About a month ago I was trying to sell my Marlin 30-30 so I could buy a Henry Lever-Action .22. I stopped by Gander Mountain to see what they’d offer me. While I was waiting my turn I struck up a conversation with two guys standing near the counter. They needed help, too. They had some high-powered bolt-action rifle that needed a fancy scope so they could shoot chipmunks from 600 miles away in a driving rainstorm during an earthquake. At least that’s the scope the salesman wanted them to buy. I think it was $400. As he handed it across the counter to the guys with the rifle, Guy #1 said, “It figures you’d hand me the most expensive one.”
Anyway, we all stood around and chewed the fat for a while. They took turns admiring the Marlin while I exclaimed over their rifle (the lacquer on that stock must have been 2 inches thick). While we waited for the salesguy to finish showing a revolver to someone who we all knew wasn’t going to buy anything, we talked about a lot of things, including the stupendously-awesome girlfriend who bought the rifle as a gift for Guy #1. We discussed the fact that you really can’t put a $50 scope on a $700 rifle (even though that’s what I’d do because I’m cheap). We talked about shooting coyotes, and rabbits, and about how I used to shoot monkeys in Africa (Guy #1: “Hey, dude—this guy used to hunt monkeys.” Guy #2: “No way. Really?” Me: “Yep.” Guy #2: “Whoa!”).
Eventually the whole thing settled down to this: they wanted to squint across the store through several different scopes (they were buying, not just browsing), and I simply needed a price. So they let me step in front of them and take their spot. Which I gratefully did, because I was running late. And as I left I gave them a hat-brim tap and said, “thanks, guys.” To which they replied, “No problem. Take it easy.”
Eventually the whole thing settled down to this: they wanted to squint across the store through several different scopes (they were buying, not just browsing), and I simply needed a price. So they let me step in front of them and take their spot. Which I gratefully did, because I was running late. And as I left I gave them a hat-brim tap and said, “thanks, guys.” To which they replied, “No problem. Take it easy.”
Yes—take it easy. Take it easy, indeed.
Why do we do those things for each other? Because we’re gun guys. Because we share a bond, one forged long before moments like that one in Gander Mountain. As I think back on that evening and on the feeling of camaraderie, I realize I truly enjoy the time we shared. That may sound cheesy, or stupid, but I really don't care. If you were there you'd know. If you’re a gun guy you know.
And the fact that they let me have their spot in line on a busy Thursday night? It was an acknowledgement of the unspoken rule: gun guys like deferring to other gun guys. I’ve seen it at Fin Feather Fur, too. For another gun guy you find yourself willing to step back and wave the guy in, to browse for longer than you would have otherwise. You find yourself willing to dink around, to inspect the weird pattern in the carpet, or to stare in contented boredom at the ceiling while the other gun guy takes care of business. Moments like that happen because of a shared passion—a passion for the way you pull the rifle in close, a love of the smell of oil and gunpowder, and an appreciation of the cold, mean beauty of a firearm.
On that night, in that place, three gun guys came together because we are partial to the smell of, and the look of, and the feel of a gun. We came together because each one of us can happily say: I love guns.
And why not? They’re easy to love.
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