Retiring with a bang! No, really....

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The retirement gift

There are moments in your life when the whole world seems to freeze. Conquering things, you thought were impossible, that first kiss, the birth of your first child, for me, the most recent event was standing in the entrance to an underground garage at a Federal Building downtown Washington D.C. with the barrel of a 9mm leveled at my face.

Just seconds before this, the sun was shining, pleasantries were being exchanged, and I was thinking about a cold beer and some fresh fish. Now, well, a 9MM in the face, and the words “WE HAVE A BOMB” echoing off the concrete.

It wasn’t how I pictured my Tuesday going. Not even close.

Earlier that day…

I was in Old Town Alexandria with two friends — Dan and David — both fellow Army veterans, though we’d never served together. Dan and I had crossed paths at the Pentagon years earlier, David had been my second-in-command when I worked at DHS HQ.

Now, we were all civilians, all heading into retirement around the same time.

We were sitting out, enjoying the sunshine, cold beers, appetizers, and great conversation.

David said, "hey Sir, I brought you a parting gift". Of course I was pleasantly surprised, said the obligatory "oh you didn't have to get me anything", etc.

Look I have to say, the gift is super cool. It wasn’t a plaque. It wasn’t a pen set.

None of the typical stuff you see.

It was a perfect replica of an artillery shell — fitting, since I’d been a 13 Bravo field artilleryman in the Army. Even up close, unless you touched it, it looked real.

The twist? It was hollowed out to hold two glasses and a fifth of booze. The fuse even hid a shot glass. Like I said, cool!

Plastic. Clever. The kind of gift only another vet would pick out and think, this is perfect.

David knew I had a bar at home, and this would sit prominently as a conversation piece for sure.

“Guy cool,” I thought. “Wife annoying.” Perfect!

I thanked him, set the shell casing, and box with the glasses gently in the trunk of my 2018 Ford Focus hatchback, and we went back to beers and banter, forgetting about the gift for the time being.

Hours later, I was running late for an event my wife had gotten us tickets for, a fish fry downtown D.C in the outdoor atrium area by Federal Triangle.

Dozens of chefs from across the country making their specialties to sample, music, beer, and seafood.

Yep, a great way to end a great day.

I was running a little late and the closest private parking was a few blocks away.

Government garages are always a gamble on weekdays. But the building was right there, right where the event was, and the underground parking was as convenient as it gets.

I figured I’d roll the dice.

Spoiler: I crapped out.

The Garage Entrance

The guard at the entrance smiled, checked my federal ID, and said, “Thanks, sir. Pop the trunk and hood, please.”

"Sure thing I said" as I pulled the levers.

Hood was opened, quick look around, closed. The guard headed to the back of the car. I heard the trunk lid open; I heard the quick gasp.

What happened next unfolded in seconds but felt like it was being filmed in slow motion.

A shout for the other guard to "get over here", while the original guard rushed to my window, simultaneously pulling his gun while his hand went to his radio. Keying the mic he exclaimed.

“WE HAVE A BOMB”

I blinked, confused — then remembered the “shell” in the trunk.

“It’s plastic, it’s a bar prop, it’s—” I was trying to sputter the words.

“GET OUT OF THE CAR, SIR! NOW!”

The radio crackled alive with an excited voice: “Say again!”

“WE HAVE A BOMB! Garage Entrance”

Another guard appeared, weapon drawn. I could see his hands trembling. My brain, for reasons I’ll never understand, zoomed in on the tiny “9MM” stamped into the muzzle. Maybe it was just the point my mind grabbed, or maybe it was because it was only about a foot from my face.

With one more "GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW!"

And that one had the tone — the last time I’m telling you tone. My mind jumped to taser incoming.

Scenes of me flopping around like a fish on the ground in front of the garage entrance while voltage coursed through me filled my head for a second!

I started climbing out slowly, awkwardly keeping my hands high.

“Hands where I can see ’em!”

"Palms on the roof. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT make any sudden moves, stand still!"

I glanced sideways — another guard was in the street, frantically waving off traffic. Boots pounded the pavement behind me. The air felt tight, heavy, like the seconds before a lighting crash during a thunderstorm, everything was electric.

A voice barked nearby: “Clear the area! Possible ordnance! Get the bomb squad moving!”

I am not 100% sure what I was thinking at that moment. But a betting man would put money on it being four letters, preceded by an "OH".

The Supervisor Arrives

Then I saw him — the supervisor — trotting up the ramp toward the chaos. He came trotting up the ramp — mid-50s, expression tight — the look of a man who’d been in the middle of paperwork and coffee and now had to manage something that could end up on CNN, or front page of the Post.

Like me: I am sure this was not how he had envisioned his Tuesday evening playing out.

As he approached, I was talking furiously: “It’s plastic, sir!

It’s a gift!

There are glasses in the box next to it!

Foam inserts for the glasses and a bottle!

It’s plastic!”

"It's a prop for a bar."

Maybe it was my tone, maybe it was the words, maybe it was the sheer absurdity, but he stopped. Looked at me slowly locking eyes for a moment.

Then he walked over and looked at the trunk. The other guards were all talking at once, he held up a hand for quiet.

Then, slowly — painfully slowly — he reached in, holding a metal ink pen like a surgeon’s scalpel.

First tap: cautious, almost flinching, like is this going to blow?

Ping.

You could feel the tension ratchet up — everyone holding their breath, waiting for the result of this very unscientific test.

Ping again.

“It is plastic,” he said, and the words landed like torrents of rain at a drought-stricken rain dance.

I saw him make the universal hand movement to lower something, and I realized the guns that had been trained on me were being lowered.

Slow, soft sigh of relief from me.

He stepped back. “Come to the back of the car slowly,” he told me. “Does it come apart?”

“Yes, sir.” I said as I stood at the back beside him looking at the shell.

“Real slowly. Open it up.”

I have never unscrewed anything so slowly in my life. I started with the two main sections. One slow rotation at a time, hands kept very visible at all times.

There was a collective sucking in of breath as the shell split in two… and an audible exhale when I revealed the foam inserts designed for two whiskey glasses.

“Can I put my hands down now?” I asked.

"Huh, what", “Yes, you can, but step back from the car.”

I could hear the radio crackled with an all-clear: “Just a plastic toy. All clear.”

The guards started talking all at once, debating rules about “training rounds.” Were they going to seize it, was I going to be charged with anything?

The supervisor lifted his hand in a way that froze the conversation mid-sentence.

“I have decided. It is safe. Leave it disassembled. Close the trunk.”

“You can get back in your car,” he said. Then went over and had a conversation with the other guards. Walking up to my window he puffed "That was pretty stupid, this could have gone real wrong", “Go park. And don’t bring that back here again.”

As I rolled away, I saw the crowd — pedestrians stopped on the sidewalks, phones out, traffic jammed. Car horns blaring.

Aftermath

Once parked, I called David. Not sure why, but it was the first thing that hit my mind.

“Your gift just caused a bomb scare at a Federal Building.”

"Huh, what"? I gave him the 3 minute explanation.

He laughed so hard I thought he might pass out.

He did give me a half hearted, man sorry about that.....

"All good" I said, "all my fault. Not my first foray into dumbassery..." (Is that a word, if not it should be)?

Later, I told Dan the story. Same reaction. Standard Army-issue unconcern for the trauma, maximum appreciation for the absurdity.

Now the wife on the other hand, was… less amused about it all.

I was late. Somewhere up the block where she had just been, people at the fish fry were already talking about “some bomb thing” that had screwed traffic.

"How many people saw you, how many do you think may be going to the same event we are"?

All questions and issues I was not prepared to answer or explore at that moment.

We talked through it for a few minutes, and she rapidly calmed down, giving me the "What am I going to do with you" statement, then a hug, and kiss. "Come on, lets go before another incident arises Glen"

So how was it?? The fish fry was excellent. Food, music, beers.

How did we get here, to me deciding to write this down in a blog?

My in laws are visiting, and my sister-in-law asks about the bomb behind the bar?

"What is the deal with that?"

My wife gives me the look.

You know (the patented: reserved just for Glen look — sharp, eye-roll, pointed stare all in one” then tells me "go ahead Glen, tell them what the deal is with that".

So I recanted the tale, all of the sordid details of the day.

There were stares of disbelief, shaking heads, wide eyes, some shock, and some laughter.

When I finished the story, my sister-in-law laughed and said, “Anyone else and I’d be in disbelief. But this is 100% Glen — absurdly normal.”

The other sister in law, shook her head. “what can I say, who else has things like this happen, really, who? Glen, that is who.”

And that’s how a thoughtful gift from a fellow veteran turned me into a minor security incident in the nation’s capital — all in the time it takes to pop a trunk.

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BOOM