A woman enters a women’s clothing shop in Marble Falls. She is surly, not responding when one of the salesclerks greets her, and she keeps her hand far down in her purse, which is weird because inspecting clothes requires both hands. The hand in the purse plus the unfriendly attitude invites suspicion, especially considering that the two employees are on edge because of the school shooting last week—and that’s understandable because crazies are everywhere and one of them could walk in and start shooting at any moment.
The two staffers huddle together beside the cash register, discussing the customer in agitated whispers.
“Why is her hand in her purse like that? And why is she so rude?”
“She’s behaving suspiciously. It looks like she’s clutching something inside that purse.”
“Do you think it could be a gun?”
“I’m calling the police.”
The worker steps to the back area and taps in 911, giving the name of the shop and saying that a customer is behaving in a suspicious manner and that they fear she’s holding on to a gun in her purse.
“Stay away from her,” the responder instructs. “Get out of the store and wait for the police.”
And so the associates step outside, where they stand together and wait for help to come.
But then Bang! A gunshot reverberates through the area.
Panicked, the women race in different directions. One runs out to the street, gets in her car, drives home, and is too frightened to leave her house for the rest of the day. The other takes refuge in a nearby shop where she has a view of what’s going on at her workplace.
A minute after the gunshot, the customer exits and wanders across the square, disappearing around a building.
The worker, seeing that the woman is no longer in the store, returns to the shop and stands in the doorway to wait for the police. Because the location is sheltered, she has no way of knowing that out on the street fire engines, ambulances, and pretty much every police car the city owns have blocked traffic; or that, taking cover behind buildings that block her view, three big red-faced men approach wearing full body armor, with automatic weapons at the ready.
They storm around the corner, running toward her as they shout and point their terrifying weapons at her. They’re worked up and their objective is to conquer.
“Get your hands up!” A thunderous voice. “Put your hands in the air!”
Do they not have eyes? This is a woman in her seventies, frail and small. Terrified to have three guns trained on her, she lifts her hands over her head. Later she won’t be able to stop shaking. She will vomit.
Eventually calm descends. The officers come to understand that she works there, that it was her co-worker who called 911, and that they’d heard a gunshot and a few minutes later the customer had come out and gone in that direction—she accompanies this with a wave toward the far corner.
She gives a description of the customer and the cops saunter away, intending to find the woman. The salesperson goes inside. She takes a deep breath. Knees trembling, she sinks to the stool behind the counter, gazes out the front window, and clears her head of all thoughts.
Ten minutes later the policemen return escorting the woman. They ask the saleslady to identify her as the customer in question, which she does. At this, the woman, standing between two officers, becomes furious and begins to yell.
“What are you accusing me of? I didn’t do anything wrong! I came into your shop and I left! There’s no law against that!”
In her anger, she is aggressive and takes a threatening step toward the clerk. The two men hold her back. Then they accompany her outside, talk to her for a few minutes, and send her on her way.
One of the cops returns inside and explains that there was no reason to take her into custody, that you can’t arrest someone for being in a bad mood inside a dress shop.
“But we heard a gunshot! What about that?”
“Ma’am, there wasn’t any gun. It was probably a balloon.”
And he, too, takes his leave.
“I know a gunshot when I hear one,” she tells me later. “And people in the other businesses heard it too.”
She’s adamant. It’s a mystery.
There’s a lesson here, which I intend to take to heart. When I enter a store and someone gives me a merry greeting, I will respond cheerfully even if I’m feeling grumpy. And I’ll keep my hands visible at all times because who knows what someone might think if I don’t?
A Marble Falls Sunset
