Some years ago I was helping to renovate the local community theatre, which consists mainly of people who would likely freak out over a firearm. I was carrying at 3:00 under a big sweatshirt.
I was maneuvering through a crowded room with my arms full of materials, unable to defend myself, when someone rather crashed into me from the right, and a big "THUNK" sounded as something hit the floor.
I froze, waiting for the screams, then managed to look down—to see my big yellow carpenter's tape on the floor where it had fallen.