Right to Bear Arms

Shortly after we were married, Joshua told me he wanted me to get my “Conceal Carry” permit, an Oklahoma license that would allow me to carry a fully-loaded and concealed handgun in most public areas, including my motor vehicle. I have always been a bit of a tom boy, and I pictured myself plugging some dubious villain that dared to try to steal my purse in some dark alley in Bristow, Oklahoma. Clearly, I was deluded. In some moment of weakness, I allowed my husband to convince me to spend an entire Saturday at a handgun safety course so that I, like many other frightening people in this fine state, can legally carry a loaded handgun. Last Saturday, we loaded into the car with my father-in-laws semi-automatic pistol and over 100 rounds of ammunition, and we departed for gun safety training in a nearby little town. Here are the highlights:
1. That one person: Upon our arrival at the gun safety training course, I immediately identified “that one person.” Every group has one-One person intent on cracking a joke or making a wise remark throughout a presentation like their entire existence is simply premised on finding a forum within which to present some lousy stand-up comedy routine. The whole delivery goes something like this: Presentation begins. Speaker is talking about something somewhat interesting. “That one person” sensing that no one in the room is focused on them interrupts the speaker to make a comment so asinine that the comment is automatically followed by this pregnant pause whereby every nearby listener is thinking, “No, he did not just say that” or “What?” “That one person” cannot exist in the pregnant pause and therefore opts to fill the void by laughing at his own joke which makes everyone else in the room feel awkward. To assuage feelings of awkwardness, every other person in the room gives an obligatory laugh, “Oh, ha, good one.” The remainder of the course is just some twisted variation of that very basic delivery over and over again. Mind you, the course lasted for six hours.
2. Gun Safety for Dummies: I told Joshua that I could teach this six hour course in about thirty minutes. We decided that the State of Oklahoma must mandate the time length because there is simply no other explanation for the length of the course. During this time, we learned several important rules about gun safety from our police officer instructor whom I will affectionately refer to as “Dwayne.” First rule: If someone comes into your home (a/k/a “Your Castle” per Dwayne), they are “bought and paid for,” and if the police question why you plugged the perpetrator with 45 rounds of ammunition, it was simply because “he made me do it.” Second, there are a lot of “unscrupulous lawyers” out there who are looking for a reason to encourage the Courts to infringe upon your Constitutional rights, so you have to refrain from being a vigilante because that is all the good people of this country need is to give “unscrupulous lawyers” another reason to ruin everybody’s fun. At this point in the presentation, Dwayne asked if there were any lawyers in the room. My husband gave me a nudge, and I reluctantly raised my hand. Dwayne spent the rest of the presentation trying to explain away his clever spin on the erosion of 2nd Amendment rights as delineated in our Supreme Court jurisprudence. On a side note, during the entire presentation, Dwayne wrote information on a dry erase board with what he believed to be a yellow dry erase marker. At the conclusion of his presentation, he discovered that it was actually a highlighter, and his lecture notes would never be erased from said dry erase board. Frankly, when you consider that Dwayne is able to legally carry a concealed handgun, “unscrupulous lawyers” do not seem nearly so scary.
3. McDonald’s Lunch and the Dump (Yes, Two Separate Places): During our break, Joshua and I went to McDonald’s given the utter lack of options. I went into the ladies restroom only to discover a pair of attractive patrons exchanging illegal drugs in Ziploc baggies. After my morning, I only hoped they weren’t armed too. After lunch, Dwayne told us he was taking us to “The Range” to practice our shooting. Now, folks, “The Range” was actually the City Dump fresh with mud following a light snow fall the night before. One by one, we marched in mud between old refrigerators, mismatched shoes and shell casings until we reached some wooden stands with paper outlines of human bodies on them. We each shot fifty rounds of ammunition at the human body target, and after target practice, I can honestly say that if a perpetrator comes at me head-on while allowing me at least five seconds to take a deep breath and aim, his right shoulder could be toast. Nonetheless, the “unscrupulous lawyer” and her husband passed with flying colors. We returned to Bristow, Oklahoma, covered in mud and wreaking of gun powder.

Like any good citizen, I am prepared to exercise my Constitutional right with skill, precision, and most importantly, safety. If and only if the need should arise, I, Lauren Allison, am ready and willing to look that perpetrator in the eye and challenge any aggressor: “Being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question-Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”

Prison Break

It's windy on the hill. This past Tuesday, the wind got up to 40 MPH on the hill. I know this, personally, you see, because I spent a few panicked hours trying to pick the front gate lock in my pajamas. When Joshua left for work on Tuesday morning, I walked him out, inadvertently locking the padlock and chain on our front gate. Now, in my defense, the padlock is basically junk...we've been forced to cut our way in before when the lock has frozen and/or rusted. Still, on Tuesday, none of these treacherous conditions existed save the gale force winds. When I was ready to head to the office, I called Joshua: "Honey, do you have any idea where the gate key is?" His reply: "On my keychain." In Broken Arrow. Here is where the facts become somewhat disputed: He claims that I never keep up with anything. Glasses, keys, cell phones, purses-you name it. Based upon my "prior bad acts," he asserts that I probably lost my gate key, but in the same breath, he claimed that he put a copy on my keychain. I, however, contend that, much like I admittedly lose everything, Joshua is cursed with an ADD-like inability to complete a task. My belief is that he set out to put a copy of the key on each keychain. He started the task, affixing one to his own keychain, but then, he became distracted (Perhaps by a video game and/or power tool) and neglected to equally equip his wife. Regardless, I asked him: "Is there any other way I can get out of the gate?" He responded: "Well, you could cut and bend a chain link, but you aren't strong enough to do that."

As innocuous as that sounds, such a statement at least when directed at me consistuted "fighting words." I was going to hack my way out of that gate....even if it was last thing I accomplished in this life. "I'll call you back in 30 minutes if I am not out," I promised. Joshua claimed that I would need "vice grips." I acted liked I agreed with that assessement: "Well, of course." Honestly, I have no idea what "vice grips" are. I thought it was some tool you attached to a work bench that you twisted the bar around to tighten a hold on something. Joshua, however, acted like it was some sort of handheld device so I played along. He mentioned a hack saw and a screwdriver. Whatever. A link had already been cut, and I just needed some of those "pincher" things. As it turns out, Joshua has about a million different variations of "pinchers" in his tool box, some skinny and pointy, some short and fat, some squeezeable, some with a little wheel that tightened the "pincher" mouth. I marched to the gate with several different "pinchers" tucked in my pajama pockets, determined to prove my tool-savvy husband wrong.

About 45 minutes later, I was exhausted and seriously contemplating driving my car through the chain link fence. I even starting surveying the fence, looking for weak points to test almost like an eager-to-escape dog with a shock collar. It seemed that every minute that I was unable to effectuate my escape only escalated my sense of panic. Would I be trapped here all day? Could I carry my laptop on my back and climb over the at least five-foot chain link fence complete with barbed wiring along the top? My friend, Regan, asked why I did not just shoot the lock off with our gun, and thankfully, I did not think of that during my state of emergency. After almost forty-five minutes of trying to bend a very thick chain link, I managed to get it very close. Now, all I needed, in my estimation, was some lubricant. Where would I find lubricant? Yikes. Surely there had to be some "tool" lubricant. I went to the garage and found WD-40. It was a fancy bottle with a strange application device. The bottle indicated it was lubricant. It look several minutes to figure out how to spray said lubricant. I soaked my hands. Now, my hands couldn't grip the tools. I was never going to escape, I thought. Joshua is going to come home and find me, very windblown, and passed out from exhaustion in the front yard. I imagined him standing over me, "Lauren Allison, I told you so." No way, I thought. It was time for Plan B.

Plan B involved calling every person in Bristow I knew, seeking assistance, preferably in the form of really big "pinchers." Before any rescuer arrived, however, I would have to comb through my blonde Diana Ross hair. I called Marylane. I called Regan. Frankly, I probably would have called every person with a 367 prefix to escape the prison yard. Regan informed me that my very sweet neighbor was a maintenance man and might have bolt cutters. I called him immediately, and five minutes later, he effortlessly cut me out. My neighbor is officially my hero.

I collected myself and called Joshua at work. "No problem," I said casually, "I'm out." The evil padlock was officially destroyed, cut by a pair of giant "pinchers." A few days later, I put on my heavy dress coat to head to work in the snow. I jammed my hands into my pockets and pulled out a tiny silver key. I put it on my keychain just for good measure.