Funnebone Goes Gun Shopping

I didn't set out to buy a gun, I actually was just getting lunch. The gun store was located  next to the steak shop and the wrought iron bars and warning notices beckoned me in. I suppose most people set out to buy a gun but for me it was more of an impulse, like when I dyed my hair purple in '86. I didn't even know if I actually wanted to buy a gun or if I just wanted go in and breathe in the manhood and freedom associated with firearms. In any case I pulled open the door and activated the sleigh bell security system, alerting everyone of my presence. 

As I stepped in the door I was greeted by eight eyes and seven legs. Everyone stopped and turned towards the door, examining the fresh face. The big bellied, bearded shop keep was presenting an extremely large silver pistol to a guy balancing on one leg while his wooden crutch lay across the counter.  He looked old enough to have lost his limb in Vietnam but dirty enough to have sold it for wine money. Just a few feet to his right was a woman with graying hair and glasses who had stopped resupplying the holster display to give me the once over, twice. Just off to my right stood a tall, lean man with a buzz cut and bootleg jeans. He was holding a camouflage poncho or tablecloth and was just as alert as the others. I didn't feel welcome, but I was not dissuaded.

I strode  right up the the glass display and fixed my eyes on the fist pistol I saw. Everyone went back to their previous activities and time, once again, resumed. I brought my face down to the glass as to appear to have knowledge of what I was looking at but all I did was fog up my view. I held my breath and peered to my right trying to see what the others were doing.

"Can I help you ?" the hearty man grumbled.

"I think I want a gun" I sternly replied.

"You think you want one or you want one ?" he quipped.

I didn't answer. I knew this was his way of trying to feel me out or run me out. I wasn't intimidated by his size, or his beard, or the cannon strapped to his waist.

From over my left shoulder came a partially feminine voice asking " what kind of gun do you think you want.?"  The woman had stopped stacking the rack and came up behind me with the stealth of a shadow. 

I didn't take my eyes off the foggy case. 

"I need something for home protection" and said in my best Eastwood growl.  "something I can go shoot"

I wasn't really sure what the right answer was. I assumed home protection was a safe choice although I wondered if I should have said "I needed a gun to fight off the government when the revolution starts" or if I should have played it real cool and said " I got a problem with somebody". 

"Do you want a revolv-a"? she asked.

Now I turned to look at her. From the moment I walked in I felt I was transported to another dimension, somewhere in West Virginia. We were in Linwood Pennsylvania, not in the Ozarks. The store is located just off I 95, ten minutes outside of the city of Philadelphia, we don't say revolv-a unless we have a hearing problem. 

"I am not sure, is a revolv-ER my best choice"? I shot back.

I was getting a little annoyed. Obviously I have no idea what I am doing. I don't look like a gangster, a disgruntled postal worker or a jealus husband. I was wearing silver  surf shorts, sneakers and a Donald Duck t shirt for God's sake. I obviously need some help. 

She paid no attention to my correction of her pronunciation and made her way behind the counter. She grabbed a towel and wiped away the steam from my anxious breath and pointed to a little dainty derringer in the case.

"How abouts that one ?" 

Unfazed by her sarcasm I scanned the shelves from right to left, up and down and pointed to the largest gun on the bottom shelf.

"That one"

She rolled her eyes behind her faded pink large glasses and slid the counter door open. The two men next to me both stopped talking and looked over. She brought the large chrome weapon up and laid it on the counter in front of me. 

I had chosen a Desert Eagle .50 Caliber automatic. It was big, and heavy and had a price tag of seventeen hundred dollars.  The only thing in my house worth this much money would be the gun and I would need the gun to rob a bank in order to pay for the gun. 

"Each time you should that thing would cost you a dollar and a half" remarked the one legged man with a snicker.

" I want something to go to the range with, maybe something smaller" I replied.

The woman then reached in and pulled out a smaller gun that looked like a mini Desert Eagle. It has Taurus 9mm written on the side with a rubber black grip covering the bottom half of the gun.  She laid it down next to the first gun which dwarfed the Taurus. The price was four hundred dollars which may as well have been for thousand. I nervously picked the gun up and instantly felt empowered. 

I pointed the gun straight ahead at the Bin Laden target on the wall. After imagining putting two in his head I shifted my aim to the right and skipped over the picture of the frightened buck and then fantasized that I shot up all of the shotguns ala Terminator style. As I got to the end of the row I saw the bearded man duck and the one legged guy hop backwards as  they attempted to get out of the line of fake fire. Apparently these people never heard that guns don't kill people. Everyone yelled at me and the woman quickly grabbed the gun by the barrel and pointed it down. 

" what are you doing. never point a gun at someone, it could have been loaded!" she snarled. 

The gun felt good and seeing the one legged guy hop felt even better but I couldn't afford four hundred dollars. I asked to see a different gun, a black revolver which was lighter both in my hand and on my wallet. This one was two fifty and according to the woman, who refused to let go of the barrel as she pointed to the ground,  would be more economical to shoot. I felt that this was the gun for me. I could have enough money left over to buy beer and shoot at imaginary zombies.

I told the woman I wanted the gun and asked if they would throw in some bullets, a holster and a Hillary Clinton target. She said no and handed me some papers to fill out. She said I would be required to complete a background check. All of this for a gun I wondered. I never adopted a dog from a rescue group because of this paperwork crap, I wasn't about to start for a toy.  

"Can't I just get the gun without all of this?" I asked.

No, you have to fill them out then we send it to the police, if you pass you can pick the gun up in three days"

Three days?...I wouldn't wait three days for a kidney transplant. What if the zombies come in two days or if the Russians invade or a rabid skunk attacks my lawn furniture? 

" I don't want to wait three days" I pouted.

"Well then you don't get a gun" was her scolding reply.

So much for impulse buying.

I can get a bow and arrow at Walmart.