I have no idea if I ever posted this here but I think it is worth for me to share.
This happened in the early 90's and in a country south of the border.
I had the local version of CCW and was proudly carrying the only firearm I had available back then, a Walther PPK in 7.65. I will not share here the hoops & mordidas I had to go through to get it but it took me almost 3 years to have that little laminated card.
Mrs Miggy worked at the US embassy (She is US Born & Bred) in a Federal LEO office and I used to go pick her up for lunch an average of three times a week. I was known in the Embassy (and probably background checked from here to Saturn) so I had no problem going in and out. I did inform the Head Security Honcho that I carried a gun and he told me to go ahead leave it in the car and not to say a word to the State Department wussies about a Non-US citizen having a gun lest they would scream in horror.
Well, as it happens, a new ambassador was assigned to the post and he was gracious enough to have an Open House for all Embassy Personnel at his Official Residence. We got invited and I, of course carried my trusty PPK with me on a cheap nylon IWB holster on the small of my back. When we parked near the residence my wife suggests I leave the gun in the car but I manly refuse. "Besides" I tell her, "I am pretty sure they will have some sort of set up where you can leave your gun secured while the party is on."
Yep, you are right, NEVER ASSUME! We go in the residence for the first time in our lives and before I know it, A long haired, all dress in black including a way-too-short vest freak (me) is shaking hands with the new ambassador who is flanked by some mean looking Marines that I never seen in my life! (I knew most of the Marines at least by sight and head noddings)
I was literally shaking and thinking "If those marines find out I am packing, I am gonna be history." And to make matters worse, the embassador starts asking e questions about my hair and my wife. Time seemed to last longer than a life sentence and I almost pee in my pants when a photographer starts taking pictures with flash. Finally somebody else arrives at the line and we move on. My first thought is "where is a darn bathroom?!" so I can rearrange the gun. I eventually found it and moved the gun to another area of my anatomy to keep it away from prying eyes but those were the most unconfortable three hours of my life with the gun pinching a prodding what shouldn't be pinched and prodded plus Mrs. Miggy with am I-Told-You-So face for the whole evening.