How to poop with a CCW

As someone who is really disabled to those who are not, please do not use the disabled stall. If you're able bodied and just like the extra space please remember there are those who really need this. If you disagree I'd gladly change places w/you (if I could) for a day so you can walk a mile in my shoes. Being officially disabled is no picnic, please respect the "conveniences" marked for us.
 
I use an appendix holster and just pull it up just a bit. Gun is still accessible and all the pants can hit the deck so you can sit down.
 
I will relate the following poop/pistol incident because I think it's funny. Note: The ONLY reason I'm treating it as humor is no one got hurt.
A guy went into a stall and hung his 45 auto off the coat hook on the door.
He apparently hung it cocked but not locked.
When he reached up to retrieve it he apparently hit the grip safety and pushed the trigger into the hook and of course the pistol discharged. This apparently unnerved him so much he did the same thing again!
Jim
 
A woman did....

A woman did put it up on something and forgot it. I believe it was found before she realized it and went running back. Fortunately they didn't make a big deal out of it. I think I'd like to have a lanyard and hang it around my neck. But then I'd probably forget and go out into public wearing a gun.

PS Sometimes the handicapped rails come in handy for holding stuff and the hook on the door if it isn't broken off (like it always is).
 
I was once using the handicapped stall for that very reason. Also just cause I like some space. I see a wheelchair come in and try my door. Curses under his breath. I see him trying to get into a regular stall. No luck. Cursing continues. I can't wait him out, so I have to leave. I drag my leg as if I'm disabled. He wasn't buying it.

I still laugh my *** off till this day thinking about it.
That's messed up. I am disabled, I have a leg that I have to consciously swing or it'll drag.
Laughing at and mocking the handicapped is just messed up.
 
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We've recovered a number of revolvers forgotten in stalls within our office. We also had an unintended discharge penetrating the barrier between stalls.

With a conventional belt holster, you my loop the end or tongue of the belt back through the first belt loop, creating a wedge and holding the gun in place.

The stall hook is not a safe place to put anything as thugs are known to reach over the door, grab what's there and bolt. It's especially hazardous for women and purses. You must maintain control at all times and it must not be visible from the outside.

Depending on the rest room, if it's a multi-stall affair, the center stall has no place that's not within reach from an adjoining stall. If you can, choose and end-stall. At least you'll have one side out of reach.

And ladies, please don't put your purse on the bathroom floor, then come to my house and put that same purse on our table.
 
One of the advantages of my BG380 is I can leave it holstered, in my pocket. I always take care not to just "drop trou" without regard to where the gun will hit...

Yes, this is a valid, yet humorous question.
 
When using a public restroom, it makes me very nervous, I sweat profusely, have quick onset of gas, and get lightheaded. I figit, squirm, clear my throat repeatedly everytime I hear the restroom door open as to signal my stall is occupied. Sometimes, I just get up and leave after an unsuccessful try at doing my business.

All because I'm scared to death the guy in the next stall is experimenting what to do with his deadly weapon he clearly is not competent to carry.
 
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how not to do a tactical dump

I was on a roadblock with four other MP's during a riot in DC, armed with a shotgun, rifles, ammo, and lots of CS gas grenades among us, when one guy had to take a dump. We had been using a men's room in a gas station on the corner, so he headed over there. When he dropped trou and tried to sit down, he realized that his webgear was too bulky to get properly situated. He unhooked the web belt, shrugged out of the harness, and tossed the mass of straps and pouches on the floor. To his horror, one of the gas grenades went off, leaving him with pants down around his ankles, gas mask tangled therein, business on the way, rifle and gear on the floor, and the small room rapidly filling with the most noxious non-lethal stuff you could imagine. He pinched his loaf, grabbed his gear, and stumbled out of the room in a white cloud of gas, pants still around his ankles. We'd heard him yell and saw him emerge from the cloud, crying, coughing, drooling and puking, an image that is, to borrow a popular phrase, seared in my memory. I can't remember his name or see his face anymore, but I can still see that olive drab wraith with pale legs staggering out of the cloud of gas.
 
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