They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. I know this to be true because it happened to me.
About eight years ago, through a cosmic turn of events, I found myself at a shooting range for the very first time. Alone. Outnumbered by the one somewhat overweight and bored looking guy behind the counter. And certainly out of my element. It was The Longest Day.
Suddenly, I understood what it felt like to be Dennis Kucinich entering the Presidential primary races – again. And I found myself completely empathizing with John Edwards – coming home from work one fateful day to find a copy of the National Enquirer sitting on the kitchen table. Doom. Armageddon. Sheer hopelessness. All was lost.
I was mildly comforted with the knowledge that I did not know a single thing about shooting, although I was pretty sure which end of my gun to point forward. As I was about to fire the shot to be heard around the parking lot, time froze – and my life flashed before my eyes.
A gang of hoodlums busted through the door into the range. You could tell they had done this before, because they made it look easy, more like gently opening than busting and breaking, but I knew what they meant. I am not sure if they were Cripps, Bloods, or maybe some of the Latin Kings, but I was pretty sure they were up to no good. I couldn’t see their tats, but they were probably just hidden under their Members Only jackets.
They might have been a bunch of yahoos from an anti-government militia for all I knew. Actually, on closer examination, there was only one of them, but he seemed particularly mean. I knew he was looking for trouble and obviously intended to shoot me because… he had a gun. The fact that he was at a shooting range and wearing salmon colored slacks and a LaCoste polo shirt didn’t fool me for one minute. Uh uh.
With my remaining seconds on earth, I thought back to what had gotten me into this situation…
To be continued.