Several years ago, I took my first trip to Florida over the Christmas holidays. I went with a friend who had a friend who owned a condo there. We had the place for free so, well, wouldn't you have grabbed that deal too?
Anyway, my friend - the one with the friend who owned the condo - was a gun nut. He had, by his own account, more guns than I had fingers. Gulp. He had even been charged once with illegal possession of a loaded gun.
Now, before you get all bent out of shape, exclaiming, "What the heck were you (me) doing with a guy who had been charged with illegal possession of a loaded firearm?" let me explain that, unlike here in Canada, the United States has a different criminal code for each state and this guy did not realize he was breaking any law when it happened. In his home state, it was apparently not illegal for him to have his loaded gun in a car, but he had been on holiday in another state and had forgotten to check what gun laws were before using his at a local gun range; he left it loaded when he got back in his car and got caught with it when a cop pulled him over for some kind of check; his taillight was out or some such minor thing.
Not a big deal, really. As it turns out, he wasn't as dangerous as his arms count would lead us to assume.
We had been in Florida about two days, going to the beach as many times as possible. In December, central Florida isn't too warm, as it turned out, so we got tired of that really quick. The water was warm but the air was cool. Brrrrr...
So, he suggested we go to a gun range. I guess he had packed two of his guns with him. I thought, what the heck. I will try almost anything once, as long as it is legal and moral. As we were in a rather conservative, Republican state, I knew gun laws were going to be pretty slack and, when we checked at the first range we visited, sure enough, I could fire a gun, even as a foreigner, in a gun range in Florida without having to register or apply for any kind of permit. Imagine.
My friend had two guns, as I said. The first one was a larger one. Cumbersome and loud. I have forgotten the calibre. He gave me a couple of quick tips and I put on the battery operated hearing protection headphones and shot off a round. It did not take long to learn the personality of a round, either, which, frankly, surprised me. Then my friend, impressed with my success hitting the targets, offered to let me use his semi-automatic police calibre pistol; a small, compact, heavy little piece that packed a wallop of a kick.
So I tried it.
I hit every target around the heart designation area each time.
Before we go any further, I have to say I am a pacifist. I do not believe in the use of violence to make a point nor do I support gun ownership by the general public. I have seen and read about too many stupid deaths and injuries and, well, I am a Canuck, through and through, and it just doesn't sit right with me under any circumstances.
But there I was, actually enjoying pulling that trigger and hitting those targets. I even enjoyed the temporary status it gave me with my friend, who was a right wing American, and also with the retired Marine who owned the range. They practically worshipped me once my target sheets were returned to me at the front of the store. They kept asking me if I were sure it was my first time shooting a gun.
Wow. What a power trip.
I am ashamed to say I have had few experiences with which to compare it and I have done some pretty interesting things in my lifetime; including singing in front of large crowds of strangers for money, directing plays which brought audiences to tears and hitchhiking alone as a young woman. I've had a black widow spider walk over me while sunbathing in southern California, with no ill effects. I've climbed a couple of mountains (granted, they were easy climbs), taught myself rudimentary Portuguese (sadly, most of which I have forgotten due to disuse) and interviewed all kinds of interesting people.
But nothing compared to that day at the old gun range in central Florida where I shot my first gun at those human-like target sheets made of shiny newsprint.
Dare I say, "What a blast?"
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