Did I Ever Tell You About the Time…

by Lester L. Weil

“Hey, Sheila. Couple more Dos Equis. Dave here's still dry.” As she brings the bottles, “You know what Sheila means down in Australia, don't you?”

“Yeah, Sam. It means I don't watch Australian movies,” as she turns away.

“Guess Sheila's having a bad night,” said Sam. “But as I was sayin', kids today are getting dumber and dumber.”

“Yeah,” adds Dave. “I asked my grandson the other day who JFK was. The kid thinks he owns an airport.”

“And all they know about guns is what they see in movies and on TV, which is apparently made by people as ignorant as they are. For instance, see my latest acquisition,” pulling up his shirt to reveal a big army .45 auto stuck in his belt.

“Another Colt 1911, how many does that make now, four?”

“Yeah, but this'n has a nice history. I'm driving back from San Antonio the other day and it's 'bout to rain—sky's black as sin—and I see this kid with his thumb out. So I take pity and pick him up. We go about a mile, and he pulls out this big Colt, holding it sideways like the movie idiots. Tells me to pull over.

“So I pull over and look at him holding this Colt that's way too big for his hands. He says to give him my wallet, so I reach in my pocket and pull out my little .25 Beretta instead. He gets a little nervous and says he ain't scared of that puny li'l thing 'cause 'his is bigger'.

“So I tell'm that what I have is a gun and what he has might as well be a club, and he says, 'Whadda ya mean?', and I say you can't fire that until you cock it and I can shoot you five times before you can do that. 'Wadda ya mean?', he says, 'this's a automatic, all I have to do is pull the trigger.' I tell you, the ignorance of kids these days.

“So I patiently explain that the Colt he has is semi-automatic after the first shot, but because it's single action, it has to be cocked before the first shot. He just looks confused. So I grab it out of his hand, pull back the slide far enough to see there's no bullet chambered, cock it, and put the safety on and give it back to him. I love to fuck with ignorant kids. 'So shoot it now,' I say, 'c'mon, shoot me,' and he actually tries to pull the trigger, but of course he can't, 'cause the safety's on.

'Then I say, 'Did you rack to slide to chamber a bullet?', and he's still confused. He has not one clue about how the thing operates. 'You have to pull the slide back to chamber a bullet, go ahead—like they do on TV.' And he tries, pulls hard as he can, but of course he can't, because the safety's on. I'm having so much fun with this kid, I have to stifle a laugh.

“So I grab it again, drop the magazine, and show him it has bullets in it. I flick off the safety and rack the slide, showing him the round being chambered. I flick on the safety, 'cause I don't want to shoot the kid accidentally and then point it at his head. 'Now it's ready to fire and all I have to do is pull the trigger,' I say. The kid's shitting himself, and he reaches behind him for the door handle and falls out the truck backwards. I leave him there by the side of the road in the mud and pourin' rain, one dumb, unhappy kid.”

By now Dave is laughing his ass off.

Sam smiles. “Did I ever tell you about the time . . .”