Strange encounters

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JamisJockey

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While shooting in the desert in Arizona, near Yuma, many moons ago....I was shooting with a Deputy Sheriff (who corrected my draw). While we banged away at some old cars, another car pulled up on a ridgeline about 300 yards to our left. After awhile, we were pretty well done and started cleaning up. They drove over. Passenger got out, driver stayed in. Vehicle was a panel van, white, beat up with bondo and primer on almost every surface.
Passenger: "Whatcha shootin'?"
Jeff: "We're just leaving."
Jeff is a big dude, and was wearing a 1911 on his hip (locked and cocked). At this time, he pulled his shotgun out of the bed of his truck and chambered a round. He obviously sensed something I didn't (hey, I was only 20). They got the hint and drove off.
Best I figure, they were either Coyotes (illegal-alien smugglers), or were thinking about taking our guns, the premise being that we had shot all our ammo and were done for the day. Hell, I had a full mag in my 9mm and another two on me. He had his 1911, the shotgun, and at least one BUG (he would never tell me how many BUG's he always carried).

Once, on a ridealong, we got a call of shots being fired. Time was about 0100. So, off we go looking for the culprits. We are on a dirt road, no lights anywhere, running blacked out. We come into a big auditorium looking pit near some homes. Two big, ugly mean looking guys with AK47's had a little range setup and were wailing at some beer cans. When they realized we were there they just turned and stared at us, AK's at the low ready (one of the rifles was actually smoking a little). Jeff put the car in reverse and we just backed up until they couldn't see us anymore. He did a 3 point turn, and we hauled ass out of there.


Anyone else ever have any strange encounters?
 
Not sure this one qualifies, but here we go...

Once upon a time I was the poor soul who had to get up early and open a gun store. I always carried my own shotgun, since I never knew what the condition of the shop shotgun was in. I needed a new case for it, so I was holding it by the pistol grip, pointed at the sky, as I exited my vehicle that morning.

The only other person in visual range that fine morning just happened to be cutting through the parking lot headed straight for me when he noticed the pistol grip Mossberg 500 in my hand...:evil:

Best execution of the about face I have ever seen.:D

Have several similar stories, and I suspect my having a shotgun in hand had something to do with the happy endings...;)

Funny how polite folks get when they notice that 12ga. in your hands.:)
 
I've had a number of nasty encounters, but one certainly rates as the funniest!

I'm a pastor, and have served part-time and full-time as a prison chaplain for over a decade. A few years ago, while serving part-time at a local prison, I made a point of trying to help inmates whose marriages were in trouble (a very frequent occurence among the incarcerated). I would visit their wives and kids, try to be a "peacemaker", etc., as I had opportunity.

One inmate asked me to visit his wife and 2 kids, in the town where I lived at the time. I did so one Saturday afternoon, and was sitting in the living-room, talking with them. One of the inmate's gangsta homies chose this opportunity to walk in to the house (without invitation). He had a sort of glazed look on his face, and his eyes weren't very well focused, sure signs of drug use in my experience.

He handed me an envelope, sealed, but from the feel of it, obviously full of pills of some sort, and told me that I was going to take it to his homie in prison - without passing it through security. Needless to say, I informed him, somewhat succintly, that I wasn't about to do this.

He started jumping up and down and screaming that he was "going to kick the <excrement> (euphemism) out of me" and that he had a "black belt".

As I drew my Glock 23, I replied that I had a black gun...

His eyes got very big, very quickly, and you could almost see the thoughts chasing themselves across his face:

Thought #1: "Pastors don't carry guns!"

Thought #2: "This one does..."

Thought #3: "OOooohhh, @#$%!"

He stayed not upon the order of his going, leaving at high speed through the screen door (which he didn't bother to open first). I called the Sheriff's Office to report the incident, only to be told by the Sheriff himself, in a plaintive voice, "But why didn't you just shoot the b*****d? Now we'll have to do it later!"

:D

There's a sequel to this incident. Next time I was at the prison, I complained rather strongly to the inmate, informing him that if I was going to help out his family, I didn't expect his gang buddies to try to pound on me that way. He was very apologetic, and assured me that his buddies would "get the message".

Three weeks later, the gentleman (?) who'd confronted me was admitted to hospital with multiple fractures to ribs, arms and a leg, severe bruising, and internal injuries. He told cops that he'd fallen down the stairs (which, since he lived in a single-floor home, didn't convince them very much). Thereafter, whenever I drove through the (rather crime-ridden) area where the inmate's family lived, I was greeted with smiles, waves and good cheer - while cops only drove through there in two- or three-car groups, for mutual protection.

I think the word got passed loud and clear... :D
 
BumbleBee

I am part owner of a mineing claim there and usually make it there a few times a year (m n Mi.) it is a great place to practice my draw and hip shooting , Doubble tap on target, re holster, do again. I usually will go through 500-1000 rounds in a session, and it is SOP to keep my defence clip loaded and standing by at all times. When done it goes in the HK and I will put one in the pipe.
True story last trip to Phoenix my oldest boy lived in a gated complex. There was this one appartment that had 18-20 mexicans (most of which did not speak engilsh) living in a 2 bedroom unit. Every night they would get out in the drive and argue and fight untill someone 911'd them, then they would scatter. I had been out in the desert looking for gold (nope didn't find any) and came in right during one of their pre-fist fight's. I was wearing my shoulder rig, Black, quick thumb release, 2 spare clips, one with SWC's and the other FMJ's, the Hydra shoks were in the gun. I was in open cary mode (it's legal there and very cool lots of people do it). My rig looks just like the ones the local PD use. I get out of the truck and they take one look at me (6'4") eye ball the rig, go dead silent and scatter. I think cool it'l be quiet early tonight.
Following night they start again, so I decide it is time for a walk, N open carry. Again they look, jaws drop and they scatter. Cool quiet again. Every night after that I went for a evening walk.. Just about fight time, the silence was very nice.
 
If I'm at a range and there are not other people around who I _know_ (for instance, at the Supershoot, I wouldn't worry about leaving a $3,000 rifle sitting overnight on a bench...), I am either carrying an extra 1911, or I'm toting an AR variant downrange when I change my targets.
 
I used to coyote hunt with a psychiatrist who had worked with the Menninger Foundation at one time. He bought a new rifle and scope and needed to zero it in. There was an old rock quarry about fifteen miles from our residences out in the boondocks. Someone many years before had converted it to a hundred yard range with a beautiful (tho ancient) bench rest, built the way it should have been built. I had been there two or three times before with no problems. There were no NO TRESSPASSING signs and no gate. So one Sunday morning we went down there. We had just got our targets posted when an old pickup raced into the quarry and an ugly jerk jumped out screaming and hollering that we were on private property. Nothing I could say would quiet him, he just kept screaming and calling us names, finally jumping in his truck, hollering out the window that he was calling the sheriff, and peeling off down the gravel road. I wondered what his problem really was, and turned to the doctor and asked, "Doc, how would you diagnose that case?" He shrugged and said, "He's Nuts!!!.
 
Be careful. The Miami bank robbers Matix and Platt acquired their weapons by going out to isolated shooting ranges, killing people and stealing their guns.
 
In some role-playing games you can give your character a quirk called "weirdness magnet." One manual describes this as "weird (stuff) just seems to find you... and often." It is meant to be a -1 disadvantage.

My friends have commented that I have it at -10.

These incidents occured in Beverly, Dedham, and Boston. My life in New Hampshire since then has been uneventful.
 
In my last job for the USAF as a Recruiter, I had plenty of strange encounters, over the phone and in person.

One time my bride and child were in the office while I was working and this big guy came in the door. Too old to serve and probably to big anyways. He walked in and turned to the right about 45 degrees, and took about three or four steps towards my desk. He didn't look in the window from the parking lot so the fact that my bride was sitting to his right and a little behind him when he stopped kinda scared him when he realized that we were not the only two in the office.
I was on the phone, so I acknowledged him by waving to him. He then asked my bride, "What are you doing here?" (or something to that effect) She told him that she was my wife and she was visiting me, but she said it in her womanly "your starting to PO me voice".

By this time I am getting that voice inside of me telling me that this is not a good thing. I hurry up and get off the phone, stand up, square up and stick my hand out as I introduce myself and ask how I can help him. I kept the desk between us, and the bride is on the other side, so he is kinda in the middle of both of us. Now I am about 6'3" and was probably hovering around 250 lbs at the time. Due to the silly rules, the only defensive weapons I have is my pocket knife and regular office equipment... I didn't need to have some "softball" equipment under the desk in my office since crime is virtually unheard of in the town I was recruiting in.

Well this dude, looks at me and mumbles something about how big I am and the fact that I have a huge ring (it is about the size of a high school class ring) on my right hand as we shake hands. I dropped my hands and kinda went into a low ready position, not a threating display, but they hung out around my belt.

I ask him if he is interested in joining the Air Force, but he says no, but needed to use the restroom. I told him how to get out of my office the back way to where the restrooms are. He never comes back into my office, but we see him circling the building, out in the front parking lot a couple of times.

After a bit, my bride needs to use the restroom, so here I am wishing that I had a gun doing a quick search of the hallway and trying all of the doors... all I had was my Gerber, with the blade out and held it in a reverse hold so you couldn't see the blade from the front. Since it was a Saturday I was the only RIC working in the building at the time so he didn't have any where else to go. All the doors that were suppoused to be locked were locked and no body was in the restrooms.

I don't know if it was how I handled myself, or the fact that me bride was in the office so he was out numbered that stopped what ever he was planning on doing. I am just thankful that nothing happened to my precious daughter!
 
Devonai, I read your post a couple years back about what happened that evening as a courier. Would you mind telling me off board/Private message how that resolved? I found the story quite engaging.

After a tour in the Marines I went to school for one year at a college in Wenham, not far from Beverly. Nice quaint little communitites there, but being from farther south, just below the Mason-Dixon, I took the New England curtness and coldness for rudeness and never returned. I am glad I made that decision. My life took different turns than had I remained there to complete my education.


Well, this isn't really anything other than humorous:
As I mentioned, I spent a tour in the Marine Corps 10 years ago as an infantryman. I also am in the last semester of finishing up that education, too. One day at work, I get a call from an Army recruiter :rolleyes: . Anyway, he begins by introducing himself and starts his pitch about how I can finish my education at my school's name here for free if I consider joining the Army. (He no doubt got my work # from school, I am very stingy with it.)

I chuckled a bit, and said, "I'm not sure I'm a good candidate for you, but I appreciate your call. Thank you, Sergeant." Undaunted, he continues. I sense he isn't listening, but just rehearsing his script and listen for buzz words. I tell him I already spent 4 years in service to my country in the Marines, and feel any obligation I may have had to my country had been fulfilled by that gesture. I quite enjoy my freedom as a civilain now, and now I entrust its protection to those younger and more spry than me. His response, "Freedom. Don't you think freedom is worth fighting for?" I smiled, said, "No Sergeant, in fact I don't. Please remove my name and number from your calling list and have a nice day."

Sorry, Olys45, your story just reminded me about that call . . . I think I laughed to myself over that for about a week. Army dogs . . . will they never learn . . . :neener:
 
Hitchhiker

Quite a while back, I'm in Philly. I pick up a hitchhiker (yeah, I know, dumb as a rock). As soon as we get back on the road he tells me I'm gonna take him somewhere he can pick up some drugs. I told him he needed to find another ride, so he allows as how he's not getting out, that I'm gonna take him where he wants to go.
Pulled the 1911 from between the drivers seat and door, and he says - right here's fine.
 
Well. I (thankfully) don't have any cool stories to share with you guys. Hope y'all don't think less of me for wanting things to stay that way too.

Our illustrious mod and armed pastor said:
He started jumping up and down and screaming that he was "going to kick the <excrement> (euphemism) out of me" and that he had a "black belt".

As I drew my Glock 23, I replied that I had a black gun...
Click to expand...

"I have a black gun"

Bwha-hahahahaha *nyuk* <snort>
-
 
BullfrogKen said:
Sorry, Olys45, your story just reminded me about that call . . . I think I laughed to myself over that for about a week. Army dogs . . . will they never learn . . . :neener:
Click to expand...

In my area, the Active Army and the Army Nat. Guard made it hard for the rest of the Recruiters to do our jobs...

I actually had kids tell me that I was not as annoying as "that Army Recruiter"... :neener:

I figured it was my job to make contact with them, so I handed them a business card, told them to check out the website, reminded them of some benefits, and told them to call if they had any questions. It was not worth my time to harass somebody that was totally not interested... I saved that for the ones that showed some interest! :D
 
Heh... the Natl Guard recruiter in my school district was the reason I got my ear pierced in high school...

This guy would NOT leave someone alone if they scored decently on the ASVAB. Got to the point dad was ready to shoot him. The I overheard Mr Recruiter giving anoth student greif about how he wouldn't sign him up unless he got rid of his earring. Told dad about it, and was at the piercing shop in the mall that night (incidently, he DID stop pestering me after that)...

Back to your regularly scheduled thread...
 
Used to ride with my small- town PD on a fairly regular basis, mostly late shift. One night the officer I was riding with and I got to talking about how we had only ever practiced in the daytime, and how it might be a good idea if we tried some nighttime practice with the car headlights, flashlights etc.

Well, it was night. We had extra ammo. And there were always stray targets at the gravel pit. So we headed on out there (hey, it was a slow night, they were mostly ALL slow nights, thank goodness) and got set up.

After we had each fired a cylinder or two apiece (this was the early 1970s, OK?), the radio crackled.

"400 to 405."

"405, go ahead."

"Got a call about somebody shooting at the gravel pit. Head out there and check on it."

"10-4, en route." Dunno how M. kept a straight face answering the call, or how Dispatch missed hearing me suffocating in the background.

About five minutes later we "reported in" at the gravel pit, told Dispatch we didn't see anyone or hear anything and cleared the call.

lpl/nc
 
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