Everyone has their go-to food to get a big dump of calories when they need them. From what I recall, Herb Ingles gets them from Buffalo wings. Keith Summers gets them from whatever happens to pass in front of him. I’d guess Roderick Toombs gets them from eating small children. Me? Every once-in-a-while I get a sweet tooth. Banana splits, sundaes, milkshakes, but, most of all, when I need empty calories I head for ice cream sandwiches.

Incidentally, there just so happens to be a 24-hour convenience store just two blocks from my apartment that carries them for pretty cheap. So, at one in the morning, that’s where I was at when something...disturbing... happened.

I was walking to the register to pay for the five ice cream sandwiches that I had grabbed when a man walked in and pointed a gun at the cashier and demanded that he put the money from the register in a bag he had tossed at him.

I was struck by the fact that this man, who was smaller in stature than you’d expect an armed robber to be, seemed so nervous. His hand, outstretched in front of him holding a pistol pointed behind the counter, was trembling. He had neglected—or, more likely, forgot—to put on a mask to cover his face, given away by the fact that he kept nervously glancing at the security camera above the register that had certainly captured his image. With a slight quivering in his voice, he was shouting about how he didn’t want to have to hurt anyone, and how he just needed the money.

There were two others in the store, but they had rushed to the back aisles as soon as the man pulled out his gun. So, there I stood, fifteen feet away from a man holding a gun to a fellow human being, and knowing that I had to do something to stop it. But, he must have seen me take a step towards him, because as soon as I moved the gun’s target switched from being the cashier to being me.

The man ordered me to the floor. I stood there, staring at him. What do I do? Do I throw what’s in my hands at the man, hoping to distract him long enough to take him down? Do I rush him, hoping that he’s either a bad enough shot or surprised enough to miss shooting me from this short distance? Any scenario where I resist surely ends with me, the cashier, or both of us getting shot.

In the few moments that I’m staring down the barrel of his revolver, it feels like an eternity passes. I surrender to his gaze and lie face down on the floor. Soon after, the man gets his money and runs.

I don’t wait for the police to come. I don’t particularly feel like being questioned by them right now. I just walk home, lay in my bed, and close my eyes.

Did I do the right thing? Most law enforcement officials would probably say yes. They’d probably say that I would have gotten somebody killed had I resisted.

But, if I did the right thing, why do I feel like shit right now?