What WAS in the satchel?
This writing is about guns!! I won't mention my thoughts on the controversy though some of you may have detected my carefully hidden (heh heh) feelings on the subject.
However, this column is about a real-life occurrence that caught my attention just a few days ago.
My wife was in the Rite Aid store (on 196th and 76th Ave. W) picking up a few needed items while I remained in the nice warm car.
Along came a man who sat down on the "smoking bench," located between QFC and the pharmacy. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him other than the fact that he kept talking to himself. I didn't see that as important as I know many folks who do that when things aren't going well so I paid little, if any, attention...UNTIL...
I couldn't help but notice that he dug around in the sand of the cigarette butt receptacle, brought forth a thoroughly-smoked dead butt, lit it up and sucked in the last three puffs with the final one no doubt scorching his lips.
He had my attention at that point as his continual conversation with himself was getting louder. It became quite obvious that he was meandering through life one pancake shy of a short stack.
I guessed that he wasn't a tramp because his not too dirty casual clothing and his hoodie jacket, covering much of his head, were unremarkable.
Soon, he opened his bulky tote bag and extracted a second hoodie jacket and pulled it on over the first one.
I began to wonder, thanks to my over active imagination, what might be within that bulging satchel and whether or not he had less than acceptable intentions.
Might he be the proud possessor of a recently pilfered gun? Why was he so intent upon each woman that passed his perch while ignoring all of the men?
The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up like a porcupine's quills when it dawned on me that my wife was about to come out of the store and would have to walk in front of this strange person to our car.
What would I do if he made an untoward advance on her? Being a tad crippled up, it takes me a few minutes to get in or out of my car.
Would adrenalin take over? Would I be physically able to subdue the probable villain? What if he produced the suspected firearm?
All of these thoughts were overcome as my wife opened the back door, deposited her purchases, joined me in the front seat and buckled her seat belt so we could drive off.
Might this strange man have had a gun? Could he have been dangerous? My cynical nature says possibly on both counts. Was my concern aroused because the possibility of a gun?
I don't think so... I believe it was a result of the very strangeness of the man and my active imagination.