Last night, some ladies (and gentlemen) had Fun With Guns. I must have been excited about it, as I was early to a social gathering for the very first time in my entire life. It was then that I made an important discovery: One cannot really loiter around the front of a gun shop without looking suspicious. Pacing back and forth, taking photographs of signs, even texting–all of it made me seem like a skulking potential criminal in the darkness in front of Wade’s Guns. Not that they were worried about me, of course; they were all packing heat.
Let me tell you–I thought this sign was just a load of marketing BS. Oh, har har, train to shoot zombies by blasting circle targets.
I’ve never been more happy in my life to be wrong.
From left to right, you’ve got Emo Hipster Zombie, Pinhead Franz, Booberella, Baby Goth Girl, General Vampire Girly Nails Hanz, and, of course, every red-blooded American’s choice target–Osama Bin Laden. I may no longer qualify as a True American Patriot as instead of taking a shot at Osama, I decided that General Vampire Girly Nails Hanz needed to be taught a lesson or fifty.
Before we could go inside, we needed to initial a lot of lines indicating that guns are not toys, that guns out of cases are not allowed outside of the booths, and that we will not shoot the following things: the PVC hangers that the targets clip onto, other people’s targets, facial targets with the exception of zombies and Bin Laden because again we are patriots and anti-zombie-american, other people, any endangered species that might happen to wander in from outside, and that shooting any of these things were cause for ejection from the range.
SOME people did not take this initialing process as seriously as they could and collapsed into gigglefits, which is one way, I suppose, to impress upon the staff that they ought to probably keep a pretty close eye on us and our activities. This means that a helpful Wade’s employee stepped up and showed us how to load, aim, and fire the .22 revolver Tonya had selected.
Here he is, the amazing Blurman, and Booberella, Tonya’s target, in the background. The reasoning behind her selection? “Even as a zombie, she’s prettier than me. I HATE HER.” Here she is, blasting the shit out of Booberella. You think I’m kidding? This girl learned to shoot in junior high gymhealth class. (WHAT?) By the end of the evening, several people had decided they wanted her on their team when the inevitable zombie apocalypse happened.
It appears that Booberella’s face is now made out of fine lacy Swiss cheese.
Here, Anne shoots while Jim supervises. Now, it’s hard to tell while wearing the big earmuffs as they are not particularly conducive to conversation, but it sounded like they started to get into a bit of a tiff at one point. I can’t think of any boyfriend I’ve ever had who would have wanted to pick a fight with me while I’m holding a loaded gun, but either Jim is braver than I previously believed him to be, or he understands Anne’s blindness on a much deeper level and is trusting in his ability to knock off her glasses and run before she gets a shot off. No breaking the initialed rules, guys!
Here, another helpful Wade’s employee demonstrated guns to Amber, Mana, and the two girls they brought along whose names I don’t remember because I’m a landwalkin’ goldfish. Amber had told me she was preparing a special outfit for Lady Fun with Guns. I thought she was kidding, but then out came the hotpants and fishnets. Not shown: the low-cut top. It was advised by someone more experienced than all of us that we not wear things that expose ‘the girls’ as no one wants a hot bullet casing landing on sensitive skin.
Amber’s friend is more patriotic than ALL of us. In our mandatory bathroom girl bonding time, she told me that for her 27th birthday, her boyfriend had given her a shotgun even though she’d never shot a gun before and had never expressed an interest in owning a gun. This move is also known as “Sorry, honey, I forgot your birthday, and here is a gift of something I recently purchased for myself.”
Pretty soon, it was my turn to shoot. I was nervous; I had never handled a gun before, and here I was loading it and cocking it and taking careful aim at the panda that had just wandered in from outside. When I squeezed the trigger, it was just a little POP–it didn’t feel like I’d just shot a gun. It felt like I had at most, shot a BB gun or thrown one of those little tiny wrapped firework poppers that youI always throw at people’s feet on the fourth of July, screaming “DANCE! DANCE!”
…I wonder why I don’t have many friends.
And here it is–evidence of the very first shot I ever fired. My expectations of shooting at a target were a bit different from the reality; I assumed for some reason that the paper would react to the bullet passing through it, it would move or sway or flutter or ripple or SOMETHING, but I suppose that expectation means that 1: I am a poor scientist and 2: I watch too many movies.
I didn’t really care for the .22. I expected firing a gun to be a bit more exciting, a bit more palpably dangerous, and, let’s be honest here, a bit sexier.
After Tonya used up the .22 rounds, I took the revolver back out front and demanded to trade it for ‘something awesome’. Another helpful Wade’s employee handed me a 9mm and THEN, ladies and gentlemen, I felt we were in business. Something with a kick. Something that made a proper hole. Something that made casings pelt my face and creep down my shirt. Something AWESOME.
Everyone who went enjoyed themselves and expressed an interest in going to shoot again–we’re looking at going monthly or every other month. Lady Fun With Guns–you’d better believe it!