For Me, It Was A Double Visit

So, as mentioned last Friday, I went to the shooting range with my granddad. I met him there a little before 3:00. He already had a one hour pass which came with a gun that he recently purchased and therefore, we only had to pay the $10 per hour fee for me.

After we paid and filled out our paperwork, we headed to the back where the range is. The range master greeted us there and gave us some instruction. He told me that if a hot shell went down my shirt to put the gun down first and get it out later; to not jump around with a live gun in my hand. This was the first clue that I was going to have no fun at all. He gave a few other instructions – no rapid fire, at least one second before each shot, and the rest I really can’t remember very well. We put on our safety goggles and ear protection and went inside.

I thought it was loud in the hallway outside, but when we went inside it was 100 times louder – and I had ear protection! I jumped each time someone fired a shot, probably even screamed a time or two. My granddad shot the small .22 pistol a couple of times and then handed it to me. I shot it until there were no more bullets and hit the target twice. The shells popped up in the air and I prayed they wouldn’t go down my shirt.

Then my granddad brought out some bigger guns and shot those. They were so loud they made me jump with fear. Each time my granddad or someone else shot a gun, I just closed my eyes and prayed it would all be over soon. My armpits started sweating heavily and all I could think about was people getting murdered. When I told my dad told this, he told me I watch too much TV. I guess he’s right.

I noticed that each time my granddad got out a new gun to shoot, he just threw the other one in the bag without clicking on the safety or anything. I thought this was odd and at one point one of the range masters noticed it as well. He told me to get away from the bag unless I wanted to loose a foot (I mean, my feet hurt a lot, but I’m thankful to have them, ya know?). At this point, I had had enough of standing in there with guns ablazing and shells from every which direction hitting me in the head and thoughts of bloodied murdered bodies strewn across the floor and so I told my granddad I was going to wait outside, that I didn’t find this experience to be very enjoyable. This was after about 15 minutes or less.

The next thing I knew, my granddad was being kicked out of the range for the day and the range master was telling me to make sure and usher him out because of the way he had the guns in the bag, they could rub against each other and accidentally go off and shot someone – imagine how safe I felt walking behind him after that conversation. They gave us a refund of the $10 and two free passes to come back in exchange for his leaving.

My granddad didn’t understand why he was being asked to leave and I had to explain to him that you can’t just throw 10 loaded guns into a bag and take it to the range, that there was a possibility that one could accidentally go off, that the range tried to practice safety. I’m really not sure if he understood to be quite honest, but I told him he needed to store them in a better bag – one gun per bag or a bag with multiple compartments.

At any rate, we left and I have never been more thankful to leave a place alive. The shooting range was terrifying for me, which is why this was a double visit – my first and last!