|Margot St. Aubin.|
And by that I means I've never seen one off of a cop, and never held one. Welcome to New York City. Screw you, Bloomberg.
So, she offered me a range visit while I was in the area.
I walked in to the gun range, and explained the situation. When I said I was I New Yorker, I used the cop line from above.
Off of that visit .... well, one suggestion for writers: First of all, assume that there are no clips. They are magazines. Period. Few guns actually use clips.
Second, I didn't take any pictures because, really, I'm an idiot. Actually, I'm still not used to the concept of my phone as a tool to document every last event in my life.
|Springfield, XD, 9mm. The model I used at the range|
I knew about avoiding slide bite (when gripping the gun, make sure the slide doesn't take off skin between your thumb and forefinger).
Squeeze, don't pull. I always knew this rule, just didn't really know how to apply it. Even after firing off some rounds, I'm still not 100% I do.
Don't point at anything you don't intend to shoot at / act like it's loaded all the time... again, I picked that up from many, many thrillers where guns come into play.
What I didn't know were the rules of the individual range. I knew that the slide locked back when the gun was empty, though I didn't know there was a little switch? Button? on the side that slid it back into position after it was reloaded, and automatically filling the chamber.
My stance was a simple weaver stance. Feet are diagonal, gun is cupped in both hands, elbows are not locked out ...
Basically, I learned the stance by watching Jack Bauer on 24.
Either way, we've got photos.
Brass goes EVERYWHERE. And I mean EVERYWHERE. The casing ejected over my shoulder, around my body, directly onto the floor, bouncing off the stall I was in, rolling as far as 8 feet away, easily. I understand why not every killer polices their brass. It's hard work. And I was standing still. Imagine if it were a running shootout. Oy.
Damn, that thing's light. As in toy gun light. The gun owner stripped the barrel off for me and let me hold the frame. The frame is comparable with a squirt gun. The bullets will double the weight. Just over a dozen pill-sized pellets of doom will double the weight. Imagine it. It's strange.
Come to think of it, I think a super soaker, empty, is heavier than an actual gun. Okay, it's been years since I've even seen a super soaker, but you get the idea.
I always heard that the magazine ejection button was behind the trigger, but it's actually on the side of the gun behind the trigger guard.
After firing, there was no smell that I really picked up on. None. Seriously, none. There were three other people firing guns in that range at the same time, and I didn't really pick up on any major scent. I expected a smell akin to a fireworks display. But, apparently, expanded cordite doesn't exist anymore. At all. So, just pretend it doesn't exist. I made reference to it in A Pius Man, but thankfully, I didn't say where the explosive came from, just that it smelled like a fireworks display. Granted, I said it smelled like Cordite, but I might be able to bluff through if I'm called on it.
There are pink AR-15s. Really. It was strange, because I could ID it by sight, despite the pink. I may have been looking at guns too long.
It's official. Guns are not that scary. Also, I may need to rewrite some scenes in future novels.
Thanks once more to Margot for bringing me along. It was awesome.