Guns Are Bad Distractions. Bad.

One of my dearest friends passed away just three days ago. Naturally, I've been pretty down and sad. Lying in bed yesterday morning, I groaned at the thought of having to go to work on a Saturday. Trying to make the most of it, I tried to give myself a pep talk. "Well, little missy, at least it's a distraction. Take what you can get."

I wasn't really thinking that the distraction would come in the form of me taking on a gun threat. Nothing of that nature crossed my mind. I was thinking it would be more like selling and adjusting glasses. But no. The distraction came in the form of a gun threat.

Seriously. It was such an adrenaline rush. But I was cool. I missed my calling as a cop. Or I have just watched too much Southland. My reactions to dangerous situations have been predetermined by Officers Ben Sherman and Sammy Bryant. (I'll just try to avoid Ben's Nietzsche-like descent into moral ambiguity.)

Don't panic. There wasn't really a gun. I was 100% positive, though, that I should treat the situation as volatile. I'll tell you the story. If you still think I'm overreacting... well, you're wrong. It was pretty darn freaky. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Story time first.

Back story: the gunman in question was a previous employee at our office. He left once because he could not get along with one of his young lady coworkers. After searching for employment elsewhere, and coming up empty, he appealed to the doctor for his job back. He was given a second chance and promptly left again due to issues with a different young lady coworker. Clearly, this guy has issues with women.

He came in over a year ago for an exam and ordered glasses. We've been holding onto the glasses because he hasn't been willing to pay for them. He's tried various conniving ways of trying to get in and (basically) steal them since August of last year. He'd come in over lunch when there was only one employee or he'd come in at 6 am when only our vision therapist was there. His tactic was always the same: "oh, I called them and they said I could have them. They probably just didn't tell you since you aren't as important." Needless to say, he was sent away empty-handed. 

Yesterday, I was "in charge" of the office. All of the more experienced employees had the day off so I was the boss. Small gulp. First time calling the shots had me a bit nervous, but I squared my shoulders and charged forward. It went surprisingly well until about 11:30 when the aforementioned man walked in.

I recognized him and decided I should be the one to dispense his glasses. I had heard the back-story, so I was mentally prepared to be tough. Before I could take on this responsibility, however, my super sweet, super timid coworker pulled the chart and headed off to dispense them.

Uh oh.

There was a bright pink note affixed to the front of the chart, reading "Do not dispense until patient pays." I knew she'd see it, so I decided to let it go. She'd see the note, she could handle it. I wasn't going to micromanage. Maybe she would surprise me and hold her ground.

They sat at the dispensing table. He took the glasses out of the case, put them on, stood up, and walked out the door. My coworker watched him walk out and then stared at me, eyes wide in disbelief. "Did he just walk out with his glasses?"

I shrugged. "I doubt it." People don't just walk off with glasses... right?

He came back in a minute later. My coworker made some adjustments and the patient took them back. He again stood up and walked away. She called after him, "Sir, why are you going outside?" She sounded scared and timid and he played the intimidation card. "Stop. You're new. I used to work here. Leave me alone." He walked out.

Shoot. My coworker was totally freaking out because she didn't know what to do. I mouthed "It's ok." at her. If he was going to steal his glasses, fine. I wasn't going to go chase him down. He was clearly crazy, with his wide, staring, bloodshot eyes and bad attitude.

Five minutes later, when I'd given up on him coming back at all, he sauntered in. He tossed his glasses at my coworker. "They're dirty. Clean them."

My coworker quietly picked them up and practically ran to the back. I followed her. "When I go back out there, please come with me. You're so much tougher looking than I am and I need you to make him pay for his glasses."

I looked down at myself. Tough looking? "Ok, no problem. We can do this."

We walked back out. She stood on the side of the dispensing desk that was opposite the patient. I stood next to the patient. She handed him his glasses. "You have a balance of [some amount of dollars]. How would you like to take care of that today?"

"Oh, I'm not paying for these." He began to stand up. My coworker reached out and grabbed the glasses. "Sir, I can't let you leave if you won't pay for them."

I was wide-eyed with disbelief. She was going to have a tug-o-war over a pair of glasses with a clearly crazy man? Geez.

He began shouting. "I will not pay for these, you crazy b****! Let go! I WILL NOT PAY FOR THESE!!!"

What happened next probably took about three seconds, but each second stretched out as I watched and analyzed what to do.

With his left hand he held onto the glasses. With his right hand he reached behind him. That's when I noticed the big, suspicious lump under the back of his shirt. There was something tucked into the back of his pants, that he was reaching for. He was angry and clearly crazy.

A gun. He was going to shoot us.

I stepped closer. My coworker saw his hand and jumped back, threw her hands in the air and started screaming, "Please, sir, don't shoot."

"Sir," I said with a calm and quiet voice that surprised me, "Slowly, very slowly, put your hands where I can see them."

"I'M NOT PAYING FOR THEM!!!" he shouted as he continued to fight to free the suspicious thing from his waistband.

"Sir, I'm going to say this one more time. Put your hands where I can see them."

I was now about a foot away from him, ready to puncture his jugular with the pen I had clasped in my hand.

"Now."

He pulled his hand out and slowly put them both over his head. In his right hand was a wallet.

But I swear, if I had seen anything that looked even remotely like a gun or knife come out from that waistband, that guy would've been on the floor in no time flat. He would've had some serious pain and blood-loss issues. I took a deep breath.

"Of course I'll pay for them. I wouldn't steal from you, " he said, glaring at me.

"Kindly hand my coworker your credit card, sir." I stayed next to him. He was sitting and I was standing, and I had on my best "cop face." He shrugged his shoulders and handed her his card. She took it and ran to the credit card machine, pale as a ghost and clearly freaking out. I followed her, not turning my back on the almost-gunman.

I wasn't scared. I was high on adrenaline. Maybe this is stupid, but it's true.

Once we ran his card and handed him his receipts, he continued to sit there, staring at us. "Golly," I thought, "I'm going to have to kick this guy out."

We were comparable heights and I could probably be scary enough to get him out without actually having to touch him, but that didn't sound like fun. I thought about just taking my coworkers and leaving the building. This guy was seriously nuts. He was sitting there, staring at us with those creepy eyes, and breathing heavy and ragged. He had this little half-smile that you see on serial killers in movies. "No more creepy movies," I told myself.

Just when I had decided that we should all just leave, the doctor came out. Not knowing what had transpired, he greeted the guy in a friendly way. And this guy underwent a total transformation. He suddenly stood, became friendly and deferential toward the doctor, and peaceably left.

And that is what happened. Distraction? Definitely. Bad? Yeppers.

But guys. I could be a cop. I was awesome.