Bacon's Rebellion

Two Virginians. Two handguns. One law.

by Jeff Bayard

Imagine this scenario: The Walmart parking lot on Midlothian Turnpike is half-empty at 9:47 p.m. A man named David walks out with two bags of groceries, his boots scuffing across wet asphalt. He’s a deacon at his church, a grandfather. His Glock 19 is in the glove compartment — unlocked, the way he’s kept it for twelve years. The car doors are locked. The handgun is out of sight. But the glove box opens with one motion, no fumbling for a second key. That’s the point.

Halfway across the lot, he sees it. A dark sedan idling near his truck, windows down, two figures watching him. The vehicle wasn’t there when he went inside. As he gets closer, the sedan pulls forward and cuts across his path. Both doors open. Two men step out. One shouts something. They’re moving toward him fast.

David taps his key fob. The locks chirp open. He slides in, pulls the door shut, hits the lock, and opens the glove compartment. One fluid motion and the Glock is in his hand. He holds it where they can see it. The two men stop. They look at each other. They get back in the sedan and peel out of the lot.

David calls 911. He’s shaking but unharmed. The police arrive, take his statement, confirm no shots were fired. The officers tell him he did the right thing. Then one of them notices the open glove box. He points. “Was that locked or unlocked?”

“Unlocked,” David says.

The officer pauses. He writes David a citation — Class 4 misdemeanor, violation of § 18.2-308.7:1. The handgun wasn’t in a locked hard-sided container. His locked car doors don’t count under the new law.

Had that glove box been locked — the way HB 110 requires — David would have been fumbling for a second key while two men closed the distance. He’d have been robbed, or worse.

Instead, David drives home with his groceries, his Glock, and a criminal charge for being prepared to defend his life.

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