The Magic Bullet Theory

I was trying to be a good Samaritan. Really.

Here's my bullet story:

I picked up a fellow in Louisville to take him to a meeting. As we were getting in my car, I noticed something shiny on the street next to my tire. I picked it up. Shit. It was a bullet. A BIG bullet. A BIG, SILVER bullet stamped .357 on the base. Being a good citizen, I didn't want to leave it laying around so any kids could find it, hit it with a hammer and accidentally shoot someone or blow off a finger or some other such mentally concocted horror.

So I put it in my purse. (See picture) Yes, I carry a purse. I have carried one since about 1980. Women have this all figured out. You can get a LOT of crap in a purse. And even though I'm a black belt in Taekwondo, I'd rather smack the shit out of an attacker with my 15 pound purse than actually try the hand to hand thing.

So, bullet in purse, I drove off to the meeting. And promptly forgot about the bullet.

Now let's go forward a month. I travel as part of my job. I was standing at a soft drink machine in a hotel in Atlantic City and was getting change out of my purse when I noticed something shiny in my purse. The bullet. I'd forgotten about it. Then a shock wave of panic and anxiety hit me like a tsunami - I'D ALMOST CARRIED THE DAMN THING THROUGH AIRPORT SECURITY. Phew. Close call. Then, like all good waves, the tsunami returned, "I DID CARRY THE DAMN THING THROUGH AIRPORT SECURITY - when I left Louisville to come to Atlantic City!!! Phew. Another close call. TSA hadn't wrestled me to the ground and tore the purse from my cold, clammy hands.

Tsunami wave three - what the hell do I do with the bullet?! I can't put it in a trash can. Some poor, unsuspecting garbageman, probably a father of eleven, would hit the crunch button on the garbage truck and shoot himself and it would be ALL my fault!!! Shit! What do I do.

I've never been recognized as one that comes up with brilliant decisions. This is another good example. I chose to take it to the front desk of the hotel. Why? I have no clue. Maybe I could make it THEIR problem, not mine. So I quietly beckoned to the front desk guy to come over so we could talk. I explained as best I could that I'd found a .357 magnum bullet on the street, put it in my purse, and need to go to the airport where that's a no-no ... would he please take it? Now I know the look that an extraterrestrial must get when requesting, "Take me to your leader." The guy looked at me like I was nuts. Bullet. Guy carrying a purse. I could see his mental machinery shutting down. He looked at the bullet as if it was a miniature atomic bomb and refused to touch it. He called security.

Oh shit.

Out walk three guys with no necks, just heads glued onto Chevy-sized bodies. They didn't look happy. And they were talking on their radio thingies. I imagined they were saying, "Terrorist in sight," or some such thing.

They also had ZERO sense of humor. I tried very pleasantly to explain the bullet, good Samaritan, purse thing again, leaving out the part about having found it on a street in Louisville (I figured even a human Chevy could figure out that I'd carried it on a plane, so I just kind of omitted that information). I even played dumb and asked, "Is this a .357?" I figured stroking their security egos would not be a bad thing. "Yes. It's a .357," one of the Chevy's clinically replied.

And now it was time for the big question, "Would you take it and dispose of it for me?"

Instead of being arrested as I had fantasized, they took the bullet and all three of them walked off with it as if they'd found the bullet that shot JFK.

My cab showed up and I got the hell out of there.

But I couldn't help whispering to the TSA officer when I got back to Louisville that I'd accidentally carried a bullet through HIS security gate, that he MIGHT want to mention that to someone. He said he would at a meeting they were having tomorrow.

I suspect they reviewed tapes of my committing the crime and I'd bet my photo is hanging in a back room of the Louisville International Airport with a caption, Suspected Terrorist - WATCH this guy!

Post note: I almost did it again! This time, there were fellows visiting my office from Florida. They went outside to take a cigarette break and when the came back in, dropped a shiny, copper-colored thing on my desk that clunked when it hit. Another bullet. They explained that they'd found it outside in a pigeon. It was an armor-piercing round that someone decided to test out on a pigeon.

Two things:

1. I don't feel so secure when coming into work early any more. Anyone dumb enough to test out an armor piercing round on a pigeon may decide to try it on bigger game.

2. I put it in my purse. But a week later remembered it was in there and removed it. Thank God, I'm going to Phoenix next week --- IF the guys with the armor-piercing guns don't get me first.