Monday, February 4, 2013

Things Jews Don't Do

It's been a while since I've filed anything under this category, but with the country buzzing about guns and the possible wholesale deletion of the second amendment by these crazy parents who want to protect their kids, I'd thought chime in.

Back in December, during an unusual quiet week where I was not working, I thought I'd make a visit to the local firing range located about 20 minutes from my house.

It's in a sketchy neighborhood just east of LAX.

Sketchy, in that it's situated adjacent to an adult book store.

I'm pretty sure they're not selling copies of Lady Chatterly's Lover or Tropic of Cancer, so calling it an Adult Book Store is a little misleading. Even more confusing is, who still goes to an adult book store? There's this thing called the Internet. And if you so desired you could purchase both those saucy novels, and many more, as an e-book.

I parked next to a white van, thankfully it wasn't rocking, and opened the steel door at the entrance. Inside, I was greeted by a young tattooed, roid-boy perched on a stool behind three inches of bullet-proof glass.

There was no salutation. Just a buzzing. And a terse, "Come on in."

I pushed through the interior security door and walked into a large room that looked like it had been transplanted from a Marine Base Artillery Shack. There were guns and rifles and magazine clips of all shapes and sizes. Enough weaponry to storm Sacramento and take back our government from those train-building, fireman-funding Fascists.

The Jersey Shore Pauly D look-a-like (and I only know that character because I have two teenage daughters) asked what I wanted. What I wanted? I wanted to shoot a gun. I hadn't shot one since I owned a Daisy Rifle and pelted my fast-moving brother with a non-fatal round of BBs.

Guess what? He wouldn't let me. Because, and I had no idea, I needed to walk in with a friend. Turns out firing ranges are not allowed to simply hand a loaded pistol to some schmuck off the street with fifty bucks in his pocket and who knows what crazy ideas in his head.

At first I was annoyed at the inconvenience. Then I put two and two together and understood the common sense behind the procedure.

I didn't go into a rage. And didn't feel my 2nd amendment right had been abridged in any manner.

So I left the firing range and went next store to exercise my 1st Amendment Right. And browsed their excellent selection of fetish wear.

1 comment:

Jeff said...

Fireman Funding Facists. Roxy '98.