The gun supporters have posted, among other things, that there were at least 4 people at the Portland Mall who were permitted to carry guns but because the mall was a safe zone, those 4 left their guns at home.  The gun supporters were lamenting the lack of firearms at the mall suggesting that if the permitted folks had been allowed to take their guns into the mall, they could have dropped the shooter and possibly prevented further carnage.

So I just created this imaginary scenario that mirrors the one in Portland.

I am shopping with my sisters at my local shopping mall.  The three of us head to the food court for a quick bite.  Just like the mall, the food court is packed. PACKED!  We get our food and wander like nomads for five minutes until we find three seats together at a table covered with debris.

No sooner do we sit than we hear gunshots.  And more gunshots in rapid succession.  Panic ensues and adrenaline surges.  I am permitted to carry a concealed weapon to protect myself so I grab my .38 out of purse.  Looking up I spy a man three tables away, tattoos and piercings and hair stuffed up into a toboggan and he has his gun raised and is shooting.

I am diving under the table at the same time I am shooting wildly at that guy.  Of course that is not what I was taught when I attended NRA-sponsored firearms safety class as required in order to complete the permit process for the purchase of my weapon.  But this is not firearms safety class.  This is me, gun drawn, caught in a hail of bullets, reacting with my own personal fight and flight survival instinct.

My first bullet sails directly over my sister’s head, grazing her scalp along the same track as the part of her hair and continues in the direction of the tattooed man but slightly left of him finally landing in the left eye of the girl behind the Chic-Fil-A counter dropping her instantly.  I have no idea what becomes of my second and third shots but my fourth shot hits the shooter somewhere and he drops his gun and falls to the ground.

But the sound of gunshots continues.  I turn toward the sound now, and see a good looking 20-something in creased khaki pants and a blue oxford shirt empty his clip into the crowd.  Then he pulls his 38 out of his pocket, puts the gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger.

As it turns out, I was one of 4 people in the food court that day permitted to carry concealed weapons.  Two of us pulled our weapons and began firing.  Sadly, neither of us hit the shooter before he killed himself.  But I did manage to kill a 16-year old fast food clerk and a celebrated local tattoo artist and new dad out shopping with his equally tattooed wife and new baby daughter.

Thank God I had my protection with me.