I Need a Gun in the Food Pantry
“There is nothing that can’t be solved by the use of high explosives.” – Joshua Garner
“I’d like to get an application for a gun permit, please.” I said, the only little old gray haired lady in the room. I was finally first in line at the government office at Golden Hill in Kingston.
The counter person, an overweight man in his 50’s, could hardly contain his laughter as he handed me the form. “That’ll be $5 please, miss.”
I handed him the money and started to walk away. Then, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I turned around to him and said pleasantly “Will you sell me 3 more applications, please? I forgot the girls in my Senior Yoga class asked me to get applications for them, too.”
I pulled out $15 more and put the money on the counter. The man gave me three more applications and then I walked away. I had no idea who I was going to give the applications to but I remembered the old “Alices Restaurant” song about three people or more people doing something and being a movement.
When I got home in Woodstock, Barry was sitting on the sofa surrounded by his cats as he read the latest thriller. “Hi Thurman. How’re you doing?” he asked without looking up as he took a few grapes from a large fruit filled bowl on a table beside the sofa. .
“I WANT TO LEARN TO SHOOT A GUN. I want a gun.” I replied. “I got the application today and I want you to teach me to shoot a gun.”
“What!?”
“I want you to teach me to shoot a gun. I know you can. You didn’t spend all those years sneaking off to the CIA and NSA without knowing how to use a gun. They even gave you a medal or award or something at the CIA once. For all I know, you’re a damn bazooka expert. Maybe I want to learn that too.”
“YOU CAN’T DO THAT! You might accidentally shoot one of the Chihuahuas.”
“Well, I’m tired of asking pantry volunteers to be bodyguards. It’s not safe when I’m working in the pantry after hours. I haven’t felt safe since that incident with Mike and Mike and the air conditioner. And, I’m not one bit afraid of the shoppers.”
“Listen, I know your job is difficuIt Thurman. Not even a Marine drill sergeant would do what you’re doing. But I don’t know about a gun.”
“I know, I know. I should be more comfortable with everything that’s happening. After all, I did live fifty miles from headhunters in Venezuela but that was all a long time ago. This is the 21st century. That Maglite I bought a while back just isn’t the same as a club. I need something more powerful.
“I’ve lived with guns my whole life.” I continued. “My father wore a pistol every day to work in his law office. Everyone in my family carried guns and had rifles in their cars. My grandmother kept a rifle in her bathroom.”
” TG-YOU’RE JUST NOT THE GUN TYPE. I don’t care what you say about your relatives carrying arms. Besides that, I sold my last gun years ago. What about a knife? Let me teach you to use a knife. A good knife will cost much less and you won’t need a permit. You won’t need bullets. It won’t require maintenance. It’ll be easier to carry and use. I’ll give you lessons. Nobody will ever know. Leash up the Chihuahuas. We’re going to Warren Cutlery right now.”
And, so he did. He took me to Warren Cutlery. I held several different knives to see how they fit in my palm. My first choice didn’t pass muster. “That knife is too big and too heavy” Barry said as he pointed to a smaller model. “You need something small enough that you can open quickly. If you’re too slow, your attacker will have you down before you get it open.”
So, I chose a smaller, lighter model that happened to be on sale.
And, off we went. He taught me to use and carry a knife. He taught me how to open it quickly but never bothered with teaching me to close it fast. “That part’s not important” he said as he helped me practice.
And, he was right. A knife is quiet. It weighs less than a gun. I don’t need a permit. I don’t have to worry about shooting one of the Chihuahuas by accident. And, unless I go through a metal detector before I take it out of my purse, no one has a clue. I’m just a sweet little old gray haired lady in a Prius tootling down the road 5 miles below the speed limit.
Before it was all over, he bought me a second knife…a smaller one which I kept open on the counter in the pantry ostensibly to open cardboard boxes.
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Peace and food for all.
Thurman
