When Misunderstood Policy and Process Lead to Danger by Default
I’ve been a concealed carrier – someone who legally conceals and carries a firearm in public – for about 20 years now. Obviously, there are limitations to where and when I can carry, and absolutely, carrying changes the way you behave in public. Not that I would ever go looking for a fight, but when you know that you’re ready and capable of taking lethal action, it makes you think through situations in real time. The irony of modern travel is that the people tasked with keeping us safe are often the least prepared to recognize danger.
My wife and kids know that I always choose to face the exit when sitting in a public place. They know my code word that means I’m expecting to draw my firearm at any moment due to a foreseen threat, and they need to get down and away from me so any return fire is less likely to hit them. They know I’ve always got one or more spare magazines and generally a pocket knife on me. Then again, they also know I generally have on me or with me a few other tools and can help them with most issues.
My firearm isn’t part of my identity; it’s a tool I carry to protect myself and anyone else I see in danger. But it is very much a part of my lifestyle. I think about how I carry and what I wear whenever I go out. Even when I’m just working in the yard or going to the mailbox (thanks to a crazy neighbor that has threatened to murder several of us in my suburban middle class neighborhood). Being a concealed carrier even affects the way I travel.
A few years ago I was flying with my wife, Rebecca, and daughter, Lily. Lily needed a medical procedure that required a specialist in Maryland. The Maryland – Northern Virginia proximity to Washington D.C. comes with some unique restrictions to everyone in that area. Despite many armed security personnel through the area, civilians are simply never allowed to carry a firearm – concealed or open carry. Especially being a non-resident from a state for which Maryland and Virginia do not recognize reciprocity for concealed carriers. On this trip like many others, that meant I couldn’t even bring a firearm. There’s no amount of protocol and declaring a firearm that makes it feasible for me to bring my own self defense to that part of the country.
To make things slightly more interesting, the areas we needed to visit for Lily’s care were surrounded by less than desirable communities that made hotel stays more risky. Talk about your government making you more vulnerable…
We arrived in Maryland a day before the medical visit, so we decided to go to the movie theater at Tyson’s Galleria to relax and enjoy the evening together. No sooner had the advertisements ended and the lights gone down than two young men in theater-branded t-shirts opened the emergency exit door and called out that everyone needed to evacuate due to an emergency. Spidey senses engaged.
I asked one of them as we walked through the door what was going on, and he said simply and quietly “active shooter.”
I felt as unprepared as ever to protect my family.
The first guy guided the crowd through a series of back halls with concrete walls and blind corners. Everyone else seemed clueless and careless. I was walking beside Rebecca and Lily, trying to keep one hand ahead of them and one behind so I could shove them one way or another if I needed to. Within a minute we exited a side door that opened onto a grassy area beside the road. Hundreds of people were gathering in small groups all over the lawn, like a target rich environment. The theater employee guidance ended when we walked out of the building. We were looking for a safer place, and I guided us across a paved entrance to a block wall under a tree.
By any measure, we were a solid half mile walk from where we parked the car, without going back inside. Rebecca had the truly genius idea to call an uber. Within about three minutes, a ride picked us up and we took a ride to a book store several miles away. I wasn’t even irritated that I didn’t come up with that plan. But I’ve added it to my options going forward! An hour or so later we took another uber to the parking deck at Tyson’s, and drove back to the hotel.
I heard later that it was a threat but no shots were actually fired. We didn’t even get a refund on the movie we didn’t watch!
An earlier firearms related travel incident had put me at odds with the travel industry and procedures related to carrying. I’d been traveling to Tampa, Florida for a project with a special operations program nearby. I flew in every Monday morning and flew home every Friday evening. That was a routine I followed far too much of my career, and robbed me of too much time with family.
Of course, I declared my firearm each way and occasionally visited a shooting range in town when I had a quiet evening. Flying with a firearm wasn’t a tedious process; just a little different from flying without one. Your firearm has to be unloaded, double locked in a hard case, tagged by a checking agent, stored inside regular suitcase, and checked in the belly of the plane so you can’t access it during flight.
For the most part, I’d never had any issues traveling with my gun. There was one time my bag disappeared so I traced it to the airline’s customer service desk and pointed it out to the agent there before she would let me prove it was mine. Outside of that, it was routine for me. Until about my fifth time returning home from Tampa.
I guess the system had flagged me for requiring a visit to the ticket counter since it knew I was bringing a firearm on my return trip. It had rejected me self checking each week prior. So I walked passed the self checking kiosk and went straight to the counter. The lady standing there gave me a disapproving look, pointed at me, and said I can march myself right back to the kiosk like everyone else.
I told her I was happy to do that, but it will reject me and send me to her. She said to do it anyway. I can be quite compliant – even without being maliciously compliant. And I don’t need to get airport personnel worked up when I’m trying to catch a flight. I took my two small bags back to the kiosk and scanned my e-ticket. “Please see ticket agent” appeared on the screen. No worries. I was following instructions and would not get irritated.
I returned to the line and waited my turn again. The same lady asked for my ticket and I told her the machine advised me to see a ticket agent, and I believe it’s because “I have an item to declare.” That’s the guidance you’ll find from the FAA on what you tell a ticketing agent. It sounds much less threatening than “I have a gun.” No matter how calmly you say it.
The agent asked me what I said. I repeated: “I have an item to declare.”
“You have a gun?!?!” She said it loud enough that everyone within twenty feet heard it. I wasn’t embarrassed to be traveling with a firearm, but I do my best to ensure no one has a need to know. I nodded affirmatively, and said “Yes ma’am, I have an item to declare.”
“I’m gonna need to see that.”
FAA, Tampa International Airport, and Southwest Airlines guidelines ALL state very clearly that the ticketing agent must be able to observe that your case is double locked and inside another case.
“Yes, ma’am.” I got on one knee with my suitcase sitting on the scale where she could see it. I unzipped my suitcase and she could see the Pelican brand model 1200 hard case. It had some decals on it from some of the ranges I’d visited, and of course, two locks.
“Oh, Dear Lord!” The agent called out louder than before. I guess the sight of the case was frightening to her. “Now open it so I can see that it’s not loaded with bullets.”
That crosses the line. That was against policy, and in violation of any wisdom you might gain from living and traveling in an airport. To expose a firearm inside the airport was just an easy path to suicide by cop. And I had no interest whatsoever in that option.
I explained that policy to her, as calmly and coolly as I could, trying to not even look upset.
“You ain’t flying my airline unless I see that gun with no bullets in it.” Then she called her manager over, and the second lady concurred with the agent.
I sat back into my heels and looked around for what to do next.
You know that feeling you get when you know life could drastically change for the worst in the next few seconds if you’re not careful, and you have to somehow maintain a calm demeanor despite sweating bullets?
By God’s grace alone, a Tampa police officer was standing about thirty feet away and had just glanced in my direction. I called out and asked him to please come help me.
The officer approached and saw the case inside my suitcase. I explained that the agent was insisting that I open the case and let her see my firearm. I said that violates my rights and airport policy, and I had no interest on getting in his bad side.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you” he said. Then he told the agent that she’s supposed to take my word for it and it was not safe to have me handling my firearm in the airport.
She said, belligerently, “He ain’t flying unless I see it.”
The officer looked down at me and said “You can show her. Just move slowly.”
I took the key out of my pocket and unlocked both locks, setting them on the stainless steel scale. Then I popped each of the latches to open the case. Both ladies visibly flinched at the popping sound of the hard case latches opening. It’s not loud, but it is distinct. I tried not to respond to their antics. Then I opened the case.
Both ladies let out an audible gasp. One half cried “Oh my Lord. Oh my Lord.” What they saw was a Smith & Wesson .45 caliber handgun with no magazine, the butt ends of five magazines, a box of ammo, and a tactical knife. Each thing had a position cut out of the supporting foam to keep it locked in place. To the officer, it looked pretty cool. To the two SouthWest agents, it looked like a mass murder had just occurred and I was on my get-away trip home.
The officer looked at the agent and said “Looks right to me.” Then he looked at me and told me to lock it up.
Before I could obey, the agent demanded to see if the gun was loaded. I looked up, pleading for some sanity here. “Ma’am, are you telling me that you want me to pick up my firearm, rack the slide, and show you that there’s no rounds in the chamber?”
“You ain’t flyin’ till I do.”
I looked up and the officer, not about to obey that idiotic command.
Looking down at me, he said “Don’t touch it.”
That command gave me relief. The officer spoke up and with authority telling the ladies behind the counter that their request was illegal and unsafe. Then he told me again to “lock it back up.”
One of the ladies asked if “any of those clips got bullets in them.” Almost as last attempt at a gotcha. All four mags were top down, and no one could see if they were loaded or not. They were not. The ammo box was mostly full of the rounds that had been in the mags. The officer answered anyway: “They’re good.”
I later reported the agent and her manager to SouthWest and Tampa International, but got no reply from either one. To this day – some eight years – I avoid SouthWest when I can. But I still check a firearm any time I’m going anywhere that I can legally carry.