â€œGo get Osama for me.â€
He tilted his head to my stack of crap.
I flipped through my targets and found the one he asked for.
â€œYou got it! You did in one minute what Washington couldnâ€™t do in eight years and two wars.â€
The customer ahead of me was already on to shooting his handgun. It was so loud. No, whatever you are imagining, amplify it by 100 decibels loud. So loud, I canâ€™t even put the word in all caps because it will hurt my ears with the memory, loud. I jumped every time he pulled the trigger. This made Luis, understandably nervous about handing me a loaded automatic weapon.
â€œEasy girl. Weâ€™re going to train that fear right out of you.â€
I smiled. Then jumped. He showed me how to hold the butt of the gun and how to brace the nose of it while I lined up my shot by looking through the sight thingie. I was still jumping at regular intervals as my next door neighbor emptied his clip.
Luis asked me if I was ready. I nodded. Then jumped. He clipped Osama to the target and reeled him out to about halfway down the range.
â€œYou ready, girl?â€
No. Definitely. Absolutely not.
I squeezed the trigger, nothing happened.
â€œOh, wait,â€ Luis said as he took the gun from my hand and unlatched or latched something or other, â€œyouâ€™re good now.â€
I repositioned the gun to my shoulder.
Read the whole thing. I mean, if you want, if you don’t that’s cool. I mean, hell with you.