I seem to be preoccupied with guns lately, and Nathan is not helping. We spent just over an hour at the Macon Police Department’s shooting range yesterday. Nathan was practicing his black ops shooting techniques for something he’s writing, and I was educating myself about handguns.
One of the first things I learned is that owning and shooting a gun is not inexpensive. His gun, an HK 9mm, would cost around $1200 new, he said. No, I’m not considering buying a gun, and, come to think of it, I never really considered handgun prices. Doesn’t $1200 seem a bit high? I was thinking, maybe, a couple of hundred bucks for a gun. Bullets, too, were pricey. I bought 50 rounds and a paper target for over $20. Yikes.
I made this purchase at Arvin’s, a pawn shop in downtown Macon. When I arrived, Nathan had already gotten what we needed. Arvin’s highlights their gun sales, as that’s the first thing anyone would notice upon entering. The first thing I saw was a dude in cammo holding — no, stroking — an assault rifle. This was not the last stereotype we were to encounter that day. I’ve always wondered why anyone would need an assault rifle, unless he plans to become a terminator, a disgruntled ex-employee, or a member of a religious fringe group. This guy was interested. Very interested. We got our bullets and left, so I never did see whether cammo man’s hard-on led to a sale. Just as well.
We drove east of town on I-16. It was a beautiful day: I would even go so far as to say it was our first Spring day of the year. The sun shone through the Mini’s open moonroof, and the cool air was punctuated by rifle fire as we approached the range. Since we were there mid-day on a Monday, the range was remarkably free of shooters, according to Nathan. I smiled at this fact, thinking that I wanted my first time to be as free of distractions as possible. As we got out of the car, I watched the three riflemen shoot in succession. The shots were too loud, making my insides start and my nerves tighten. I didn’t think I’d get used to that.
We signed in and headed to the range. A Macon Police car was parked just off to the side of the range; the cop — an older, tattooed guy with a handlebar mustache — greeted us: “We’ll make some room for you guys.” Rifles lined the carpeted tables. The guy to the left looked like he had a sniper’s setup: his rifle had a stand — a tripod of death at the ready. The guy in the right looked like he had a shotgun. Both rifles were loud. Maybe I mentioned that already? Nathan had brought ear protection for me; these big blue mouse ears became a permanent part of my head for the next hour.
These gun enthusiasts are a garrulous, gregarious sort. The rifleman on the left seemed to really want to talk. He left his wife and two children in the minivan to the side of the range while he practiced his killshot. His rifle waited patiently while we heard this guy’s life story. I’d repeat it here, but I don’t want to lose you, my one reader. Suffice it to say, Nathan’s handgun did nothing, until we lost our company. Finally.
Nathan explained the workings of the handgun to me. Treat the gun as if it’s always loaded. Aim it down and away, even from your feet. Here’s the safety: engaged and disengaged. Here’s your clip; you push and twist the bullets into it, up to ten. Once the clip is in place, you cock the gun by quickly pulling the top of the body back and letting go. Hold the gun in your right hand and brace it with your left. Stand with your left foot forward, so you give anyone shooting at you a smaller target. Arms should be rigid, but bent slightly. Release the safety, take aim, and pull the trigger.
"G" Marks the Spot
We took turns shooting at the same target, set up about 25 feet distant. In between, we’d take a Sharpie and mark our successes: his bullet holes were labeled “N,” and mine “G.”
“Always be wary of what’s around you,” he explained, “and consider what’s behind your target.” His advice was appropriate for both the range and at home. If an intruder comes into the house, and you shoot at him, what will you hit if you miss? A school, a house, a tree?
We finished our ammo in about an hour. I enjoyed the experience, and I would like to repeat it. While I can’t say that I’m any less nervous about handguns, at least I feel better educating myself on how to properly use one.
If I ever had to.
