I was determined that my second attempt to kill myself would be a winner, so I bought a shotgun at Wal-Mart.
The fact that the gun was purchased at Wal-Mart has no bearing on the story, but I wanted to put it in to mention that the world’s largest retailer has great prices on new weapons and they sell shells, too.
I didn’t need anything too fancy, the gun was only going to be used once, so I purchased the least expensive model they offered — a pump action jobber with handsome grips.
When you buy a shotgun at Wal-Mart the shotgun comes in a box, some assembly required.
When you buy a shotgun anywhere you are asked to fill out a form. It asks questions like your name, your social security number, and whether or not you have any mental conditions which would preclude you from buying a weapon. Then they call the government to see if you’re lying.
Ok, so the lady at the sporting goods counter took my money and then picked up the phone and dialed the public address system, “We have a code ‘G’ in sporting goods, code ‘G’.”
Code ‘G’ apparently means that someone should come to sporting goods to escort you from the store. You’re not welcome to continue shopping for pillows or cookies… you have to take your purchase and leave… preferably with the gun still in the box.
I put the boxed gun and shells in the trunk and headed home.
I spent the evening and early night thinking about what I was going to do.
At around 4 in the morning, I decided it was time.
I wanted to be sure a suicide note was found, so I did what any good geek would do, I posted it on the Internet. I also emailed copies to everyone I knew.
Then I assembled the gun and loaded it with one shell.
I walked the gun and the box of shells to the trash dumpster and threw the unneeded shells in the trash. Then I took my place behind the dumpster.
Here was my thinking: I didn’t want to shoot myself inside and leave a mess for someone else to clean up — that’s just rude. I was going to shoot myself behind the dumpster so no kids would find me. I made sure the gun had no extra ammo so that if kids did find me, there wouldn’t be a loaded gun laying there.
Behind the dumpster was perfect. It was most likely I would be found by the trashman and he surely would have had some experience in finding dead bodies.
So, I crouched behind the dumpster with the loaded gun on safe. (A gun has a lock to keep you from accidentally firing it… when the lock is engaged, the gun is “on safe.”)
I put the butt of the gun on the ground and lowered my mouth onto the barrel. Then I took the gun off safe and positioned my finger so I could push the trigger down.
Then I took a moment to consider what I was doing and I noticed how nice it was outside. It was fall, my favorite season, but it was warm. The wind was blowing softly. It was early in the morning so the highway behind my house was deserted. It was quiet. I could hear the leaves on the trees moving with the wind.
I put the gun back on safe and looked up at the stars. It was a clear night and I took some time to look for my favorite constellations.
I looked over the fence of the trash dumpster enclosure at the field across the highway and the large church over there. And then I smiled and thought it was such a nice night, I could wait a few more minutes.
I smiled some more and laughed a little, thinking that God works in mysterious ways.
A few minutes later, I saw headlights turning into the apartment complex. It was a police car. Then there was another police car. Then there was my father’s car.
My dad stopped in the parking lot lane in front of my apartment and bolted from the car screaming my name. A cop kicked in the door to my apartment.
(I found out later that my cousin in Seattle was still up when my email arrived. He called my dad.)
Soon, they were outside searching through my car.
An ambulance pulled up.
More police cars showed up. There were at least four. There were at least six police officers.
The police spread out and searched around my apartment, then they met again in the parking lot with my dad and the paramedics.
One young cop was apart from the rest. He started walking towards the dumpsters.
I continued to crouch, not making a sound.
The officer walked between the dumpsters and saw me there with the gun.
He did not draw his gun.
He said calmly, “Joseph, may I have the gun please?”
I said, “Sure. Be careful, it’s loaded.” And I handed him the gun.
He said to wait right there. Then he returned to the other cops.
All of the officers approached the dumpsters. I stared at the ground but noticed at least six laser sight dots, some on one side and some on the other. The cops were coming around with their guns ready.
I thought for a moment about running out with my hands pointed at them, knowing they would probably have to shoot me. Then something in my head said that I shouldn’t ruin their day.
That thought did not come from me.
They took me into custody and to the local mental health lockup.
That was my third time in such a hospital. I’ve been locked up three other times.
I’m really impressed at how that young cop handled himself. I’m sure it’s not proper procedure to ask for a gun being held by a suicidal person without taking precautions to protect himself, but he did it anyway. He literally put his life on the line so there would be no chance he would have to shoot me.
Thanks, man!
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