So, Monday the 15th I was driving to the post office around 12:30 in the afternoon. That meant I left my house near MetroCenter (Phoenix) and jumped on I-17 south. A couple of miles down the road, about 250 yards from the Bethany Home exit, I hear the unmistakable (to long time shooters, at least) sound of three .45 caliber shots from very closeby.
Back to that in a moment. For now, let me set the scene for you. It’s a windy afternoon. Warm. Temperature in the lower 80s. I’m driving in the right lane between 60-65. I’m not sure if the speed limit in that area is 55 or 65, but being in the far right (I’d planned to take the Bethany exit) and driving either 5-10 over or less than 5 under the speed limit, I know I wasn’t fucking with anyone’s day. I also know that I didn’t cut anyone off when I got onto the freeway (I’m crazy alert about merging into traffic). That eliminates the road rage possibility.
Anyway, as I’m looking around to see if I can tell where the shots came from and if they hit anything, I reach my left hand down beside the seat to where my beloved Beretta 92FS always rides, just in case, and my hand hits nothing but carpet. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my always-armed self had neglected to grab my gun when I left the house. I was running late, etc. The gun was in the bedroom and I’d have to cross the house to get it. I was stupid, irresponsible and lazy. Fuck. Now, when there may be an actual need to defend myself, I have nothing more potent than my dick to wave in the face of danger.
As I’m realizing the ugly fact that I am socially naked, a sun-faded red, mid-80s pickup pulls up alongside me. The passenger (male, late 30s early 40s, stringy sandy blond hair, aviator sunglasses and a light colored T shirt) points. There’s a .45 BANG just as I brake, crank the wheel, then punch the gas and charge up the off ramp. As I’m halfway up the ramp, I hear another shot from under the overpass, which leads me to think they were shooting at anyone/thing, rather than just me in particular.
I whip out the cell phone and punch 9 and Talk. I get “No Emergency Key” pop up as an error message. FUCK. Then I hit 911 and Talk. Fast busy. SHIT. Okay. I hit 411 and get an operator. As close to verbatim an account as I can recall follows:
O: City and state please?
ME: Phoenix AZ
O: How can I help you?
Me: Phoenix Police emergency dispatch.
O: I’m sorry?
Me: Phoenix Police emergency dispatch.
O: One moment. (10 seconds or so go by) I’m sorry I don’t have a listing. I have a general Phoenix Police number…
Me: That’ll be fine.
The phone rings. A new conversation ensues:
Dispatcher: Phoenix Police.
Me: I need to report an attempted shooting.
D: WHAT?! Say that again.
Me: I need to report an attempted shooting.
D: You need to call 911 to do that, sir.
Me: Apparently I can’t do that from my cell phone.
D: You can’t do that from your cell phone?
Me: That’s right. You wanna throw me a bone here, ma’am?
D: One moment. I’ll try to patch you through to 911.
Me: Thank you.
Phone rings
Dispatcher #2: Phoenix 911
Me: I need to report an attempted shooting.
D: Okay, sir. What’s the address?
Me: No address. It was on I-17 southbound a couple hundred yards north of Bethany Home.
D: Where?
Me: (I repeat the above)
D: On the freeway?
Me: Not to be rude, but do you know another I-17?
D: Okay, sir, the freeway is DPS (Department of Public Safety aka the Highway Patrol) jurisdiction. One moment and I’ll transfer you to their 911 system.
(Anyone else noticing that I’ve called to report an attempted shooting and am being transferred around like a prison whore here?)
Phone rings
Dispatcher #3: DPS 911
Me: I need to report an attempted shooting.
D: What did you say?
Me: I need to report an attempted shooting.
D: Okay, sir. Where did this happen?
(I tell her)
D: How long ago
Me: A minute and a half, two minutes give or take.
D: Was anyone injured?
Me: Not that I know of. I hauled up the exit ramp, but it doesn’t look like traffic is stopped or anything down there now.
D: Did you get a plate number?
Me: No. I didn’t get a plate or the make or model of the truck, but I can give you a really good description of the truck and the shooter.
D: That would be a big help.
Me: (I give her the above info and even throw in a description of the water jug in the bed of the truck)
D: That really is a good description, sir. You say they were headed southbound?
Me: Right
D: And this was how long ago?
Me: Now, about four minutes
D: Okay, sir. Stay on the line for me for a second.
(about ten seconds later she comes back)
D: Sir?
Me: Yes?
D: Where are you now?
Me: The Washington Station post office on black canyon hwy.
D: Are you sure you weren’t hit?
Me: Ma’am, with all due respect, I’m pretty sure I’d know if I’d been shot.
D: (chuckles) Probably, but sometimes with minor wounds you really don’t know right away.
Me: I’d have some pain and something would be wet. Not that there wasn’t nearly something wet anyway.
D: (laughs) I’m sure. It’s important that we catch these guys, but the most important thing is that you’re all right. Are you somewhere you can get out and see if your vehicle was hit?
Me: Yeah, hold on. (I get out of the car and look it over) Nope. They missed clean.
D: That’s good. Sir, are you on a cell phone?
Me: Yeah.
D: may I have your name and the cell number.
(I tell her)
D: and your home number in case we catch them and need to reach you.
(I tell her)
D: Would you be willing and able to ID the guy if we need it?
Me: Absolutely. After he made my day so interesting, it’s the least I could do for him.
D: Okay, sir. Are you sure you’re okay, just shaken up?
Me: Yeah, other than that I have to stand in line at the post office now, I’m fine. Still shaking a little, but fine.
D: Okay, sir, try to have a good day.
Me: You too.
I cannot believe I left home unarmed. True, as things turned out I didn’t need and wouldn’t have had a chance to return fire, and if I’d had my pistol I wouldn’t have done anything differently. It’s not like I’m stupid enough to chase after the guys in a 70 mph shootout on the freeway or anything, but I’m the guy that always preaches that we are each responsible for our own safety, that the cops exist to arrest bad guys and take reports, that they’re not our personal bodyguards and that you can’t count on them to be around when you need them. Then I go and leave my own personal testament to that philosophy sitting next to my bed because it’s the early afternoon and a nice day. Dipshit.
Like good old Clarence said in true romance, “If the events of the last few days have taught me anything, it’s that it’s better to have a gun and not need it, than to need a gun and not have it.” I mean, fuck, all I had with me were a ceramic folding knife and my Swiss Army. BTW, only a dipshit brings only a knife to a gunfight. The first rule of gunfighting is (obviously) HAVE A GUN.