Back in....1994 or so, I was a fair bit dumber than I am now. Fresh outta High School, working odd jobs. I was broke as could be really, but $50 was an easy week of entertainment, Fuel was under $2 a gallon, I had a beautiful girlfriend, and it was a gorgeous Alaskan Summer.
One day, she and I had driven out into the middle of nowhere for some informal plinking and redneck sporting clays. Redneck sporting clays was basically loading up all eight rounds of my short barrel 870 shotgun, and blasting at hand thrown clays, cans,old records, truck mirrors, or anything else that could be tossed or looked cool to destroy. (please, don't make me re-emphasize the "dumb" part of the above paragraph)
We had a pretty good time, between shooting random stuff, and watching the whales out in the inlet, but...the evening was still young, so we decided to drive into Anchorage to see her sister.
Her Sister and her family seemed a decent sort. They were poor as church mice, and consequently lived in the crappiest part of Anchorage at the time. They were actually pretty clean living folks, just...struggling like alot of us go through.
So, we pulled up into that neighborhood which was a part of Alaska I didn't know existed. I was a pretty tough kid. Bench pressed double my body weight, ran several miles a day, wrestled, and had been in my fair share of scraps, But I got nervous real darn quick there.
As we got outta the car, there were several young black men across the street with a boom box, which wasn't entirely out of style yet up here, and they were blasting some kinda music. I had a tough time understanding the lyrics as we were walking to shelter and they were glaring at us, but it was clear their preferred musician had a real problem with someone bearing the initials of "YT".
We walked up into the apartment, and noted a few random bullet holes in the walls, from various drive bys throughout the years. They graciously offered us some instant apple cider, which was about the only thing I saw in that cabinet. But...when I saw those bullet holes in the walls, it got me off the fence on whether I should leave my unsecured valuables (including my guns) in the car, and decided to turn around and bring them in. Or maybe drive outta that area as fast as I could, but...again, I had a good lookin' girlfriend, and them are rare for fellas like me.
I grabbed the keys, and told them I'd be right back. As soon as I turned the corner from the building that same six or eight black dudes across the street started to mean muggin' me again, except even harder. Then...they started singin' me their neighborhood welcoming song. The lyrics went like this: "Hey white boah! whatchu doin' heah?! *STOMP* "Hey white boah, whatchu doin' heah?!" The lyrics weren't very creative, but the meaningfulness of those heartfelt words were not lost on me as my sphincter tightened up two clicks and I started fast walking to that little Ford Escort with the guns inside of it.
As I'm speed walking to my little buggy a couple of the biggest, most formidable guys peel out from the crowd. One has a steel pipe, the other one a claw hammer. They're both walking over to greet me at the vehicle. I walk still faster, but figgerin' that as with most predatory types, if I broke into a run, so would they. My only advantage was that they felt pretty confident about beating me into a pulp, so they were slow walking and pretty much savoring my fear, which was likely pretty palpable.
I popped the trunk of the car at the exact same time hammer and pipe boys, and all their trailing friends were hitting the center line of the street I was parallel parked on. I would love to say I said some cool darn 1980's action movie statement, like Rambo or the Terminator would have done, but...I was barely keeping from soiling my Fruit of the Looms at this point. So, I grabbed my completely empty 870 shotgun from the trunk, turned, smiled broadly and said in my fresh from Georgia country bumpkin drawl "Howdy y'all!" Yeah, a look of fierce determination and a command presence probably woulda been better suited, but...my message had been well conveyed.
They each stopped, and silently did an about face that would have made any Drill Sergeant proud and went back to where they came from. a bit farther back in the shadows, and minus the boisterous music about killing that "YT" fella. I grabbed the most valuable of valuables and walked back to that apartment in the silence and peace like a harvest moon walk through your favorite section of woods. There was no further incident.
As far as lessons learned, there's a lot of 'em. But the most emphasized to me was the timing. If I'd been a couple seconds later getting to that car, it would have been far worse than a mildly amusing internet tale, it could have easily been an obituary.
Nowadays, of course I don't run into the big city without emptying my rig after a shooting trip. Heck, I try not to go into Anchorage at all. I always have a gun on my person, and if there is one in the car, it's in a locked car safe. Thankfully, I have no friends or loved ones in those crappy parts of town, but if I did...I now have the sense to strongly encourage them to come out for dinner at the Shrek Compound rather than going out that way.
