Bill Imitates Barney Fife ....

OK.  I told the official story of my two days in Ponca City yesterday.  But, as Paul Harvey used to say, here is THE REST OF THE STORY.

Every morning of my life, I take a strong diuretic to help control my blood pressure. Most mornings, it's no big deal. I take the pill, stay close to a bathroom for a couple of hours and there is no problem. Last Thursday morning, I had to get up at 5:00 a.m. and be on the road by 6:00 .... right in the big middle of my prime time so to speak. Within a few minutes of leaving home, I was counting minutes to the next rest stop on the Cimarron Turnpike, a long 60 miles or so.

Having reached the first rest stop without incident, the same problem was painfully presenting itself again by the time I reached my destination in Ponca City.  I quickly parked my car in the heaven sent up front parking spot, hurriedly gathered my briefcase and other things necessary for the morning class. I hurriedly exited the car to head for the nearest bathroom when IT happened. My first humiliation of the day.

There are some things that people who carry weapons just don't do.  Number two on the list right after "don't point that thing at me again or I'll stick it up you *ss" is "never drop your gun."  As I sprang (as best I could anyway) from the car, my mind was totally focused on the blessed porcelain receptacle that would allow me to ease my pain.  But, the moment I put my feet on the ground,  I heard a clatter below me and realized that I had dropped my Glock right there in the parking lot in front of a dozen or more detectives/homicide investigators heading for the same seminar.

I was so embarrassed that I simply pulled off my holster and locked the whole rig in my trunk. That should have been the end of it but it wasn't.  Later in the morning, I looked out and saw several folks ganged up around the rear of my car.   I love my Hyundai.  It is the best car I have ever owned.  It has almost no faults.  But it does have an annoying idiosyncrasy.  Old GM remote door openers will pop the trunk.  I looked around and saw a parking lot sprinkled with junker GM cars, just  as you would expect in a small Oklahoma town VoTech. So, I reluctantly went out and put my weapon back on.  I figured that was a better alternative than leaving a five hundred dollar weapon unprotected in what amounted to a high school parking lot.

I carry my weapon in a high dollar Kydex inside the waistband holster.  I always wear a strong belt. The rig had never failed me before.  But, now that I had it on, I couldn't be comfortable with it.  I kept imagining my weapon falling to the ground again every time I shifted position in my chair or got up. I noticed that I was constantly adjusting it or pushing the weapon back down in my waistband to make sure that it didn't ride up and clatter out as it had in the parking lot.  Unfortunately, I was doing this in a room full of men and women who are trained to notice such things.  Eventually, I just pulled it off and stuck it in my briefcase.  But then, I had to carry my briefcase with me everywhere I went for the rest of the day, even to the bathroom.

Later in the day, our host announced that the school was concerned about all of these armed strangers

wandering around campus without any ID.  He asked the seminar participants to please wear their badges while on campus.  By law, I am allowed to carry a badge but I don't.  I don't need it.  The state issued ID card is fine for those rare instances when somebody actually asks me to show credentials. But, in order to prepare for the rare occasion where I did have to literally wear ID, I had prepared a full color copy of my state license and carried it in a magnetic clasp ID holder which clips over your belt or a strap on your briefcase.  So, when our host asked, I just pulled out the ID holder and clipped it to the strap of my briefcase which was now accompanying me everywhere I went.

Later that afternoon, the class ended and I had gotten several blocks away from the campus before I looked at my briefcase and realized that my ID was missing.  It had been on my briefcase when I left the classroom.  I immediately made a u-turn and headed back to the campus.  I retraced my steps out of the building and didn't find it.  I asked at the front desk and it hadn't been turned in.  Reluctantly, I went back to my car and headed home the last few shreds of my dignity now totally destroyed.

I have learned that putting off embarrassing tasks does not make them any easier.  So, driving down the street in Ponca City, I dialed the number for CLEET (the licensing agency for law enforcement and private security in Oklahoma ).  Sheepishly, I reported that a darn good copy of my PI license was now floating around Ponca City, probably in the hands of a stupid teenager that doesn't realize that trying to use it will buy him more trouble than he could possibly imagine.  And that's before he has to deal with me in civil court. The folks at CLEET couldn't have been more gracious. But, knowing cop culture, I can imagine what was said as soon as I hung up. I could almost hear the guffaws halfway across the state.

While talking to CLEET, I had to control the urge to gush out things like, "This really isn't like me.  I am actually a very competent person, almost anal about things like this actually.  I don't know what happened today but this is just not normal."  But, I had the common sense not to.  If you have to say things like that to strangers, do you really expect to be believed?

I can't do anything about the missing ID but I did remedy the holster problem.  I examined it thoroughly and found that either: (a) the tension screw which regulates the pressure that holds the weapon in place had worked loose a bit, or (b) the rubber compression washer it works against had compressed. At any rate, I tightened it back up to the point where the weapon will remain in place even if you hold it upside down but still draws properly with a firm pull.

I wish my dignity could be fixed so easily.