Unchartered Territory, Part 2: Considering Camouflage

Previously: While out shopping for furniture, I decided (along with my wife) to look into obtaining my firearms license in the interest of skeet shooting with my Boy Scout stepson. We had just entered a local sporing goods/gun dealer looking for some answers to my questions about how to get started with becoming a licensed firearms user, whatever that meant.

Upon entering the store I naively pondered aloud, "I wonder where they keep the guns?"

My wife responded to my verbal query by simply raising her arm, pointing to the back of the store and noting sarcastically (which is usually not in her nature), "Gee, I don't know."

The area to which she gestured what was really more of the back half (or so it seemed) of the store than simply the rear end of the large outdoorsy megalo-mart. From where we stood just inside the entrance, I could already visually make out a system of extensive counters and numerous standing racks, that I (correctly, as it turns out) assumed displayed many different types of rifles.

Before we could make a beeline to the gun department, we were stopped by one of the store's cashiers who offered to sign us up for some sort of special-benefits card. Normally, I would hold my wife's hand and rush by such table (pretending not to hear their generally polite "excuse me, sirs"), but this time was different. I noticed that on the table beside the neatly stacked enrollment forms were three piles of baseball hast, each of a different design but all with the store's name and logo on them. My eyes were almost immediately drawn to the ball cap wit the camouflage pattern.

"If you sign up today, you get a free hat as well as a 10% discount on any purchases," the young lady added, breaking me from my consideration of camouflage. At first I found it curious that a store that anti-government nut0job Gribble of King of the Hill would clearly shop at would be asking for my private information, but as it turned out they didn't need anything other than my name, address and annual income--a number I usually deflate to minimize a company's interest in having me as a debtor. After quickly filling out the info, the girl handed my the hat and we set off for the back. I bent the bill of the cap, carefully getting a feel for the cammie's texture and weight.

Before getting to the gun department, I stopped by a 50% sale rack on which were swimsuits at a reduced price. Among this bikini-style swim wear was a number with a variety of camouflage patterns. "Would you like one of these, honey, it matches my hat," I asked my wife.

"No thanks," she replied on cue, there wasn't much chance of her joining me in the spiritual realm of the recreational gun user...