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Failure To Liar

, , , , , | Right | September 30, 2021

My first job in high school is as a scorekeeper at a trapshooting range. Five guys with shotguns line up sixteen yards away from the trap house and shoot at bright orange clay pigeons. A shooter calls “pull” or some variation thereof to indicate they are ready for a target. Before the days of voice-activated pulls, it’s the scorekeeper’s job to push a button immediately upon hearing “pull.” If a shooter feels the pull came late, they won’t shoot at it. Most are pretty nice as this is an unusual occurrence. Each bank has four traps where the shooters take aim at twenty-five targets each. Their final score is out of 100.

I’m at the fourth trap of the bank. We are a few shots into the round when the only teenage shooter of this group calls “pull.” I push the button and he lowers his gun and calls, “Late.” I don’t think it was, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. I send another target when he calls again and we move on.

A few shots later, the same thing happens. He asks for a target, I push the button, he calls, “Late,” and doesn’t shoot. I know I wasn’t late and suspect he simply didn’t like the placement of the target when it left the trap house. Now I’m paying special attention to him.

A few shots later, he calls, I push the button, and he simply lowers his gun without saying anything.

Me: “Failure to fire.”

This is usually called when a gun misfires but is also appropriate when a shooter chooses not to fire at a good target. If a shooter has more than one failure to fire per round, he will be charged with a missed shot. The teenager turns to me, mouth wide open.

Teenager: “Excuse me?!”

Me: *Pointedly* “Failure to fire. That was a good pull.”

He looks around at the other shooters in his group for support, all of whom are studiously ignoring him and not making eye contact. The round continues as normal. He fires at every target after that.

At the end of the round, shooters usually come up to check their scores, say thank you, etc. The teenage shooter stalks away without coming by my chair. The lead shooter comes up to me.

Lead Shooter: “He’s been pulling that crap all day and you’re the first one to call him on it. Here, this is for having a backbone.”

He handed me $20!

Taking “Wild & Unruly” To The Next Level

, , , , | Legal | CREDIT: Pavel1562 | November 19, 2020



This summer, my dad and I decide that we will go shooting at a nearby range. We have a gas pistol — like an air rifle — which in our country you don’t need a license for. This pistol can only shoot blank or gas cartridges, but we have also a special attachment for the barrel that allows us to shoot a flare, pyro, etc.

We go to the range and shoot a few pyros and flares. Then, when I have just loaded a new flare, a woman around forty years old and her son around eleven approach us from behind, about twenty feet away.

Woman: “Excuse me!”

Me: “Yes?”

Woman: “Could you please let my kid shoot?”

We have some restrictions on the guns. One, you must be at least fifteen to shoot the gun, and two, for you to be able to shoot the explosives from the gun, you must have paperwork, which my dad has.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t let him shoot. He’s too young for that.”

Woman: “No, he’s not! He is seventeen!”

Kid: “Mum, let them go; we will rent one right there.”

My Dad: “And do you even have the paperwork to shoot explosives from it?”

Woman: “No, but you do, right?”

My dad rolls his eyes.

Woman: *Angry* “JUST GIVE ME THE GUN!”

Me: “No, and you don’t even have the paperwork.”


And she grabs the gun from my hand and PULLS THE TRIGGER. The flare goes off right on my T-shirt. I put the fire down and shout for security. When the woman realises what she has done, she grabs the flare box and Usain Bolts from the range, going toward the forest. Her son just stands there, frozen.

Here comes the security guard.

Security Guard: *To me* “Are you okay?”

Me: “Yeah, just the shirt is a bit ashed.”

Security Guard: “Where did she go?”

My Dad: “Into the forest.”

This range has a kennel. There are two dogs that are trained to find guns and people. This is because the people have been trying to sneak out with guns or ammo. My dad is an off-duty officer, so he gets a dog and he and the security guard and they go to find her. The kid and I follow behind.

After about fifteen mins of searching, the security guard spots the woman hiding in a bush.

Security Guard: “Look, she is right there!”

And the security guard unleashes the dog. It runs toward the bush where the woman is. And just before the dog gets there, the woman stands up and shouts:


And she shoots the dog. The dog howls in pain as the explosive pyro explodes in its face.

Security Guard: “Hands up!”

The woman was tackled to the ground, apprehended, and later charged for assault, stealing, and injuring a police dog. The dog lost an eye. At court, the woman got a total of FIFTEEN YEARS in prison.

This story is part of our Best Of November 2020 roundup! This is the last story in this roundup, but if you’d like to read more of our favorite stories, you can always check out October’s roundup next!

Read the first story in the Best Of November 2020 roundup!

Read the Best Of November 2020 roundup!

A Different Kind Of Switching Lanes

, , , , | Right | October 28, 2019

(I work at an indoor shooting range. My coworker’s favorite anecdote is about a member who makes a reservation for himself and his friend to come in and share a lane, both of whom are regulars there. It’s packed at the time of the reservation, but they manage to keep one lane open when the customer’s friend arrives first. He explains that the member will be ten minutes late and asks if he can go in and use his own pistol in the meantime. My coworker gives him the okay, so he sets up and gets started in their lane. Ten minutes later, the member arrives.)

Member: “Hey, I had a reservation?”

Coworker: “Yeah, your buddy’s already inside on lane 20. As soon as you’re ready, you can go in.”

(The member looks surprised at this. He goes to the windows that look into the lanes, sees his friend firing away, sees that the place is packed, and comes back to the counter.)

Member: “Are there any other lanes available?”

Coworker: “No, we’re full up. But you wanted to share a lane, right?”

Member: “Yes… but… He’s supposed to share my lane.”

Coworker: “He is. We held that lane for your guys. He just got here early and wanted to get started while he was waiting for you.”

Member: “Right, but I don’t want to be on his lane. He’s supposed to be on mine. That’s how the reservation works, right? It’s the member’s lane, not the non-member’s. I can’t be on his lane.”

Coworker: *pause* “You know what? You’re right. Hold on a minute.” *turns on the microphone for the speakers inside the range* “Lane 20, please come out to the front counter.”

Friend: *comes out of the range, confused* “Hey, everything okay?”

Coworker: “Yeah, everything’s fine, but I have a favor to ask. Would you mind getting off your lane, coming back out here, and letting [Member] get on that lane before you go join him, so that you’ll be on his lane instead of him being on yours?”

Friend: *after a long pause during which he probably tries to figure out if this is some kind of trick* “Sure?”

Member: “Oh, man, thank you so much! I’m so sorry, but this is just really important!”

Friend: *now as quietly amused as my coworker* “Yeah, no problem! Totally fine!”

Member: “Man, you saved the evening!”

Coworker: “Glad to help. Enjoy yourselves.”

Member: “We will!”

(The friend dutifully packed up his bag, came back out to the counter, and then joined [Member] in returning to the same lane. My coworker still laughs about it to this day.)

Gunning For A Win

, , , , , , | Legal | July 15, 2018

(I work at an indoor gun range where people can rent and try different guns. Every customer has to sign a liability waiver stating what their firearms experience is so we know better how to serve them. It also serves to protect us against people who may injure themselves and try to sue us. A woman who rented a gun minutes ago comes out holding onto her hand which is lightly bleeding.)

Me: “Did you get cut by the slide? It happens to everyone at some point. I’ll get you a bandage!”

Customer: “I don’t know what happened! I shot it and it cut me! I’m taking you all to court! This is your responsibility!”

Me: “But, ma’am, I thought you had extensive firearms experience. That’s what it says on your waiver!”

Customer: *frustrated and distracted from the bleeding* “WELL, I WAS LYING!”

Me: “Oh… Then you should not have lied!”

Customer: “No. You should have known what my experience was!”

Me: “I don’t know, ma’am, they don’t pay me to assess that… but they do pay me to get you that bandage!”

(She called a lawyer and lied to him, too. When she and the lawyer came in requesting the video, we showed him the liability waiver that she’d signed but neglected to mention to him. He looked at her for a moment, then walked out of the store.)

Pretty Deadly In Pink

, , , , , , , | Friendly | July 4, 2018

(My grandfather is a retired police officer and he is very adamant that my sister and I know how to handle guns properly. Since I was five, he and my father have taken me on monthly trips which often end with a trip to the gun range. My sister has just turned five, and it is her first trip to the range. We are inside the range with our ear and eye protection on and Grandpa is doing the same thing with my sister that he did with me every time for the last three years.)

Grandpa: “Okay, [Sister], what is the first rule of guns?”

Sister: “Treat them as if they are always loaded!”

Grandpa: “And the second?”

Sister: “Only point them in a direction if you are okay with everything in that direction being shot!”

Grandpa: “And in this room that means?”

Sister: “The ground, because there is nothing underneath us but ground, and you can’t hurt the ground when you shoot it.”

Grandpa: *chuckles* “That’s true, but where else could we point a gun?”

Sister: *pointing with finger* “That way, down-range.”

Grandpa: “And where can’t we point a gun?”

Sister: “Not up, because you never ever point a gun at God. And not behind us, because the door won’t stop a bullet and we don’t want to shoot Mr. [Range Owner]. And not that way—” *to our right* “—because we don’t want to shoot the lady with the pretty gun—” *the woman in position to our right has a bright pink camo print gun* “—and not that way cause we really don’t want to shoot Mr. [Cop We Know].”

([Cop] has just pushed the button to bring his target in for examination, and he sees my sister pointing at him, and smiles and waves. Then, suddenly, his eyes get very big, he lunges forward grabs us both, pulls us to his chest, turns so his back is to where we were standing, and curls up around us. I hear a man screaming, “No,” a woman shrieking, a loud thud, something hitting the floor, and then my father shouting, “Clear!”)

Cop: *relaxes and stands up* “You two aren’t hurt are you? That was scary, but you were very brave.”

(I see Grandpa has the lady with the pink gun pinned to the wall, and Daddy is handing her gun and its clip to a very embarrassed-looking man. Grandpa lets the lady go, and she and the man practically run out the door.)

Grandpa: “And that, girls, is was a very good example of what not to do.”

(We continued our shooting lesson as normal. For years I didn’t know exactly what happened, but I brought up the story recently and Daddy told me. The lady with the pink gun was apparently there with her boyfriend, who was a regular at the range, and he was teaching her to shoot. Right about the time my sister was pointing at her, he was putting her hands on her gun to show her how to grip it. And when my sister turned to the cop, the lady also turned in the same direction, still holding her gun, and said, “So, I just hold it like this, right?” The “no” I heard was the boyfriend, who tried to grab her wrists and force the gun down. That was when she shrieked, and my Grandpa disarmed her and threw her against the wall. Then Grandpa handed the gun to Daddy and he ejected the clip before saying clear, then picked up the clip and handed it to the boyfriend.)