Duck and Cover Dinner

First, I am okay and Jack is okay.

We were at dinner in Belltown at a tapas place, Pintxo, near 4th and Bell, tucked at a quiet table in a corner in the front of the restaurant. We were done eating our paella, dates wrapped in bacon and sherry and almond mushrooms, waiting for the waiter to return our check when we heard the shouting:

"There's a shooter. There's a shooter. Get to the back!" Where was the shooter? In the restaurant? Outside?

Jack tried to open the front window, when someone at the restaurant told us to crouch down and head to the back. For some reason, I grabbed my coat and purse. I remember once I was on an airplane that had caught on fire, and left my purse and briefcase on the plane. My dad asked my why I did that, saying that I should have grabbed my bag. In the restaurant, I grabbed my purse and my coat and went to the back room of the restaurant with Jack. As we walked back, people were already under their tables. We were the last to know because our table was furthest from the kitchen. As we left our table and went to the back, there were little places to duck and hide along the way--bathroom, side dining room, hallway--but the staff kept telling us to move to the back so we did. I dropped my coat and decided it probably wasn't going to protect as much as I thought it might. Initially, I thought we might have to go outside, and my house and car keys were probably in my coat pocket. Maybe. I don't remember. My coat is pretty thick and warm, but it is not bullet proof. Maybe I wanted it as a security blanket ala Linus.

I had left my cell phone at the condo, so I couldn't call or text anyone. It was probably better in that moment to stay in the moment and pay attention to my surroundings than to be poking around my phone trying to text my kids and dad.

I thought of what I would text to the Boy: "Love you!" and leave it at that. Would I have texted Claire-Adele? I was irrationally worried that I'd wake her up or unnecessarily freak her out. "I'll tell her in the morning," I thought, assuming that I'd make it home safely, which we did. The Boy, however, would need to know if we got stuck there for a bit or didn't come home. I wondered where on my body I might get shot. My head, my torso, my arms? Would I just be wounded, or would I die instantly? I decided I'd likely just be wounded, that my arm would bleed like crazy from the wound, but I would live.

I snuggled up to a young couple, Meredith and Mo, under the bar. Mo was visiting from New England. Her flight was delayed because of snow so she was staying a few extra days. Mo works in a high school where she has practiced active shooter drills. I think I was holding Mo's hand, and I had my arm around Meredith. The three of us were cozy, and they didn't mind a third person intruding on their date. It might not have been a date when they started out the evening, but it ended up a date by the end.

We sat on the floor in the back of the bar for several minutes. I didn't check my watch to see the time. I looked down at the mess of Meredith's, Mo's and my arms and I saw a watch and thought "That looks like my watch" and it was my watch.

This was my first duck-and-cover-there-is-a-shooter-in-the-building "This is not a drill" drill. I have to say I was impressed at how calm and organized the wait staff was. After all, they had to herd lots of people who eating large meals with decent amounts of alcohol. The strangest thing was that no one knew what was going on. When you hear about shootings on the news, it is after it happened, when they can tell you what happened. While you are there, you have no idea of what is going on. Later we learned that one of the restaurant staff went out for a smoke and heard gunshots in the alley. Was it one person? Two? Ten? Was it a shotgun? A handgun? An Uzi? No one knew. Were they in the restaurant or outside? What did the shooter look like? Were they in the back with us, and decided after a few glasses of sangria to take people out? At the time, we didn't know. All we could do was guess. All the staff could do was guess, and they had about eighty people to take care of.

And then it was over. The staff said the cops were there, and we could resume whatever it was we were doing. I signed the check, and we left. On the way out, the waiter apologized for the disruption.

"It's not like the waitstaff was wielding the gun," I said. "That would have been a problem." He looked at me confused, when I realized he was probably in a little bit of shock from the incident.

When we got back to the condo, we walked Fox. When I walk Fox in the city, I feel safe, even though he is a wee little mutt of nine pounds. He can make a noise and fuss and honestly, people don't harass people walking dogs. They know you are likely not a drunk tourist but rather a local whose dog needs to pee. As I was walking Fox, I began to notice places to hide in case a shooter were to come down the street. Here's a concrete wall to hide behind. Here's a garbage can or planter or parking garage entrance.

There is no nice and tidying ending. The whole thing sucked, and luckily I don't think anyone was hurt. Hopefully, we were all in far less danger than we felt, and the staff was going to into lock-down safety mode as an extra precaution.