Unchartered Territory, Part 3: Queen of the Rifle Racks

While out shopping my wife and I stop at a local sporing When I first step foot into the designated firearms area of the store I was impressed by how organized and varied the display were: four long glass display cases chock full of scopes and pistols, a variety of taxidermied animal heads (moose, fox, deer to name a few), and rack upon rack of rifles. Now, just because I deem them to be "rifles" doesn't mean that's "officially" at the are as the racks were further organized by purpose (target, hunting), caliber and barrel... and possible other criteria for organizing weapons. Best as I could tell at first glance was that I should stay away from the "pretty" colored ones (pink, purple) as they were in all likelihood intended for use by ladies.

In an effort to be fashionable, I should probably mention here that I had worn a t-shirt depicting a number of different Marvel superhero faces on it. This is important as it provided an icebreaker prior to asking about "guns."

The lone woman working at the counter complimented me on the t-shirt, thus striking up a conversation,"I like your shirt, it's only the second one I've seen like that, my son has one and I made a small one for his son to wear..."

"Thank you, Karen" I responded after making note of her name as it appeared on the tag. Karen appeared to be about fifty years old, and had a pleasant, if slightly too zealous, air about her. (In retrospect, she had a sort of Palin-esque vibe to her--very approachable and confident.) I immediately felt comfortable talking with Karen so I asked, "I was wondering if you could answer a few questions about guns... rifles... shooting?" I had little handle of the proper "gun-speak," and accepted the reality that I would likely sound like I didn't know what I was talking about because, well, I didn't! "I don't know much about firearms, but I was wondering how you would suggest getting started?"

At this point, Karen came out from behind the display case and we (my wife and I) began drifting with her towards the rifle racks as she explained a little about herself and her experiences with guns, "Well, you can do a lot of different things with guns, myself--you know I owned a gun store for twenty years before working here--I used to love skeet shooting, it was so much fun and its something the two of you could do together, that is if you weren't interested in hunting..."

Karen continued to speak with us in long uninterrupted chains of phrases and anecdotes about guns. She was in my small world the "Queen of the Rifle Rack," dispensing words of wisdom about how licensing rules were different from county to county opining that there were no more gun safety classes offered at this store location store because some government entity or other was "giving them a hassle" over this or that.

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...

Unchartered Territory, Part 1: Have Gun, Will Travel?

For short time now, my stepson and I have talked abut doing some trap or skeet shooting. Last summer he got a taste of shooting while at Boy Scout camp and had expressed an interest in trying sport shooting, though "I (he) won't hunt live animals."

My wife and his father do not have much interest in shooting (though my wife also has done some target shooting in the past with my stepson at Cub Scout Adventure Camp a number of years ago), so I have given some thought to maybe giving it a shot. This will not surprise you, but I have never even held any type of firearm with a gauge higher than "small air pellet."

Last week a spent a little time trying to make head-or-tales of just what type of registration or licensure I would need to use a target rifle at a range or club. There appear to be two options: pursue a hand-gun permit which would take approximately nine-months to have approved (at least in New York) or sign-up for some sort of hunting license... or at least that was what I thought.

While at the local gun emporium yesterday (not K-Mart or Dick's Sporting Goods--though both have firearms for sale and I have at times found myself in their respective "gun departments" accidentally), but rather Gander Mountain which had what one might realistically equate to a firearms "candy shop." My wife in tow, we stopped by Gander Mountain armed with questions about registering and fire arm licensing.

Walking past two folks (an older bearded gentleman and a younger lady) looking to talk with interested parties about hunting dogs, we intentionally entered into uncharted personal territory, heading in the direction of the gun department.