Thoughts from the ammo line

Our old friend Susan Vass has had a productive career in stand-up comedy making people laugh for a living. I’m not sure if she’s still working, but she still thinks funny thoughts. She has forwarded current meditations under the pseudonym Ammo Grrrll in columns she calls “Thoughts from the ammo line.” Ammo Grrrll writes:

A few years ago, I moved from a blue to a red planet. No, wait, I moved from Minnesota to Arizona, but my point still stands. A metric ton of tedious lip service is paid to the concept of “diversity” in Minnesota (motto: “It’s Not Just the Landscape that Is Lily White!”)

My dusty little village in Arizona is the most diverse place I have ever lived. There’s obviously so much intermarriage that people no longer fit neatly into Census Bureau boxes. But, you’ve got your Native-Americans; you’ve got your African-Americans; you’ve got your Latinos, many of them legal; and you’ve got your Geezer-Americans, retirees of every hue and creed, dumping their Social Security checks into the slot machines and supporting the Native-Americans in a beautiful Circle of Life.

Everybody gets along. Everybody eats at the same three local diners. Everybody is polite. Everybody is smiley and friendly, even teenagers! Why?

Because everybody is armed to the teeth – cowboys, geezers, Iraqi vets, tattooed Latinos, nuns.

You see ranchers ambling through Walmart with .45 caliber 1911s on their hips in glorious Open Carry and nobody even bats an eyelash. In Minnesota, someone would dive under the Size 4XL Clearance Rack and call SWAT. In Arizona, you say “Good morning,” and the cowboy tips his Stetson and says, “Ma’am.”

A cousin visiting from Los Angeles who travels almost exclusively in metrosexual circles, looked in wide-eyed wonder at the much-maligned denizens of Walmart and exclaimed: “Oh my God! ACTUAL MEN!!”

I am at the Walmart ammo case every morning hoping to find .22LR or 9 millimeter bullets for my guns. I target-shoot about 350 rounds twice a week, so it’s a part-time job to keep up. The new ammo – if there is any – is put into the case after 7:00 a.m. The line sometimes forms as early as 4:00 a.m. I’m almost always first in line except on Saturdays. American Rifleman magazine says there are now five million women shooters, up over 46 percent since 2001, which partially explains the ammo shortage. You go, grrrlls!

Contrary to anti-gun propagandists who assert that the only gun owners are certifiably insane old white men, the ammo line also reflects our diversity. The guy who beats me there on Saturdays is a black great-grandpa I’ll call Steve, on account of that’s his name. He shows up pre-dawn after his swing-shift job. Today he is wearing a T-shirt that says “Ammo is scarce – there will be no warning shots.” He brings a Mexican co-worker with him this Saturday. Tim, my young white personal banker, stops by in a suit to say hi, but he is shopping for fishing gear, not bullets. He doesn’t need bullets. Oh, not because he doesn’t shoot. Everybody shoots. He is a “reloader” – he makes his own ammo. Problem solved.

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