Last night I was biking home on a street I usually avoid after dark.  I passed a gang of nondescript teenage-looking people in bulky black coats, but didn't really look -- it wasn't particularly unusual.  Soon after, I hear low-volume popping noises coming from across the street, coupled with little pinging noises on my side of the street, very close to where I was going.  Huh?

I didn't get scared until several blocks later.  My first thought was, "Are they really shooting at me?"  My second thought was, "Yep."  My third thought was, "If it was a real gun, it would be louder.  It's probably a B-B gun or something.  So I probably won't die if they hit me.  I guess there's nothing to do, so I guess I'll just keep riding as though nothing is happening..."  I even stopped at a traffic light three blocks down, calmly waiting for it to turn even though there was no traffic.  

I felt like a particularly stupid rabbit.  Like, duh...am I in danger, here?  It's the kind of situation where I look back and wish there was some sort of thing I could have done that would be somehow more heroic or appropriate.  I don't think there's much of a rational response to make, though.  Getting shot at isn't a rational sort of situation.

Randomly called a labmate when I got home, who thought maybe I should call the cops.  The cops thought it was a paintball gun.  I was relieved.  But then I went by there on the way to work this morning, looked for paintball splatters, and found none.  Who knows?

It's a good story, anyway.

-Sara

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