Annie Get Your Gun

Don't you sometimes get the urge to mix things up and do something new? As a bona fide change junkie, it happens to me all the time. One such incident not long ago was kinda far out, for me at least: I successfully completed a Concealed Weapons Permit (CWP) class.

I haven't shot a gun in thirty years. I am mostly against hunting unless it is wild hogs or snakes - otherwise I am too tenderhearted. But of course CWP has nothing much to do with hunting animals for sport or sustenance. It's about self defense.

I took the class because I live in a state where carrying a concealed weapon is an option. I feel like it's one of those things you do when you have the opportunity, as you never know when circumstances (or laws) may change and you wish you had done it when you had the chance. I honestly don't have plans to strap on when I go to the grocery store. But I also was dissatisfied with my growing trepidation regarding handguns. I wanted to force myself to be more proficient in using them so I wouldn't shoot myself in the foot if I had to use one.

I had a false start last year when the hubs and I went to the gun range together. As I said, it had been many years since I fired a gun. Hubs was very supportive. Maybe a little too. He was obviously very nervous about being at the indoor range with me, which of course made me nervous. He let me shoot the gun but didn't let me handle it otherwise. He did all the loading, racking, etc. I was a tolerable shot, considering. But about halfway through 50 rounds I was ready to quit - the pressure was terrible. I kept thinking about what a terrifying weapon it was, and how mishandling it could mean someone's life. I stuck it out, but privately I decided shooting was not for me.

Flash forward a few months and I decided to stop being such a ninny about the gun thing.  I signed up for the CWP class. The money was due up front, so I was committed (even though the class was eight hours on a Sunday during NFL playoffs - grrrrr). The hubs came with me to the range again a few days prior to prepare for the class. Since he had taken the class previously, he knew I would be expected to hit the target from a variety of distances 35 times out of 50. We basically reprised our earlier experience, with me shooting and the hubs doing everything else for me.

Turns out this was not the best strategy, as there are no spousal helpers allowed at the CWP class. My accuracy was more than good enough to pass the test. Shooting tip: we are all deadly from 3 yards. Little did I know, what was lacking was my knowledge of handling the gun in between firing it.

Class day arrives. I also arrive, very surly due to the uncalled-for 8am start time. The class was full with 16 participants. 6 were women - almost half! I shouldn't have been so surprised. Studies indicate the fastest growing group of gun owners, is young, urban, and female. Purses and bras are now available with compartments specially designed to conceal guns. And I was worried about shooting myself in the foot . . .

Anyway - two pairs of the 16 were couples. One young couple appeared to be putting a gift to good use - the wife/girlfriend carried her gun in a girly pink and black fabric case. Fast-forward fifty years to the other couple in the class, 60 in the rear view, sharing a revolver during their turns at the firing range.

The instructors, two retired policemen, gave an overview via the obligatory Power Point presentation. As they went over the expectations, I got a fierce case of flop sweats as I realized how much I was expected to know about guns, and how far I may fall short. Magazines, racking, safeties, chambers, clips, triggers, grips, barrels, rounds, on and on. The presentation was long on talking, short on hands-on; not exactly great for us visual learners. I had briefly handled an unfamiliar 20+-year-old Ruger 9mm exactly once 48 hours earlier, in dim lighting under somewhat stressful conditions. I was now expected to handle this gun again on my own and basically figure out on the fly from all this gun talk how to not shoot myself in the foot. The stakes were high.

I was not especially worried about failing the test. I was more concerned about becoming one of the stories the instructors collected and told at all future CWP sessions. Every negative anecdote they told our class involved inexperienced female students. Apparently no male knuckleheads had ever taken this class.

At about this point, I admit I considered ducking out of the class and concocting an elaborate fantasy for my husband about why my CWP somehow got 'lost in the mail'. Unfortunately, I had agreed to carpool with a neighbor and had no way to escape.

Have I ever mentioned how good luck seems to follow me? When my confidence was lowest, the class was released to retrieve our weapons from our vehicles and prepare for the range. I had a few precious moments to inspect the weapon and ask my carpooling neighbor what he thought about my concerns about using it. Under some wonderfully glaring fluorescent lighting, I worked my way through the trouble areas. Amazing how some hands-on time improves your perceptions of what appeared previously to be dire circumstances. It reminds me of the folktales involving speaking your worst fears aloud to lessen their power over you.

All too quickly, Go Time arrived. Volunteers for the first round of shooting were requested. I said, 'eff it' (to myself) and went for it. Might as well get it over with.

I won't bore you with the details. Suffice to say I made it through the firing portion of the class and, better yet, avoided being the topic of future What Not To Do anecdotes. My biggest goof was mistaking spent cartridges for 'trash' and throwing them in the 'Trash Only' receptacle. Apparently these brass casings are considered 'money' and recycled by the gun range. Who knew?

Ahh, sweet blessed relief as the instructor toted up my shooting score: 46 of 50. Woot! Then it was back to the classroom to get fingerprinted. Lord what a mess - fingerpainting gone wild. Thank goodness they had industrial-size pump containers of Gunk at the ready. The final portion of our instruction was all classroom, which was a comparative breeze to a nerd like me. Fifty multiple guess questions later and we are outta there in time to watch the second NFL playoff game.

I received my CWP in a timely manner. It's been collecting dust in my wallet ever since. Who knows if I will ever go to the grocery store 'carrying'. But at least if I do, I am not so worried about shooting myself in the foot.

this post first appeared in 2014

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