Your cool factor will rise to the stars IF you carry that epi-pen and you're out and about and someone clearly is struggling after being stung or bitten, and they DON'T hae an epi-pen.
Been there, done that - a child was in the park, got stung twice, never been stung before, difficulty breathing, mom had no epi-pen, and so ours came to the rescue and got that little girl breathing regularly.
An ounce of prevention ...
Basslover, I'm glad you were there and prepared to deal with that situation.
However, my counter point is the same as it always is whenever these types of conversations arise...where do you draw the line? If I try and plan for any contingency, my family car has now become a panel truck, filled with every conceivable item I think MIGHT be necessary one day.
Should I design a scabbard or quiver, that hangs across my back and contains a chainsaw? Ready at a second's notice, to reach back and draw that baby out....sort of a hybrid of a lumberjack and Conan the Barbarian?
"What's the problem here? You say you're about to give birth, and a fallen tree is blocking the only toad to the hospital? No worries ma'am, I've got this!"
And yeah, I'm poking a little fun and using ridiculous examples. But the point remains: when is enough, enough? At what point does it cease to be precautionary, and cross over into paranoia?
I have a few friends that carry their handguns everywhere they go. Grocery store, church, mailbox, woodshed, attic....you get the idea. And to the last man, every one of them is an extreme firearms enthusiast. They talk gun math, gun statistics, gun weights, gun laws....and that's fine. I have hobbies that I am passionate about also. But I don't feel the need to carry maple syrup everywhere I go. There's a time and a place, and it isn't all the time and every place.
True story: last year I was with one of these friends at his house. I was going to help him carry salt down into the basement where the water softener resides. We were talking, we each picked up a bag, and while still talking he reached over, picked a pistol off the table, and tucked it into his pants.
What? Is there a zombie horde living in the basement? Do we need to hold the softener at gunpoint while we add the salt?
It was strictly a reflexive, unconscious act on his part. It had become habit. And frankly, when it reaches that point is when I begin to worry.
