It was back to familiar strange territory today, and a final piece of John’s American dream, when we returned to the Bullseye shooting range. Even more Americanly, we’d sent the ladies for some Saturday morning manicures and pedicures. Vince, Ignacio, John, and I zipped across the Richmond Bridge (in close proximity to San Quentin prison) and were soon in possession of a Glock 9mm, 100 bullets, and several targets.
I was markedly less freaked out this time. It seems that Starbucks in the range has been banned, and warning notices remind you that you have to be older than seven to enter, but even at the early hour we arrived the place was far from quiet.
Vince again distinguished himself as a fine member of the US Army. John, whose previous experience was shooting a Kalashnikov while on holiday in Cambodia, did surprisingly well. It was Ignacio’s first time, and he hit the bullseye with his first shot. I managed to keep my cool longer than last time. All in all, success.
The day finished with a treat for John from Vince – a Halloween themed zombie target. John got his ten rounds off in quick succession, but without a head shot (the only solution to zombies, as every horror film aficionado knows) I’m fairly sure our flesh would have been devoured. It’s worries like this that keeps America armed!
On the way out we perused the gun shop connected to the range. “This is what you want,” said the helpful assistant as he handed us a Desert Eagle. “Made in Israel” it said on the side. The man next to us was shopping for his wife and checking out a particularly mean looking black shotgun. “It’s the perfect home defense weapon,” he was told. I’ll remember to always ring the doorbell…
Back at Vince's, John celebrates a highly American outing in an equally American style.
