I went out with this one guy who took me to a firing range on our first date.
Yes, I met him on the internet. Come on.
But he took me to a firing range. I’d never held a gun before. I don’t think I’d ever seen a gun up close before, really. I’m not anti-gun, not pro-gun, not anything-gun. I was intrigued.
He was a bounty hunter. The real term is “bail enforcement agent,” but that just doesn’t sound sexy, so we’re going to keep calling him a bounty hunter. He had a full cadre of weapons and bullet proof vests and things like that. For one of our later dates, he met me after completing a job (apprehending a perp, or whatever it’s called), and he was fully decked out in all his gear.
Look, he wasn’t even a good looking guy. But decked out in weapons? Fresh from the “kill” if you catch my drift? That’s kind of hot.
But back to the firing range. I don’t like loud noises.
Funny story. (I promise I’ll stop digressing.) When I was in Orlando with Bobbie, we were at a supermarket. A girl ran by the aisle wearing a pair of loud flip-flops. I jumped a mile. Seriously, I almost dropped to the ground.
Guns? They’re loud. Really loud. Especially all contained in a steel lined room. Yes, you wear protective headsets, but guns are still guns. When we walked into the shooting room (or whatever it’s called) I was a mess of sweat before we even got started, and I was flinching every ten seconds.
But the bounty hunter was a good instructor. Thorough. I learned a lot about guns. (I could barely tell you anything now. This was over ten years ago.) And he paid close attention to what I was doing. I distinctly remember being pleased with my shots on the target and starting to turn to give him a smile or something. He grabbed my arm and kept the gun pointed down the range.
You know, I’d started to point it at him. Silly me.
Now, yes, you may be saying, “You went out with a guy you didn’t know, KNOWING he was fully armed? Are you nuts?”
Yes, I was. I was 21. Feel free to go see prior posts of stupidity in my youth. You don’t even have to look far. Just scroll down.
Mom thought it was awesome that I was dating a bounty hunter. (Mom also was in love with Chuck Norris in “Walker, Texas Ranger,” and during my teen years we saw every Steven Segal movie ever made.)
The bounty hunter was an okay guy. Kind of redneck, but a nice guy. Our relationship never went anywhere.
Since I found out he was married.
A couple years ago I was helping my mom address Christmas cards, and I was flipping through her address book. There was the bounty hunter’s name, right on one of the front pages, the ones for important numbers.
I said, “Mom, why do you have his number in here?”
She said, “In case anything ever happens to you.”
I said, “You know he was married, right? It didn’t end well.”
She said, “He’s a bounty hunter. He could do things the police can’t. I’d pay him to find you.”
My mother watches entirely too much television.