Guest post from DrLaura: "Home on the shootin' range"

Caller #1: “Hi DrLaura. I’ve got something I need to get off my chest.”

DrLaura: “All right – let’s hear it.”

Caller #1: “Well, it’s just that I’ve got this one friend that is relentlessly condescending. He always lords it over me about how his dad was the only tax attorney in California north of San Francisco when he was growing up. He won’t stop hounding me about how the Boy Scouts made him the man he is today. And he drives me crazy gloating over his small white compact car with an ‘e’ on the trunk that he bought from Enterprise Rent-A-Car – he calls it ‘The Enterprise’ while looking down his nose at me!”

DrLaura: “Pardon me, but you are a pussy! Do me a favor: next time you see him, pretend like you are a barbarian and ask him ‘What’s in your wallet?’ Producer, get rid of this guy and please tell me you’ve got something better on line 2!”

Caller #2: “Hi DrLaura – first time, long time.”

DrLaura: “Glad to hear it. What have you got?”

Caller #2: “Well, I had an experience today that’s left me shaken. You see, at my gym, we have these unisex shower rooms, and after patiently waiting my turn for what felt like for forever, one of the shower room doors finally opened and a single smiling man came out, followed by three women!”

DrLaura: “Well, did you ask them if they were Mormons? Jesus, if I have to listen to any more idiots today I am going to fire you, producer! You’d better have something better for me on line 3, or this is your last show!”

Caller #3: “Hi DrLaura! I wanted to talk about a recent experience I had with some friends.”

DrLaura: “I’m looking for some good news – bring it, beyotch!”

Caller #3: “As a token of their gratitude, our ladyfriends arranged a surprise outing for me and my buddies at the shooting range, to ‘give us a chance to swing our dicks around.’ I’d never gone before, and when we walked in I was impressed with the selection of guns at our disposal: small caliber pistols, huge ‘Dirty Harry’ revolvers, and military rifles with silencers, if you needed to practice with those.

The man behind the counter gave us some paperwork to fill out where we initialed that they weren’t responsible for anything. And then he asked if everyone had shot before. I said ‘I haven’t,’ and he nodded and then didn’t say anything else about it.

Since we were all fans of police programs and Palestinian gunmen, we picked out a Glock 9 mm and an AR-15 rifle, and as we entered the inner sanctum of the range our cashier called out, ‘Make sure you have the ear protection on – it gets loud fast!’ It had sounded like ladyfingers going off from out in the lobby, but it was clear that once we got inside he was totally right.

The range was partitioned into doorway-sized lanes, each with a small shelf mounted about waist-high in the opening. At the first lane, our eyes were drawn to a pair of tight pink jeans worn by a woman firing deafening rounds at short intervals. And this is when the democratic nature of the activity first began to dawn on me: In the next lane, there was a small Filipino woman blasting away, and a little further down a grandfather was showing his ten-year-old grandchildren how to exercise their Second Amendment rights.

A man even further down had chosen the big, big .44 Magnum, and it felt like the most powerful fireworks (the percussive ones with a small flash and huge boom) I’d ever seen, only as if they were ten feet away.  Almost as amazing to me was the fact that when it was fired it looked like a flamethrower.”

DrLaura: “Did he have ass-less chaps on?”

Caller #3: “I was too mesmerized by the gun to notice! Anyway, one of the guys in our group had spent part of his upbringing in Montana and he was experienced with guns and hunting. In fact, he had filled in the details about other aspects of the ‘frontier culture’, like the justice meted out by his brother (a former offensive lineman for the New York Giants) who, after being scolded by his father, snuck off and secretly shat in his father’s cowboy boot. My friend projected a more refined persona and suggested this kind of rough living was in his past, but when we retrieved the targets, despite his ‘I’ll just have a glass of Perrier’ attitude, I was convinced that he’d shot a winking smiley face emoticon into the zombie Osama bin Laden printed on the paper.”

DrLaura: “What virility! And I love a man of mystery – like Fabio!”

Caller #3: “Yes, yes, and it was soon my turn, and I received lots of instructions on how to load the magazine and hold the gun. Just before I pulled the trigger I noted that this was a seminal moment in my experiences – something I would remember forever. I took a deep breath and squeezed. Despite the small kick of the Glock, I instantly felt a rush of endorphins and adrenaline, as if I had been on a 24-hour Fox News bender: it was exhilarating and fundamentally Right (and satisfying, despite the fact that I couldn’t tell if any of my bullets actually touched the paper target).

Another of my shooting buddies, a Dane and a splendid raconteur, regaled me with stories about about other times he’d gone shooting in Denmark when he was much younger. One time, he and a friend had been practicing their drinking and had gotten thoroughly soused, only to decide to 'blast the shit' out of the friend’s grandfather’s barn. I was laughing, but even despite his impressive tolerance, I was glad we were all sober at the range.”

DrLaura: “Does he have one of those sexy ‘O’s with a line through it’ in his name?”

Caller #3: “I’ve never thought about that! Anyway, during a break in the action I texted a friend to follow up on a conversation we’d had earlier and casually boasted that I was out shooting. He works in Arkansas with a Large Retailer, and during our previous exchange we’d been talking on the phone while he was engaged with The Client and hadn’t been at liberty to talk, so our follow up was to decide on a ‘safe word/phrase’ to use when in front of the customer (we settled on ‘white power’). In response to my latest exploits he asked if we were out celebrating the Paul Ryan VP announcement.

At some point it was proposed that we have an accuracy competition and my limitations soon became clear. ‘Did you shoot one of the targets in the adjacent lane?’ one of them teased. This got my dander up and I shouted back, ‘I may not have good aim but I shoot a lot of bullets!’ to peals of laughter. ‘Hey  - check this out!’ one of my friends beckoned to me. He pointed to the ceiling just above the shelf in our lane, and, sure enough, there were many, many bullet holes from shots that had gone almost straight up, and I felt better about my aim.

On the other hand, I realized two things at that point: (a) if anyone at the range lost their mind while we were there, we were all dead, and (b) the broad cross-section of society enjoying the facility suggested that I should be far less aggressive while driving.”

DrLaura: “What a ‘sensitive’ man! The girls set you up with a good dick-swinging, and all you can do is whinge about it? Next time someone insults your shooting, shout ‘white power’ at the top of your lungs!”

Caller #3: “Great advice – thanks! OK – so after 2 hours and a hundred-plus bullets later, we headed back to the safety of the ranch for some refreshments and post-shooting discussion. Again, my Danish friend rose to the occasion. He told me about the obligatory military service that he’d performed: He’d been on a ship where, after performing the relevant calculations, they’d determined that during months at sea, the average consumption for each the sailors was eleven beers… A DAY! At one point, they’d had some America’s finest Navy Seals aboard to visit the unofficial bar. It soon became clear that our boys had been training in other areas, as the Danes dispatched of them in no time.”

DrLaura: “Hmmm… Are his biceps bigger than Fabio’s?”

Caller #3: “I’m not sure – is Fabio that guy on the Harlequin covers? But let me tell you, DrLaura, it was truly a men’s event. For example, on my way back to the kitchen to get another beer, I noticed that one of my shooting buddies, a dignified Norwegian (who, I later learned, possessed the remarkable skill of passing out while sitting up and, even more impressively, awakening at regular intervals just long enough to propose a toast), was in the bathroom peeing with the door open.

His actions reminded me that I needed to go to the bathroom too, so I descended to the lower level in search of a vacancy, but as I was on my way down the stairs my phone began to ring. It was from a business associate that I’d not met in person but had always been impressed with on the phone, both because of the things he said and his Barry White-like baritone delivery. Perhaps against my better judgment, I chose to answer the phone rather than let the call go to voicemail. ‘Hey man,’ he said, ‘I’ve got great news – we’re moving closer to a deal.’

Through the phone, I could hear loud music and women’s voices in the background, and I thought I was hearing the sounds of air being sucked through straws. As the women giggled I visualized their breasts covered in cocaine, as if in a movie from the late eighties before cops break in and someone like Scarface makes his introduction to his ‘leetle fren’”.

DrLaura: “Does your associate have an ‘I love cops’ bumper sticker on his car?”

                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Caller #3: “I don’t know – I’ve never even seen him in person, let alone his car! My associate said, ‘There’s someone I really need you to talk to – hold on,’ and the music grew louder, so I decided to go ahead and relieve myself. Mid-stream, a woman’s voice came on the phone: ‘Hey, I think we can do some business together,’ she asserted in a businesslike fashion, and she told me the details as I buttoned my fly. ‘Sounds great,’ I replied, gathering my wits, and then meekly asked ‘Can you give my associate your information?’ and she tersely said ‘Sure’ and was gone, and my wild imaginings of RPG launchers and cocaine disappeared into the mist.

There’s more, DrLaura, but I think you know where I’m going with this: What did she mean by ‘Sure’? Did I let the shooting and beer cloud my judgment? Am I doomed?”

DrLaura: “Hell, I have no idea, but I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun – what a wonderfully told story! Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, producer!”

(Curtain)