Emily Miller

I want a gun. I don’t feel safe living in Washington, D.C. and want to protect myself. I’m starting today by going down to City Hall to find the gun permit office to tell them, “I want a gun.” This series will follow me as I navigate the city bureaucracy and outdated rules in order to legally buy a firearm.

My desire for a gun started when I had to face down over a dozen criminals on an empty cul de sac in Washington, D.C., armed only with a Blackberry.

It was New Year’s Day 2010, and I’d been staying in the house to dog sit for friends who were on vacation. I’d returned from walking the dog when I saw a man coming from the house. “What are you doing?” I asked, sensing something was off with the situation. The Golden Retriever just stood next to me with a slack leash.

“We’re here to clean the pool,” the man said. He looked nervous and his eyes were blood-shot.

I was pretty sure my friends hadn’t called in a swimming pool emergency during the middle of winter. “No, we didn’t call for you,” I said.

“Oh, then it must be the house next door,” he said, smiling nervously. He turned and walked away quickly.

I’d left the front door unlocked since I was walking the dog for less than ten minutes. (I know, lesson learned.) After the man left, I was still suspicious so I went inside, grabbed my Blackberry and clicked on the icon for the camera. I walked down the street, and as I turned the corner, I saw about 15 scruffy young men standing around two pickup trucks. We were at the end of a woody, dead-end road.

I nervously held up my Blackberry to take a quick photo of them and the license plates. Suddenly, the blood-shot-eyed guy darted out, blocking the shot. “What are you doing?” he asked. I looked around at all the men staring at me and was suddenly scared. “Nothing, I’m um, just going now,” I said as I put my Blackberry down instead of taking the picture around him and went home.

Read the rest of the article at The Washington Times online: http://bit.ly/ncoEyy