I had a firearm pulled on me in a case of mistaken identity at the height of the recession. It was a week before I was scheduled to leave California. I climbed aboard my truck and headed to work, and I recall hearing a helicopter overhead, and I remember seeing a suspicious amount of cop cars cruising the neighborhood. I turned down a couple of blocks and was pulled over by a police officer. I saw in the rearview mirror that he was rushing towards me with a pistol drawn. I had the window down, and when he approached he kept screaming to see my hands. I threw my hands up, and the cop stared at me for a brief moment, then he spoke into his should, "it's not him." With that, he ran back to his cruiser and took off.
I shook as a lit a cigarette and went to work anyway. Ah, to be 18 again!