I Just Wanted To Say...

What is your problem?

Name:
Location: Georgia, United States

I am me. More than I was, less than I will be. This is difficult. Facts-female, southern, mother and grandmother. Abstract-a Christian, a loner, intelligent, somewhat arrogant, impatient with stupidity, an unusual sense of humor.

5/26/2005

Gun training.

A gun training class has been set up by the local PD for the judges and whatever members of their staff want to take the opportunity to receive the training.
There are two 2-hour classroom sessions and four hours of actual range training involved.
The first class covered firearm safety and possible civil and criminal liabilities involved in the use of a firearm. Also the use of justifiable force according to the statutes of the Georgia State Code.
The second four hour class for our gun training was yesterday. It was very interesting.
L. covered proper gun maintenance first. Then he went into how to actually use the gun effectively. He discussed the fundamentals of accurate shooting, how to sight the weapon, how to maintain trigger control and the actual mechanics of taking a shot. They brought in a hard rubber facsimile of a Glock and were showing proper grip and stance using it.
The classes are being held in the extra courtroom and there are glass windows in the doors so that you can look in and see what is happening in the courtroom without actually opening the doors. L's assistant was standing in front of the courtroom showing us proper grip and stance. At that moment, I thought to myself, "What if someone just happens to come by and look into the courtroom?"
Here's the picture. 15 women, sitting quiet and still in the middle row of benches, all facing forward. Big ex-marine in civilian clothes standing in front of the room in the proper firing stance with a realistic looking Glock aimed at the back of the courtroom and a fierce expression on his face. If someone had come by and seen it, they could have thought it to be a hostage situation. My imagination sees chaos and disaster ensuing. Deputy sheriffs appearing from all directions, the SWAT team slithering through the pipes in the crawl spaces. Our illustrious sheriff notifying the press that he's about to put on his Robin outfit and save us all. And then having his posse of bodyguards burst through the door first. Whereupon, all of us would have jumped up and beaten them about the head and face with our notes for scaring us half to death.
I doubt many people would have found it amusing, but I did. Just my weird sense of humor.
I have learned to keep it to myself for the most part. Only occasionally will I let it out.
The deputy assigned to our courtroom sometimes looks at me when I do and shakes his head and says, "You're just not right."

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