Reloaded: The State of Canada’s Gun Culture
After we’ve weaved through every aisle at the gun show, and he’s given me a taste of some of the 350 vendors, we return to the NFA’s table where he sends me off with a “No Compromise” pin—and some homework.
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Back in Edmonton, where I live, I follow a pack of Stitches bag-wielding shoppers through a wafting aura of cinnamon buns, past an HMV and into the Wild West Shooting Range at West Edmonton Mall. Yes, you really can find everything there, including a 9mm Luger, which at 871 grams feels deceptively and terrifyingly light for what it’s built to do.
Even fingering the trigger I’m daunted by too many things to recall from a nonchalant lesson
that took less time than finding parking. So, while shooters in the adjacent stall each get a spotter in blue overalls, my nervous laughter and sweating forehead earns me two.
The recoil kicks against my hands, vibrates up my arms, through my shoulders, and slightly whips my neck and head, leaving me feeling like I’m not actually in control of this fatal thing pinned between my numb hands. The empty shells bouncing off my forehead don’t help. But as it physically warms and the sulphuric odour takes hold, I can’t shake the undeniable feeling of badassery, especially each time I eject and load a clip.
After five of them and 50 rounds, I place the Luger on the shelf before me, thank the supervisors and almost leave without my paper target. I’m self-conscious walking to Tim Horton’s with the bullet-riddled memento rolled under my arms, until I unravel it on the table for closer inspection. Fondling a gaping hole in the bullseye and perfect piercing between the extraterrestrial cowboy’s eyes, I can’t help but feel impressed with myself.
And then I notice the logo in the bottom right corner, as if to say, This proud moment was brought to you by the National Firearms Association.
