Monday Motivation

Today we are returning to our roots as it were. A straight counter story.

A couple of days ago, it was Thursday, we were slammed. Which was problematic because it was a weekday and we were running at minimal manning. And then the phone rang. And of course it was for me.

My buddy Andrew works over at the local big box store. He had texted me thrice prior to calling the store line. But I had left my phone on the work bench in the shop because every good gunsmith is YouTube reliant these days.

Andrew was terse and wanted to make sure I was there until close. He simply stated he was sending a guy over my way who wanted to look at a Glock and needed some training.

"Cool, buddy. I'm slammed over here but I'll try and fit him in. Let's try and get nine holes in week after next. Seeya."

I had customers stacked up and call waiting was beeping at me. I was terse. Andrew seemed annoyed. We'll circle back to that.

Flash forward an hour or so, and I was still slammed, but had gotten things to a manageable level of chaos and was trying to close the deal on a Glock 19MOS with a Vortex RMR, visions of daily revenue requirements dancing in my head.

And in walks the fellow that Andrew had sent our way. And oh man did my heart sink. Because I can be a judgmental ass on occasion, especially when busy and/or stressed.

And Dude had questions. Jesus, did he have questions. And then an evening class came in that was pre-booked. And I asked if he could come back the next day around 1400, partly because I had money laying on the table and partly because I can kinda be an asshole.

And so the guy came back the next afternoon. And he went a looking at Glock 19s and Glock 43Xs because that's what YouTube said he needed. Good job, YouTube. You done good this time.

And when he set down in the class room and started writing down the always rules, I felt a little better.

And then he said that he'd lost a job in the tech sector; was driving for Lyft, and was worried about both himself and his wife. And I felt like an asshole.

So, we tore apart the rental Glock 19 and wore out the blue gun with a clicky trigger for about an hour. And then we went and flung ammo down range. He was plenty safe and would have qualified at the Georgia Publice Safety Training Center on their POST certification course of fire. Which is something I've realized is a great confidence booster for new shooters. Have them shoot the targets the Troopers shoot and they fell a helluva lot better than they do getting low and to the left groups at some generic ten ring bullseye.

So, after we get done shooting, he has even more questions about cleaning and maintenance. And when he kinda realizes he's worrying himself about nothing when it comes to magazine baseplates, he kinda realizes he's worked himself up, looks at me and says "Thanks for putting up with my questions. My Mom did it too, and I guess I got it from her. I'm just worried and this is new to me."

Well, hell. Buddy, that's what us broken down old gunfighters ought to do best. Answer questions. Help the needy. Give comfort to the scared.

And it gets better. He said he had his Grandpa's gun in the car. And if I could take a look at it. We worried about keeping it clean.

And holy shit if it wasn't an Ordnance Corps stamped Model 11. Like hot damn, that gun helped train aerial gunners down at Eglin. The weapon was in decent shape considering it's age. And he'd done good about keeping it well maintained. Wrapped in a silicone coated gun sock inside a hard case. Sold him some RIG collector's grade oil and a good cloth. And emphasized repeatedly that if he ever had an offer and he wanted to sell it, to please call us.

And told him to come back the next week and we'd shoot some more. But this time I said it hoping he'd come back.

The next day, I had some down time and wandered over to the big box sporting good store for golf balls. I went to look at Turkish shotguns and bug Andrew. I asked him if he did that on purpose. And he said he felt bad for the guy, was stacked up, and knew we would take care of him. I laughed, told him what happened, and went to Hooters for lunch.

This is why we, as a gun culture, win.