December 7, 2023
12/7/23, 5:19 PM
From Bobbe
I'm not a shooter. I've never been a shooter. I had a gun once, bought it to kill myself when my spine injury was in full-tilt boogie, but I sold it to help pay for my surgery.
I've recently come to believe I need a gun - I don't think the political climate will calm down to anything resembling a "balance," until there's been some bloodshed (more so than already on the table), so I did a little research, and happened to drive by a gunsmith & shop today. Thought I'd stop in and look around, maybe ask about the instructor lessons advertised in the window. And here the Bard would tell us, shit really got weird.
Walked in, immediately got some dodgy vibes from the chosen "décor", lots of don't-tread-on-my-inbred-ass snake flags, stars and bars, "Bitches love a hard barrel" poster (not kidding, even a little bit), and some MAGA-adjacent paraphernalia, t-shirts and the like. It looked like a typical hick bar in South Carolina, back when I was still at least a quasi-redneck. Walked up to the glass viewing counter, and this guy who looks like he has lived off Big Mac meals since birth waddles over, and lemme tell 'ya, sportsfans, he looks the part: Black baseball cap with the Glock "G" logo on it, some kind of tactical ... thing, I have no idea what it was, but you probably do, looked like a black tactical bib with ringlets on it. Addendum; I couldn't write anymore without finding out what the pus-fucking hell that thing was; it's some kind of civilian plate-armor, but it didn't even cover a quarter of his body -- he was too fat. When I say "fat", I mean rotund. If he walked in front of the TV, you'd miss the last three seasons of The Walking Dead. It looked like this thing, but, again, because of his size, his body dwarfed, so it looked to me like a bib.
Guns holstered at his side and under his arm, scrawly beard that covered most of his not-inconsiderable neck, and an attitude that walked over five minutes before he did.
There was another guy there as well, in full — and I mean to-the-limits — camo-assault fatigues. Apparently, I wasn't badass enough to warrant his attention.
"He'p 'ya with sumpthin'?" Our Man from the Planet of Perpetual Polyunsaturated Fats asks, and I have to fight down the impulse to say "Yeah, forget you ever saw me,” and instead say that I'm looking to purchase a gun, thinking about a Glock, maybe a G17, or something in the 1911 Echelon series.
These are on the expensive side, but the size is attractive to me, and I as hoping to get some advice on them from the instructor.
My man's eyes narrow to slits so fast, I have to wonder if he wasn't Chinese in another life, and he asks if I have any felony priors. I tell him I don't, and he says he'd have to check anyways, to which I respond I won't be buying anything today, I'm just looking, and hoping to get a recommendation from a professional ... the last one, I've almost completely given up any hope of, at this point.
Alarm bells now overriding almost all background noise, including my ability to hear myself think.
He then asks; "Do you have a piece on you now?" Took me a second to process that one, it seemed really out of left field, even for the line of questioning so far.
I tell him no, I don't even own a gun, again — I'm simply looking around. Is that a weird thing to ask someone who just walked in your shop? I'm new to gun culture, and the only reason I'm telling you all this is that you're so well-versed in it.
But it really made me paranoid when he said that.
The Incredible Human Donut then sucks some air between his teeth, and asks do I know anything about firearms? Because the two types I mention are "grown up toys", and I might want to start out with something easier to handle.
What the actual fuck?
I think he could smell "Liberal" all over me, I dunno. Something about me -- or maybe this is usual manner with customers -- was snide, judgey, arrogant. Something like that.
Before I can say anything, he literally draws from his underarm holster, and starts lecturing me about the merits of his thing-that-shoots-bullets-but-fuck-me-if-I can-remember-the-name-of-it, and says how it's easily customizable, and he has a special hair trigger on it, and you can just tell the quality by how it feels.
At this point — and less than a couple-few minutes have gone by — I'm done.
I said I appreciate the advice, turned and walked out without another fucking word. Feeling like I need one of those steel-wool scrubdowns you get after exposure to nuclear radiation.
There's a few highly-recommended places around Seattle, I'll try one of those next, and I realize this might have just been bad luck of the draw on my part, but...Jesus Freak-Spank Christ, these people really exist! I thought they were just writer's fodder, something to add for ironic/comic relief in Die Hard movies, or some shit like that. You were not kidding me with your stories.
I feel like I had a conversation with an internet meme.
From Steve
Hah! You shoulda called or messaged me. And any questions you have about this gun biz? Lemme know. What you need and what you want, and if you are gonna carry or keep it in the bedside table, stuff like that. I can point you to the best solution. Then you go to Bass Pro Shop or Cabela’s, or a liberal gun store, and order the thing.
I coulda warned you about gun-culture. Weird is the norm, and red baseball caps are the color. Practice your man-lessons. Have a nice blade on your belt -- somebody'll ask about it. Tell 'em the knife is for when your gun runs out of ammo. Spit on the floor. Relive the Carolina experience. The Bubba Effect, in all its glory.
Hair-fucking trigger? He ever fires his piece in public and shoots somebody? He will be going to jail or selling his truck to pay the lawsuits. He would have told somebody that, and a good prosecutor will find somebody who will testify to it. Hair-trigger? Stupid.
One of the smartest, funniest, most liberal guys I know worked in a gun shop. Insofar as I know, he might be the single exception to the rule ...
You can rent guns at most indoor ranges, and shoot the ones you think you might want, to see. Glock might throw the empties against your forehead; the noise and recoil of some of the hand-cannons might blow off your eyebrows. Make up a list of questions, run ‘em past me.
Or you can call me.
From Bobbe
So this shit is normal?!??
Old Man, this felt like an episode of The Outer Limits.
I thought it was so unusual, you’d get a laugh out of it.
From Steve
Your guy is typical for anywhere in the country. Example of the fantasy stereotype, a Meal-Team -Six shooter who'd have a heart-attack if he had to run half a block, thinks he's the epitome of Red Dawn.
December 7, 2023
12/7/23, 6:14 PM
From Bobbe
I was stunned when I left the shop, almost traumatized.
Even more so now I was like; "Steve'll never believe this, it's too far into the Matrix"
From Steve
Need to get out more, Kid. There's a lot of ugly Americana back in the bushes.
From Bobbe
I thought of you because of all the faux-shooter articles you write, the "silencer on a revolver,” and such. I usually thought you were speaking of the exception to the rule. Today, I thought I actually met the guy — or offspring of the guy — you were writing about. I mean, seriously?
There's a saying in Sci Fi, I forget exactly how it goes, but it refers to going one step too far into unbelievability -- how far can you take it, before you lose the reader? I was thinking, if I wrote about this, I'd have to shave off some of the details, no one would buy that it really happened.
I used to see characters like this in movies, and think; "Not in this day and age."
I was wrong. So very, very wrong.
From Steve
Yep. Doesn't have to be real, has to sound real. The fat man with a three-housand-dollar pistol and a buncha AR-15s? He is Legion, and then some.
Next time, believe me when I tell you stuff.
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