I was wondering if anyone wanted a CCW story thread?

I'll start with my story of being stupid and lesson I learned from it.

This Detroit story goes back to the mid 90s.

Back then we didn't have 'shall issue' CCW, and I was active in local party politics as a low level dufus. I asked our county commissioner about getting a CCW permit, he checked with the county boss for Detroit (who is called the 'executive') He explained how I was vet going to college, and since the boss was a vet himself he offered me a deal where I would only have to donate $750 to the dem party 'thump' account, instead of the going rate of $1500-2500. I couldn't even afford that because I was barely keeping my car running.

Anyway, I was also scared of getting spotted and arrested so my summer CCW gun was a east german police pistol copy of the PPK in .32 ACP. My father wanted to buy a full sized wood lathe really bad and heard of a shop that was selling old detroit public schools lathes from when they closed their shop programs. He asked me to go with him because it was in one of the shitty areas just off the cass. Stupid scared me packed the fake PPK.

As we came out and walked back to the car a group of the black male residents got up from the liquor store about 100 yards away and headed for us on a direct course.

As background, in Detroit most stores, heck most commerical buildings, are vacant ruins. The 'party' stores, as they are called in Michigan, are often the only intact commerical building for a mile around. In addition to selling malt liquor and booze, they also cash checks, sell over priced food and baby formula, and other household supplies. Black males in the city gather around them drinking and talking throughout the afternoons and early evenings like a poor man's bar.

Anyway. They were staring us down hard and I knew what was up. It was a super clear moment and one I won't forget. I started getting out the .32, scared out of my mind and mad at myself for not having a perfectly good .45 with me, all at the same time. They saw my draw and remembered they really wanted to turn 90 degrees and pretend they wanted to walk through some vacant lots.

I never carried anything smaller than a .38 special again. When I have to enter the ghetto John Browning's gift, the .45 ACP, goes with me.

Two similar residents in New Orleans suggested I give them my money for the parking lot pay box.
My G26 reminded them they had other places to be.

Went to an ATM machine local to me. Saw 2 late teens hanging out near the bank. Went into the foyer type opening they have for after hours ATM useage. After I got my money out of the machine and put it and my card in my shirt pocket, the 2 came in the foyer area with a knife a piece out in front of them. They asked for the money, I drew my 1911 and told them to un-ass the AO. They beat feet.

I came back the next day to tell the bank manager about it. He got the tape and turned it over to the cops. From then on, whenever I came into the bank, the clerks would smile and nod to me. It seems the tape made its way around  and the tellers had some pretty good laughs over it. Couple of the tellers named me Quick Draw for awhile.

BTT