Rock Out With Your Glock Out

 

I like guns.  Virtually any kind too.  I like revolvers, pistols, rifles and shotguns.  I even like blackpowder weapons of nearly every make, model and description.  Truth be told, if I were to hit the lottery or get a fat stimulus check from my pal Barry, next to hiring Van Halen to play at my birthday, I’d probably buy a couple million dollars worth of the damn things.   

Buying your first gun is a lot like getting your first car, or drinking your first beer; it’s a rite of passage, at least if you happen to live south of the Mason-Dixon Line.  It’s different than when you shoot your first firearm (.22 LR Remington Nylon), mainly because while plinking the crap out of an RC can is fun, nothing beats doing it with YOUR gun.

 When I turned 21, I made the trek to the Gun Cabinet, about 3 or 4 miles up the road from the Augusta National.  The Gun Cabinet was exactly the type of place you’d want to go to buy a firearm.  It was built to look like an old cabin, complete with the aroma of creosote and tree sap, interspersed with the distinct smell of oiled metal.  Animal heads hung on the walls, and every manner of hunting and fishing implement known to man was crammed into the place.  Deer pee?  Got it.  Camouflaged toilet paper?  Check.  Hell, they even had a moose call…in Georgia.  I’m guessing horny moose must have pretty good ears to hear a call blasted from all the way down here.

 Over the years, I had gotten to know the guys at the Gun Cabinet, and they were always willing to indulge my browsing.  It was a routine many others probably engaged in…pick one out…watch the guy work the action and ensure it didn’t have a round in the chamber…then he’d hand it to you…you feel the weight…roll it from hand to hand to see if it fit…then, instinctively, you point that sucker at one of the dead deer heads and line up the sights.  If you have no idea what I’m talking about right now, do yourself a favor and go watch Oprah or something while the rest of us enjoy a bonding moment.

 My first choice was a Colt Government Model Delta Elite.  Its matte black finish and frickin’ awesome Delta Force insignia on the grip panels are the stuff of pistol range wet dreams.  Unfortunately, I didn’t qualify for the earned income tax credit, so while the Colt was my “first choice”, John (the sales dude at the Gun Cabinet), showed me a range of pistols I could actually afford.  After a battery of questions up to and including stupid shit like “Are you a fugitive from the law?”, I left the shop with a spanking new 6” stainless model Taurus 668.  Yeah…not exactly the sexiness of the Colt, huh.  But that mofo was MINE.  I had exercised my right to bear arms, and buddy, let me tell you, it’s about the only damn exercise I’ve ever enjoyed, then or now.

 We took this Brazilian wheel gun to the range and put a couple hundred rounds of .357 into paper targets.  I was hooked.

 Next came a baby Beretta…then two more wheel guns for concealed carry…then I saw an issue of Guns & Ammo (aka gun pron).  I’d been keeping up with all the firearms related news for a long time, so while I was familiar with the various types of 9mm handguns, I’d never really been a big fan of the 9mm round…call me a snob.  In any case, Guns & Ammo was all excited about a new chambering, one to rival the spate of “wondernines” and challenge the venerable .45ACP as the ultimate manstopper.

 In their little skunk works, Smith & Wesson had been tinkering with the robust 10mm round, trying to get the damn thing to fit into a pistol that didn’t weigh as much as Rosie O’Donnell’s left thigh.  The result of their labor was a round called the .40 S&W, essentially a 10mm short.  Law enforcement types from all over were singing the praises of this new chambering, saying that it packed the punch of a low pressure 10mm round, but contained it all within the frame of a 9mm…and pretty close to the same capacity too.  Off to the Gun Cabinet I went, hoping to catch a glimpse of pistols chambered for this new cartridge.  It would prove to be an interesting trip.

 John was there, as usual, and when I mentioned the .40 S&W, he said that while Smith had done a great job on the cartridge, and they had a pretty good supply of ammo in various weights and configurations, most gun makers hadn’t been so hot on getting anything to market chambered for it.  I was crestfallen…until he said, “But I do have one Glock in .40 S&W…you wanna see it?”

 On that day, I left the store with my first “evil black pistol”.  It’s been a constant companion ever since.  From my cold, dead hands…

Category: Pointless blather