During Thanksgiving break, Man and I went out on a date together. The plan was to go to a shooting range, then lunch, and to run errands including getting the groceries for our Thanksgiving meal.
The shooting range was actually my idea. Though I’ve grown up with guns in our house I’ve never really been comfortable with it. I mentioned to Man that it may do me good to learn how to actually use a firearm. Perhaps that would make me less nervous about it.
The shooting range is nothing fancy. Cinder block square. The basement is where you shoot. Before going down Man and I chose our targets. We went for the traditional silhouette though there was the hostage option, zombie, a turkey, elk, and other such targets. Before entering the range Man had me put on safety equipment for my ears and eyes. I could hear gun fire from outside the door.
I followed in behind Man and he chose us a stall to shoot from. While he set up “shop” I sort of checked out my surroundings. As I did the person in the stall next to us discharged their weapon. I screamed and ducked down under the counter in our stall.
Stupid! Why are you surprised to hear gunfire in a shooting range?
“Sorry…” I said to Man as I sheepishly and tentatively came our from under the counter. “I’ve never heard gunfire before…”
“That’s fine. We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. We could go and do something else,” he offered.
“No, no. I want to do this,” I said and I jumped as another gun fired.
Maybe this isn’t the best thing for someone with anxiety, Michal…
Man set up our first target. He loaded a 9 mm. I think? He showed me how to turn off the safety and prepare the gun.
“Always point it out into the range. Never put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to fire.”
He showed me how to use these little dots on the gun to aim. I can’t explain it…they are on top of the gun. One at the barrel and two near the back. You line them up where you want your bullet to go. As he unloaded the gun I jumped and stifled the urge to scream with each shot.
“You ready to try?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered but I was shaking all over.
He talked me threw everything he had just showed me. I stood with my feet set apart like I’ve seen in the movies, raised the gun with one hand and steadied my hold with the other. I lined up the dots for the middle of the target. My finger on the trigger I took a deep breath and then….BAM!
The gun threw my hand back. The shell flew back into my face and I screamed a little.
“You’re alright,” Man said. “It’s just the shell. Nice shot Babe! Look at that! Right in the head!”
“I was aiming for the red target in the chest,” I confessed.
“Don’t tell me that. Try again.”
I did it again and again experimenting with my aim. Not all of my shots went where I aimed but they were all down the middle which Man said was good. Those were all places that would bring a man down.
Next Man switched me to a Glock. This sucker was heavy. He hung up a new target. I aimed for the red target in the chest and BAM BAM BAM BAM x2! I hit the target. The Glock has a mean kick though and a few shells fell down my shirt which sucks because they are hot and it burned a little.
“Babe, You’re an amazing shot!”
“Why, thank you,” I said.
“I’m serious! I’ve never seen anyone shoot this good their first time.”
“I do seem to be better at it than you…”
“Ha ha! Yeah, you are. It’s kind of hot,” he whispered in my ear.
Man reloaded the Glock and challenged me to aim for the head this time. Again, I hit my mark every time but one. Two shots went right between the eyes.
“K. I’m kind of awesome at this!” I crowed.
“You are! You should be a sharp shooter.”
“A sniper. I told you I’m a super hero!”
“Super hero’s run, babe.”
“Hm…not all! Some fly.”
Man shot a few more times himself. I had to take a break because my wrist, elbow and hand hurt.
“I’m thinking my arthritis will not like this hobby…” I noted.
“Hey! I’ll shoot you,” I teased. “That Glock is mean.”
We wrapped things up and I took home my two favorite targets for bragging rights. We decided to go to lunch and then after we would get my car washed. At the car wash we vacuumed out the car and then drove up to the car wash tunnel. The attendant there offered me a lollipop but then quickly recanted.
“You’re not a child,” he said rather indignantly.
“No…but I still like lollipops.” He was not amused.
“How’s your thumb?” Man asked him. Apparently he’s pretty regular at the car wash.
“Oh…it’s getting better. I’m going to have to go to the doctor though. The other day I blew my nose and this big black thing came out.”
“A few days later, I was in the shower and the same thing happened,” he continued.
“Oh. Man,” My Man replied.
“Go, go, go!” I whispered. “What the heck was that all about?” I asked after we passed through.
“I don’t know. Too much information. Jeez.”
“How’d he hurt his thumb?”
“He doesn’t remember.”
“Ah…” I said and I made a gesture with my hand to imply that he had been drinking.
We finally got the all clear to move into the car wash tunnel. I love these things! It’s like having Muppet tornadoes washing your car. The thunderstorm of soap and water came down on us and the red mops twirled around, slapping the car as we slowly moved through. We were nearing the end, when all of a sudden, water came pouring in from the sunroof and into my lap.
“Aaaaagh!” I screamed and then laughed as I realized what was happening.
Man tried to figure out how to make it stop but we were sort of stuck and the only thing we could do was wait until we could move out of the car wash. Once out, we pulled up to a vacuum station where there were paper towels. Man dried out the car while I did my best to pat myself dry with the paper towels.
“Oh my gosh!” I laughed, “I am completely soaked!” My pants, my shirt, my hair. Yeah…I was one hot date. At least Man claimed I was.
From there we went to Wal-Mart so I could buy some dry clothes and then we bought groceries.
“You know, Babe, this was a pretty good date despite the unexpected waterfall,” I observed to Man as we loaded the groceries.
“It was,” he agreed. “More of these.”
“Yes. More of these.”
“Except maybe we won’t go to the car wash anymore.”
“Yeah. He didn’t even give me the lollipop!”