...."Do you really want to do that?"
I was working in my Pap's Chevron station here in Arizona when I was 18. I got stuck with the night shift. We didn't do a lot of night business...it was an old-style service station..8 pumps, soda cooler, cigarettes, and oil. Pap being Pap, he wanted me there to clean the station at night, and might as well sell a few gallons of gas while I was at it.
I was out hosing down the lot at around 2:00am when a guy walked into the lot. He was REAL scrubby, and the smell of old beer and urine preceeded him.
I was carrying my Smith & Wesson Model 66 snubby in an old Bianchi IWB holster, just to the right of my belt buckle. CCW Permits didn't exist here yet, but CCW was legal on private property with the permission of the owner, or lessor of the property. Obviously, I had permission!
I went inside, behind the counter and waited for "stinky" to get through with what he wanted. He asked for a pack of Bugler tobacco and some matches. I set them on the counter, and when I did, he opened up his jacket, and showed me a cheap sheath knife, and told me he wanted the money.
I stepped back a step, lifted MY shirt with my left hand, and put my hand on the stock of my .357, and asked..."Do you really want to do that?"
"Uh...Uh...Uh...-CENSORED--CENSORED--CENSORED--CENSORED--CENSORED-...you ain't supposed to have a gun!" he said as he back-pedalled to the door, and tripped over the wheel cart with all the oil on it.
I never saw him again...