And now, a story from Saturday.
As mentioned here previously we met a very nice guy at his barbecue joint for lunch. The owner, who was busy cooking in the back, came out to talk to everyone to check on our meals. Somehow we got on the subject of being from out of town. These folks are from Birmingham. He’s from Savannah. We’re from Auburn. There’s a wedding, and so on.
Somehow we got on the subject of The Yankee being from Connecticut.
I think he even called her a Yankee.
He then reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a .45. She jumped. We laughed. It was a great joke.
She was genuinely afraid, but he was just making a joke, of course. She tried to hide behind me. Someone pointed out she’d need to get more cover than that.
Sometime later he went back out to his truck and brought back his AR-15.
Not to worry. He cleared it. Someone else at the table cleared it. I cleared it. And then we gave it to her.
Several years ago someone let her hold a 9 mm and she felt nauseated. Two years ago she shot her first gun, a .22 rifle. Look at her now. (You should see the picture where she shows off her war face.)
The best part: Talking about it later she was recounting how truly scared she was when Big Will pulled out his pistol. The rest of us, all four from the South, agreed that there was nothing to this at all. He was, of course, wearing overalls.
But, yes, he was a very nice guy, with plenty of ammunition.
