between a glock and a hard place

Standing in front of this table on Saturday morning, I wondered what I'd gotten myself into. Five of us stood inside a small cinderblock building looking down at this display. Luckily, one of us was a State Trooper. The other four—myself included—were there for one purpose: To learn how to shoot a gun.


Let's pause for a moment. I should give a bit of context.


Disclaimer #1 
I'm not a violent person. Although I have an Italian temper and bad history with chipmunks, I have no real desire to inflict harm. 


Disclaimer #2
A few weeks ago, a friend bought a Groupon for an indoor shooting range and asked if I was interested. It wasn't on my bucket list, but it seemed like an interesting thing to add.


When we arrived at the range, they asked, "Have you ever fired a gun before?" And since we hadn't, we were turned away. You see, the Groupon was for shooting guns; instructions for shooting were not included. 


Not ones to give up, we started brainstorming... Who could teach us? And it just so happened that one friend's friend is a State Trooper. 


Which brings us back to where this story began—in a gun shed, behind a police station.


After a brief lesson with the unloaded weapons, we walked out toward the tall U-shaped hill that served as a practice range. I squished my bright orange ear plugs in as far as they'd go while I waited. And then it was my turn.


I couldn't tell if my arms were shaking because it was 33 degrees with errant snowflakes floating around, or because I held a loaded 9mm Glock 17 pistol in my hand.


I closed my left eye, trying to focus on the tiny X on the target, and pulled the trigger. I knew it'd be loud, but it was LOUD. What I didn't expect was the way the bullet casings flew up and landed on my arm, bounced off my head, etc. It was a bit unnerving to have little metal pieces—even if they're harmless—flying at your face after you've just fired a gun. I tried it with my eyes closed a few times so that I wouldn't flinch.


In the end, I fired a 38mm Sig Sauer (which we called "the cute one" because it was like a tiny spy gun), and a 45 caliber 1911 (which was "the big scary one" because it had a helluva kickback when you shot). After the initial shock wore off, it was actually pretty entertaining to see how accurate our shots were. Side note: I didn't really shoot the car below, but it made for a pretty good photo opportunity.


You will never find me hunting. You probably won't ever find a gun in my house. But will you find me at a shooting range this summer? Maybe.