We live in a medium sized city in the north Midwest. It’s a nice place to live, and raise a family. There’s a pro baseball team and a pro football team, two universities and a lot of power shopping centers all around the suburbs.
Our home is in a nice neighborhood about 20 minutes from the downtown. My wife works shift at a hospital, which means she’s often up early, returning home in the mid-afternoon. It’s perfect timing for her, as she gets home just before the kids get out of school.

It’s a good place to live, and we’re happy with our lives. At least we were, until the day my wife was robbed while waiting for public transit.

The public hospital where she works is in an older neighborhood, and it gets pretty seedy sometimes. The ER sees more than its share of drug users, drunks, and assorted beating victims from the poorer sides of town.
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Norah was waiting for a bus at a stop just down the street from the hospital. A young punk swaggered up to her and asked for a cigarette. She said no, because she doesn’t smoke.

The punk grabbed the front of her coat, crumpling the fabric tightly with his left hand. He pushed her back against the building’s brickwork.

“Gimme your wallet.”

It was just after 3 in the afternoon, lots of traffic going by a busy intersection. People walked past as panicked, she fumbled with her purse.

The punk grabbed her wallet from her shaking hands, and then thrust her aside.

She stood there terrified, frozen, and not able to think of what to do next. The punk walked about 100 feet before stopping a woman who just turned the corner.

Her bus arrived. The driver could see something was wrong. He helped Norah on the bus before calling the police on his cell phone.

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This is what he got her: The Hottie 5 Million
As it worked out, the punk stole less than $5 cash, and two years from my wife – she did not want to go shopping, her mother’s, anywhere alone. 

After that day, Norah and I talked about personal safety. It had not occurred to us that such a frightening and dangerous event could happen in our city in broad daylight. We talked and realized she needed something small, something she could carry in her purse that would give her a sense of safety at any time.  We checked around, talked to the local police and realized, what she needs is a stun gun.

We’re shopping for one now – there are a lot to choose from. Sure, some people say “better late than never”, but I tell you this.

I wish that that day, when Norah reached into her purse, she came out with a jolt for that punk!


This article was written by Gord. Gord became a customer of Mrs. Stun Gun after his wife's experience. He wanted to tell their story as a part of his family's healing process. We have withheld the family's last name at their request.

 


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