A long, long time ago, I used to work for Wal-Mart. I know, I know. That place is 33 grams of suck. Believe it or not though, it used to be a good company to work for and they actually paid me a decent wage. Of course, the company that I worked for is long gone, replaced by the big corporate greed machine it currently is. Treating employees like shit while under-paying them and doing it’s best to find ways to fire long-time employees who are making good money so that they can hire part-time teenagers in their place who won’t get insurance and will make less than half of what the long-time employees make. But I digress…
I was once the manager of the Sporting Goods department. One of my responsibilities in managing this department was being responsible for every single firearm in that particular store. Seriously, it was a huge responsibility. Gun audits had to be done weekly. There was even a more in-depth audit done monthly. I had to register at the local court-house and have my fingerprints placed on file. Basically, even though I wasn’t the only one who handled the firearms since I couldn’t be there 24/7, I was the one ultimately responsible for them. It was a shitty deal, and I got out of that position as fast as I could.
Anyhow, now that the background is out of the way we’ll get to the story. I was doing one of my weekly audits. I had already audited all the firearms in the back room and was in the process of auditing the firearm displays in the display case at the Sporting Goods counter. I had a small .22 caliber rifle out at the moment when a coworker walked up to the counter.
This particular rifle was a Ruger, I believe, and had a banana clip on it which stored the ammunition. I was in the process of matching the serial number on the rifle to the serial number I had in my firearm log when the coworker, who we’ll call Derrick, approached.
When I had finished matching the serial numbers Derrick asked if he could see the rifle. The rifle, as all display guns must, had a trigger lock on it so I didn’t see a problem handing it over to him. We’re allowed to have one display out of the case at a time and I hadn’t gotten another one out yet so I handed it to him.
As he was looking over the rifle he said, “I’m gonna get a rifle one of these days.”
A perplexed look materialized on my face. Derrick didn’t hunt. He didn’t shoot. He was never in any branch of the armed forces. Furthermore, he was a pacifist and a metrosexual. He spent copious amounts of money at salons to have his hair bleached. He used approximately half a tub of hair gel a day to get his hair just right. He wore Aeropostle and Abercrombie & Fitch apparel. In short, he was the last person I expected to buy a firearm.
As I pondered this he had taken the banana clip out of the rifle and was examining it. After he finished examining it, he attempted to put it back into the the rifle. Backwards.
I was stunned. I couldn’t believe he had not noticed which way the clip was inserted before he took it out. I also couldn’t believe he didn’t know which way a banana clip went in. I, who have never owned a gun or fired a gun, knew which way it went in. He continued trying and I eventually broke out into hysterical laughter.
At that point his girlfriend, who also worked there, approached the counter. “What are you doing with that?” she inquired.
“I’m thinking about buying it,” he responded matter-of-factly.
“What are you going to do with a gun?” she asked, incredulous.
That, Maphia™, is when he gave her the worst possible answer. He took the rifle in both hands, pointed the barrel at her feet, said, “Dance!” and pantomimed pulling the trigger.
Myself and another coworker who happened upon this idiotic exchange a moment prior to this stunningly stupid response began to laugh uncontrollably. Derrick’s girlfriend, however, did not find his answer funny. At all. Her face turned red with anger, and she stormed off.
Derrick looked at me and helplessly said, “Uh oh.”
“Yeah, uh oh is right,” I concurred (like a doctor) as I took the rifle from him and put the clip back into the rifle. “This is how it goes in, by the way,” I told him as I inserted the clip back into the rifle the correct way.
Luckily for Derrick he was forgiven and more than ten years later they are happily married. But I still look fondly back on that moment and laugh. Ha ha! Dance!