People
who just can't understand why anyone would want a concealed-carry
weapon's permit need to ride the 5 a.m. TRAX train to work with me, and
get off in the dark one block north of three homeless/drug treatment
facilities.
Or, like today, just ride the train.
During their
once-a-month, check-your-ticket visits to the early train to downtown, a
Utah Transit cop came upon a fellow sitting across from me whose
transfer pass was two days out of date. No I.D., but did give his name,
and found he has twice before been cited for trespassing on the train . . .
and had numerous arrest warrants.
As she was citing him again,
another guy -- tats, piercings, angry and obviously cranked up, started
bellowing into his cell phone from two seats away:
"I don't wanna go back to
Max and end up slitting my wrists, dude! Do something! Y'all ain't got
my criminal history, I'll never get out, $#!@!"
The UTA officer
quietly called for backup, and when the second, burly transit cop
arrived the bad boy was out the door and down the street and into the
dark.
So, yeah. THAT's why. Armed cops were there, this time, a once-a-month fluke. One day out of 30.
So, perhaps a .38 Special with five 158-grain, "self defense" rounds in the cylinder, could be something of a comfort.
You know, rhetorically speaking. Sort of.
