I already mentioned it in the survival forum, so I figured I'd share this story (again) with everyone.
When I was sixteen, I'd just had my license for about a month and was still inexperienced driving. My sister needed something for a project she was doing (that was due the next morning), and my mom agreed to go to the store and get it for her. To give me some practice night driving, she volunteered me as chauffer.
We got there, grabbed what we needed, and hopped back in the car. As I was pulling out of my parking space however, I hit a huge pothole (this parking lot was legendary for its enormous and dangerous potholes) and the wheel jerked out of my hands. It was that bad. I stomped on the brakes.
My fender was awfully close to the corner of an SUV's bumper, so I backed up a couple feet to focus my high beams on it while the lady who was loading it with groceries looked at it. I didn't see any damage and she waved us off and went back to loading groceries, so I pulled out and left.
I didn't get even a quarter mile down the road when the same SUV comes screaming up beside us with some guy hanging out of the passenger window (I mean, from his waist up was outside the vehicle) screaming obscenities and shaking his fist, which he proceeded to pound on the roof when the SUV pulled close to us. I accelerated to get in front of them and obeyed orders not to exceed the speed limit while my mom dialed 911. Took fifteen minutes to get through to them, and then they told us it'd be another fifteen minutes before they could get anyone to our area. In the meantime, the SUV repeatedly tried forcing us off the road, and when I had to stop because of oncoming traffic, the guy jumped out every time and ran for the driver's side door (mine).
I wasn't overly worried because I had a full tank of gas and at least had my pocket knife handy, but frankly I wasn't all that confident in my ability to not get killed by some deranged and obviously violent man about twice my size and much more muscular. My mother, on the other hand, was nearly hysterical. I got her calm enough to keep talking to me and had her call my dad to explain what was going on. The phone call lasted about one minute and mostly consisted of "where are you", "keep circling that block", and "let's see how the fuckers like an F-350 up the ass".
According to both my sisters, he suddenly came in the room while loading his 9mm pistol and told them he probably wasn't going to be home for dinner and to stay near the phone, then went out to the truck and peeled out. They were in shock for the next day or two; apparently the look of a man with the clear intent of going out and killing someone is something they hadn't experienced up to that point.
In the meantime, I'd been the circling the FRICKING POLICE STATION for ten minutes and still no cops. I'd long ago reached the point where I was through running from the bastards and wanted to just get it over with in the most expedient (read: violent and angry) manner possible. Suddenly, my dad's huge truck comes out of nowhere and missed ramming the SUV by MAYBE a foot. He backed up and started gaining momentum for another attempt when the SUV stopped because he'd blocked them in (inadvertently, but he wasn't going to complain).
The cops showed up just as he was getting out of the truck, so he put the handgun under the seat and decided to let them handle it rather than get in trouble. I circled the block twice more in case there was any shooting involved, then pulled into the parking lot alongside the police officers.
Surprise, surprise, the person driving the SUV was the bitch who had been loading her groceries and the psychopath in the passenger seat was her husband. The cops listened to their version of the story first (in which I did a hit and run on their car, which of course totally made sense since there wasn't any sign whatsoever that either vehicle had ever made contact with the other; not to mention the forty-five consecutive minutes of attempted homicide), then listen to my mom and I explain what happened. They even listened to my dad's account of what he knew about it all.
Cops not only let the bastards go scott free, they also told me that it was "technically" MY FAULT and that the only reason I wasn't getting in trouble for a hit and run was because I'd had a rough night already and my mom was pretty shook up. Excuse me? Are you dumbasses, or did the bitch and psychopath fund your education or something?
That night, I swore to get a handgun and CCW as soon as I legally could. Had I had a handgun at the time, I'd have likely pulled over and confronted them with the intent of holding them until the cops arrived, but frankly I wouldn't have been opposed to ventilating them if they continued to try anything. Looking back on it now, that seems like a pretty stupid idea to me, but the temptation to do so would probably still be just as strong now as then.
Five years later, I can finally purchase a handgun, but can't afford a pistol or CCW at the moment. I'd like to think I've not only learned something from the experience, but have also matured enough to make wiser decisions in any future situations that turn up.
So, any of you got a similar story to tell?