The time I was held up at gunpoint

A true account of how buying car parts became the scariest night of my life

During the early pandemic in 2020, my wife was put on temporary furlough from her corporate job. We weren’t sure what would happen with her job, but I knew my income as an artist wouldn’t pay the mortgage if she was eventually permanently released.

To make ends meet, I started doing gig work with rideshare and delivery. It was a demoralizing time, but I put my ego aside and did what was best for the family.

Because my son was home all day, my wife and I split our time caring for him, but once he went to bed, I would go off to deliver Chipotle and chicken wings to strangers.

This eventually took its toll on my vehicle, wearing down tires and burning out headlamps. The latter happened on a chilly night in April, but because I drove at night, I decided to fix it right away. Before I turned on my delivery app, I drove straight to the nearest Autozone.

I walked through the door five minutes before they closed, but I wasn’t the only one. I saw a young couple finishing up their purchase as I walked up to the lightbulb display conveniently placed in the aisle closest to the door, a convenience that would end up being my downfall.

I perused the selection, looking for the correct bulb for my car, while the young couple grabbed their bag and walked out the door. The store manager came out from behind the counter. As he walked past me, I noticed his stench of dirt and marijuana, a mid-40s burnout with bad posture.

I assumed he spent his breaks getting high. Once he was out of sight, I felt a disdain for him. He seemed entirely unimpressive. Perhaps it was his stench or how he wore his medical mask below his nose, but I knew I didn’t like him. He headed out of view to the back corner of the store, leaving a young woman to handle the register.

Finding the bulbs I needed, I turned toward the counter just as two guys in full face masks and hoodies walked in. The first guy walked right at me, reached into his waistband, pulled out a pistol, and stuck it right in my side.

“Come on, boss, let’s go,” he said while pushing me toward the counter while his accomplice walked toward wherever the manager was. The gunman came around the counter and pointed the gun at the young woman, instructing her to open the cash drawer. She was terrified but complied. As she did, he pushed both of us toward the back, behind the wall that separated the stock room from the front.

Standing sentry while his partner came back with the manager, he told us not to move. The young woman was shaking from fear, so I moved my body to put myself between her and the gunman. She was quietly sobbing as she pressed her face into her hands and both into my back.

I stared intently at the gunman, trying to get any sense of identity. Both guys wore dark, baggy hoodies and long pants, hiding their actual size, but both were smaller than me. They wore black latex gloves, and the most I could see on the gunman was the skin on his wrist, medium brown and obscured by a partial tattoo.

For a few short seconds, while the gunman’s attention was on the manager opening the safe, the delusional hero came out in me. I thought, “I can take this guy." I probably could if he wasn’t pointing his significant advantage at me.

I almost did something dumb, but when I leaned forward in his direction, the young woman moaned in fear and grabbed my jacket, trying to hide in it. I decided against doing anything brave/stupid, but then thoughts of what might happen next flooded my brain.

‘Will these guys shoot us, or will they leave peacefully?”

“Will I get to see my wife and son again?”

“Will the manager give me the headlamp bulbs for free now?”

In less than five minutes, which felt much longer, the two men finished collecting the cash and left as quickly as they entered. They were so efficient I felt like they knew exactly what they were doing. Maybe they had done it before or worked at Autozone and knew where to hit.

Five minutes later, no less than twelve police officers stood around us, with a few more outside.

I was questioned four times by as many officers about my account of the story, which I’m guessing is a tactic used to make sure there’s consistency in my story. The police did the same with the manager and the young woman, and after about 90 minutes, I was free to go.

…without my headlamp bulbs.

A couple of weeks passed, and two detectives from L.A. showed up at my home to ask me follow-up questions about the incident. They couldn’t tell me much but said this was not the first incident. Of course, I shared my amateur detective intuition about the culprit’s efficiency and knowledge of the store.

Several months passed before I heard anything more, but I was contacted by the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office to tell me they had caught the suspects and wanted me to come down to give my testimony.

Many months later, I was served a subpoena to testify in court. I waited in the courthouse lobby for hours, waiting for my turn. I saw the store manager and the young cashier but didn’t feel like talking to them. They were called in to give their testimony, but I wasn’t called in.

The store manager came over to me to talk about the case. He told me he was certain the guys were Cambodian and not black based on their accents. He could not have known that with how covered up the two men were. I told him we probably shouldn’t talk about it since I hadn’t given my story, but he kept on until he felt my disinterest in his perspective.

He and the young woman left the courthouse, and a few moments later, the assistant D.A., who I gave my deposition, came out of the courtroom to talk with me. He told me they were tossing the Long Beach case because our stories didn’t corroborate, but they had over 30 similar cases to convict the two men.

I was angry. I go through this traumatic experience, having to relive it over and over again, only to be denied my moment of personal justice. I was angry at the store manager for screwing it up for me, and when I got back to town, I was going to give that dude a piece of my mind.

Except he didn’t work at Autozone anymore.

He and the young woman left their jobs, but I get to drive past that store weekly. I won’t go there anymore, but the building still mocks me.

The two suspects were charged and convicted on all remaining counts of armed robbery and assault. They are both currently serving 15 to 20 years in prison.

I do all my auto parts shopping at O’Reilly now.