pulled his weapon on me, a Glock 19 chambered for 9mm, with the so-called "New York trigger" modification and the LEO-only full 15-round magazine. I commented that "Isosceles" was a stance more suited to our interior locale than the antiquated "Weaver" he chose to take, but his response was to kick me. Unfortunately, his foot came into contact with the concealed SIG-Sauer P225 that is always in my waistband. "My GOD", cried the inexperienced first year LEO, "how many GUNS does this fat fruitcake HAVE???" Noting his previous reaction, I decided not to correct him on his inaccurate terminology this time around.
At this point I explained to the Senior Officer that I was fully-compliant with local CCW regulations and that carrying a fully-loaded shotgun into a laundromat was within my rights under the 2nd Amendment. He obviously felt embarrassed over this whole debacle, as his response was "sure, pal, whatever you say – just put your hands behind your back, and if you have ANY thoughts about moving, DON'T". I could clearly see he was on my side, though formality prevented him from saying this in front of the frightened rookie. He even went so far as to tell the other patrons of the laundromat that "this looks to be the fat assailant who's been pulling guns on prostitutes late at night", a comment obviously made to reassure them that LEOs USUALLY do not draw weapons on normal, law-abiding citizens. Sure, I can play along. Needless to say, they detained me overnight (in a straightjacket, no less), no doubt to maintain their facade, and to spare their rookie any embarrassment. But let me make this absolutely clear: the insane anti-gun faction in this country must be stopped before incidents like this become routine. I wasn't even compensated for the quarters I placed in the washing machine, which means I'll have to ask my wife to replace them. And what's worse, my clothes still reek of urine. I, of course, am used to this. My wife however, if you'll excuse the bon mot, will be highly pissed.
As is my custom, I chose to go on my outing fully strapped. I briefly considered bringing my new FAB-10 .223 carbine along for this journey, but soon came to the realization that going heavy need not mean being heavy. As I weigh somewhere in the region of 350 pounds due to my CSN, I decided some reconsideration was in order.
At that point I looked down towards my feet and realized that I just happened to have a shotgun there, a beautiful Mossberg 590 12 gauge with pump action.
While this "piece" is usually relegated to light duty accompanying me in a pool cue bag to the all-you-can-eat breakfast offering at the local greasy spoon, I thought that it would be well suited for tonight's outing, as nothing says "halto, Señior" to a drunken little onager better than a well-oiled, fully-loaded "street sweeper". Et tu, Juan?
As I approached the laundromat I noticed a patrol car doing a slow driveby. I waved at the on-duty LEOs but they didn't respond.
Moments later I was preparing my laundry when I heard a nervous voice behind me saying "sir, please DROP THE BAG and put your hands on the counter". As the voice sounded full of fear I decided it was best to comply, so I dropped the bag and did as I was told.
The secondary LEO (no doubt, a rookie) opened my bag and let out a shout - "this fat whacko's got a GUN!" - I turned to inform him that the correct term was in fact "weapon", not "gun", but he seized upon this instant to throw me down on the floor and demand that I lie spread-eagled. As my medical condition does not allow for lying face down (a protest that fell on dead ears), I was forced to relieve myself right there on the floor of the laundromat. The frightened little rookie said something about my guilt obviously being proven by my reaction (I believe his exact words were look at this fat fool, he's pissed himself) and pulled his weapon on me, a Glock 19 chambered for 9mm, with the so-called "New York trigger" modification and the LEO-only full 15-round magazine. I commented that "Isosceles" was a stance more suited to our interior locale than the antiquated "Weaver" he chose to take, but his response was to kick me. Unfortunately, his foot came into contact with the concealed SIG-Sauer P225 that is always in my waistband. "My GOD", cried the inexperienced first year LEO, "how many GUNS does this fat fruitcake HAVE???" Noting his previous reaction, I decided not to correct him on his inaccurate terminology this time around.
At this point I explained to the Senior Officer that I was fully-compliant with local CCW regulations and that carrying a fully-loaded shotgun into a laundromat was within my rights under the 2nd Amendment. He obviously felt embarrassed over this whole debacle, as his response was "sure, pal, whatever you say – just put your hands behind your back, and if you have ANY thoughts about moving, DON'T". I could clearly see he was on my side, though formality prevented him from saying this in front of the frightened rookie. He even went so far as to tell the other patrons of the laundromat that "this looks to be the fat assailant who's been pulling guns on prostitutes late at night", a comment obviously made to reassure them that LEOs USUALLY do not draw weapons on normal, law-abiding citizens. Sure, I can play along. Needless to say, they detained me overnight (in a straightjacket, no less), no doubt to maintain their facade, and to spare their rookie any embarrassment. But let me make this absolutely clear: the insane anti-gun faction in this country must be stopped before incidents like this become routine. I wasn't even compensated for the quarters I placed in the washing machine, which means I'll have to ask my wife to replace them. And what's worse, my clothes still reek of urine. I, of course, am used to this. My wife however, if you'll excuse the bon mot, will be highly pissed.