My Five Encounters with Guns

wordpress blog stats

G

G is for guns, guns, guns.

                                                                                                                                                       
If I were a political creature, I’d be so far left-leaning that I’d topple over. Probably. I say probably because since I’m apolitical, I’m by choice not politically-versed enough to know for sure. But I’m pretty sure on the side I’d theoretically be on, I’m not supposed to like guns.

Except that I do.

I am of course, against permissive gun laws, in keeping with my Leaning Tower of Pisa nature (the tower leans south, which any southpaw might tell you, is honorary left). But from the pearl-handled Lady Belgian Revolver of Agatha Christie murderesses to Bonnie and Clyde Tommy guns, if it weren’t for the lost life and injury, it’d be hard to deny that guns are badass little feats of design.

Courtesy of icollector

Courtesy of icollector

Naturally, any bullet fired by me would be exclusively relegated to cans on barrels, paper targets at the shooting range or sadistic serial-killers charging me with oversized X-Acto knives.

Having said that, here are five of my actual encounters with guns:

 
That time I was “kidnapped”

For an entire day, the silver fox police chief of the Lyndhurst, NJ station let fifteen-year-old me sit in his office while we told each other our hopes and fears. We became such buds that when I pointed to the locked glass case on his wall containing a gun collection, he unlocked it.

He let me handle an unloaded .38 Special and that was my first encounter with any gun, anywhere.

What about said kidnapping? Read about it in The Jail Incident.

 
That time I was obsessed with destruction

In my early twenties, I thought of heroin and handguns as great conversation pieces in order to put forward the tough-chick persona that seemed to matter to me. Maybe it had to do with the fact that just out of a relationship with my first love, I was certain I would never smile again.

Two new guys began pursuing me, and when my birthday came around, each knew the way to my heart was through a gun.

The long-haired musician was a self-proclaimed pacifist, so he delivered to me a high-power plastic water-rifle the color of Sunkist, wrapped in a ribbon.

The conservative Columbia grad, on the other hand, managed passes to an NYPD shooting range where we got to shoot a variety of guns. This included a semi-automatic assault rifle, which to me was close enough to a machine-gun to make me squeal happily.

Still, the water-gun boy won and we began a five-year relationship.

 
That time I shot a Luger

I was the star of my first movie and I had a chance to portray my inner and outer tough chick. The movie didn’t go anywhere, but in it, I got to load and shoot blanks out of a real WWII Luger.

Luger

 
 
That time a cop pointed a gun at me

We’ve all been in a dysfunctional relationship. At least, let’s pretend we all have, since I for one have endured outrageous dysfunction.

It was night and we were parked in my car in an ATM lot of a small town. My guy was arguing with me to death—and ashes and beyond—about something preposterously immaterial, like whether it was appropriate to honk your horn when waiting for someone outside their house, or whether big cities were entitled to water sources from small towns.

Soon he was maniacally banging his fist against the dashboard and shaking my entire car. Within minutes, there were sirens and the arrival of two cop cars. The police yanked him out of the driver’s seat and dragged him aside to question. Apparently some other ATM couple had called in a report of someone’s head being bashed into the steering wheel. Even though no such thing had occurred, ugly was ugly, and I remained in the passenger seat with the door open, equal parts mortified and fuming at my guy’s latest Jerry Springer debacle.

That’s when a young male cop appeared at my side.

“Ma’am, would you get out of the car please?”

I slowly turned my head in his direction. Noticing he was holding something, I picked that moment to be overcome with the rage I had contained while interacting with the abusive guy the police were questioning outside.

“Are you pointing a GUN at me?!” I snarled, eye-level with the weapon. I had no fear of the gun, certainly not of him holding it. He probably didn’t even have his wisdom teeth in yet.

“Yes…ma’am. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.” His voice was tentative and I imagined his hands shaking. I snorted and looked away, refusing to get out of the open door until he put away the gun. He had deeply offended me.

If this had been Los Angeles or New York instead of this little cop’s little town, I would have been billy-clubbed, or worse. The terrifying part was realizing I wouldn’t have acted differently. In daydreams where I am heroic, I always theorized a gun wouldn’t make me cower. Being proven right in real life was no comfort—people get shot for far less provocation than defiance.

Eventually, the young cop put the gun away and I got out of the car. He then very nervously handcuffed me, but the handcuffs slipped off and I felt awful for having terrorized him.

Later, after the matter was cleared up, I apologized to the cop.

 
That time my girlfriend married a military guy

My most traumatizing encounter with a gun was when my sweet, honey-haired girlfriend went to a gun show in Texas with her military husband and came home with a brand new Glock for herself. The evil, flesh-exploding type of bullets weren’t my only issue. It was that all this deadly menace was housed in a holster of…hot pink.

Glock

 


~ Part of the A to Z Challenge ~
A post a day except Sunday for the month of April to cover topics beginning with each letter of the alphabet. Events always real, names always changed.

Cathartic Monkeyism returns in May.


Sign Up

   for new GG posts

GG◊  Thanks for your comments, shares and likes. Most of all, sincere thanks for reading.
◊  If you enjoy and want more GG, do sign up!
◊  You can also follow GG verbal and pictorial missives on TwitterFacebook and  Instagram.


You’re the best part of blogging
~ so tell me everything ~


WordPress informs me that below this paragraph, some random ad might appear unless I spring for the no-ad upgrade. If so, apologies.

Advertisements

14 comments

  1. Paul · · Reply

    Whew, love the movie you with the gun: very moll -like. Fun stories GG. Such a cute pink holster. Most of my experience with guns was acquired in the US- except for my Dad’s old 3030 hunting rifle that he taught me shoot at about 12 years of age. He was a hunter when he was younger although by the time I came along he just liked to walk in the woods and pretend he was hunting.

    My most memorable interaction with a gun happened in rural Maine where the company to which my tractor trailer was leased was located. There had been a young lad – Donny – who was a helper in the garage. He and I hit it off and we used to chat whenever I had to get work done to my trailer in their garage. He eventually enlisted in the Marines and did a tour overseas. When he was home on leave he came to the office to visit and I was there. He had picked up an Israeli Uzi sub-machine gun during his tour and had brought it by to show. He had a number of 32 round clips with him and asked if I wanted to go out back of the garage and test fire the gun. Having never fired a sub-machine gun before I agreed enthusiastically – as you said GG, there is an attraction. We let the boss know so the gunshots wouldn’t surprise him and away we went. There was a downward tree-covered slope with mature trees having trunks about 18 inches across. One in particular was directly in front of us and the center of the trunk was at about my chest level. Donny handed me the Uzi, pointed at the tree and indicated that I should shoot at that tree – it was about 20 feet away. Donny loaded a 32 round clip and showed me how to hold the gun. He warned me that the barrel tended to rise when shot and told me to take a good grip. I aimed at the tree – to my mind a sure thing this close – and pulled the trigger. As bullets spewed out, the barrel shot upwards and weaved from side to side as i tried to control it – and of course the tighter I held on, the more locked my finger was on the trigger. After about 3 seconds all 32 bullets were gone (it fires about 600 rounds per minute) and the gun fell quiet. A rain of leaves filled with bullet holes floated softly down in silence from above. I had not hit the tree trunk with even one bullet. Donny laughed so hard that I thought he was going to fall over.

    The moral of the story is that if you ever see a movie where the hero jumps out shooting a sub-machine gun in each hand and he hits the bad guys – it is a lie. He ain’t gonna hit anything – guaranteed. (Or conversely if you are the bad guy, don’t be worried about getting shot – it so isn’t going to happen.)

    Fun post GG. Thank You

    1. Ha, that’s a great story, thanks! Was very interested in all the detail, but also pleased that you missed the tree trunk. What did that poor tree do to you?!

      1. Paul · ·

        I’d make a lousy tree assassin. Ha! 😀 You could likely gun me down with your WW2 Luger long before I could even come close to you with a machine gin. Sigh.

  2. valj2750 · · Reply

    Guns scare the crap out of me. I don’t want to know about them or be anywhere near them.

    1. Obviously, you are not alone in that. It has always interested me, this reaction. I would feel exactly the same if I had kids.

  3. Love the idea of this post and the stories you chose to share. I may have to steal the idea at some point, after A to Z! 🙂

    1. Thanks, and feel free, obviously!

  4. I’m pretty sure the pink holster was the scariest encounter.

    1. Yes, that was indeed the point of that particular anecdote.

  5. I once shot a hole in a bucket with a shotgun. It was AMAZING!

    1. I bet it was! I can totally picture your glee!!

      1. I went a bit loopy and talkative for a while 😉

  6. Lance · · Reply

    I am a political creature and very lefty.

    Due to my mental illness issues and my overall intolerance toward violence and the gun culture, I do not like them.

    I grew up with them but haven’t touched one since I held a hunting rifle at age 21 (a long time ago). Like most people don’t get my fascination with punk music, I don’t get theirs with cold hard steel.

    1. I get the fascination with both punk music and cold hard steel…

Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: