It crossed my mind from the very beginning. With fist fights at Costco over toilet paper, supply lines cut, and a virus on the horizon that would surely contaminate like a zombie movie. If the virus didn’t get you, raving bands of post- apocalyptic tribes certainly would. It crossed my mind, but I bought some emergency food instead. If nothing else, this meant that I wouldn’t have to fight to the death over the last can of tomato sauce.
Luckily, the Armageddon we all expected didn’t happen. After a few weeks, there were no more fights at grocery stores. People were regaining civility; in fact, we mostly watched Netflix at home. Coronavirus, as deadly as it was, wasn’t the airborne plague I feared. After some months, there was a growing sense that it would all be all right in the end. However, just as this wildfire began to dwindle, it was hit with an unexpected wind: George Floyd was killed, and we plunged again into fury. Cities were torn apart in outrage. The protesters spread further away from downtown Los Angeles each night, closer to where my girlfriend and I were staying. Each night they expanded, the true speakers for injustice were outnumbered by those who only wanted an excuse to smash and burn. Police were present, but Floyd’s killing brought into question the very role of policing, so they often stood by paralyzed between a rock and a hard place. Los Angeles descended into chaos. This concluded the back and forth deliberation in my head…I wanted to get a gun.
I had been around shotguns before, and had even been pheasant hunting, so I wasn’t a complete newbie. However, I never saw myself actually acquiring a handgun in my lifetime. When I began my research, the advertisements on firearm websites left me feeling out of place. I was’t one of these “guy guys,” namely an ex-military type with a beard and ball cap, a hot wife and three kids, a pickup truck and tactical belt. The YouTube research I conducted didn’t make me feel any more welcome. After viewing two or three videos, I began getting targeted ads that could not have gotten me more wrong.
Hey brother, it’s your God-given right to conceal carry, and these commies are gonna take it away from [SKIP AD]
Easy there, big fella! I’m not looking to stay strapped at Trader Joe’s. Still, the more I tentatively scrolled online galleries, the more I began to wonder who else was getting curious about guns. Los Angeles, especially the area in which I was living, is nauseatingly “L.A.,” but even snooty elitists get jumpy. I had to wait six weeks for my emergency food supply to ship because they were bombarded with demand. People were clearly getting nervous, so I wondered who else shared my evolving views about guns. I knew guns sales were up, but I had no idea just how much. Nervously, I conducted a search and found that 110,000 new firearms had been purchased in California by mid-July, according to the Los Angeles Times. Forty-three percent were first-time gun buyers like me.
Even after making this decision, I was overwhelmed. I knew that California required passing a written test and a background check to acquire a firearm, so I decided to take this test as a first step. I wouldn’t get a gun that day, but once the test was passed, I could walk in anytime and buy a gun when ready. This was my gateway drug way to move forward. Ultimately, I began to call local shops and see if I could arrange a time to take the test.
To my surprise, there was no answer. Some phones would continue to ring without end. However, I mostly received an automated response detailing new store hours and policies, but every single voicemail indicated in some way that items were on back order, or that ordering over the phone and holding items for weeks was not allowed. This confirmed my nervousness. People were buying guns, and I might already be too late.
At the first opportunity, I selected a gun store with good reviews and set out to visit. On the way there, my clammy palms slipped along the steering wheel; I had no idea what to expect. There were several gun stores in this part of town, and I passed three of them on the way to my chosen location. They were easy to spot — at each location, the line was out the door and around the building into the parking lot. Those same lines snaked through parking lots to wrap around adjacent buildings. The people standing in line were not militia members either. They were men and women of all colors, seemingly around my age. In fact, I had never seen such a gathering of yoga pants outside of a yoga studio.
I arrived at my selected gun store and was met by a similar line. There was nothing else to do but get in place and wait. Wait for what? I had no idea. The dream of having an empty store and a salesperson all to myself died. The bar was packed, and once I bellied up to the rail, I had to know my drink and order with confidence. Unfortunately, I had neither the knowledge nor confidence. I was in over my head.
I finally got through the doorway and was met by a Black Friday Sale whirlwind. A salesman motioned me over to him behind the glass cases that were mostly empty.
“Hey man, what are you looking for?”
Amidst the chaos in the store, I looked down at the sparse glass cases. I panicked, but luckily the salesman grabbed and held my attention like the mall Santa in A Christmas Story. With shoulder-to-shoulder congestion and outlines of recently purchased handguns and rifles in cases and walls, he pulled my attention back to him. What would you like for Christmas little boy?
I told him that I was interested in handguns, but didn’t know much about the topic. I said that I did like revolvers because of their simplicity; it is plain as day whether they are loaded or not. I pointed to some snub-nose style pistols with reasonable price tags underneath them (i.e., in the $400 range).
“You don’t want those,” he stated. I was putty in his hands.
“I don’t?”
“They’re plastic basically. Unreliable.”
“Oh, gotcha.” Assuming I was now preparing for full-on combat, I replied, “What do you recommend for a revolver? Or really, what do you even have?”
We slid down the glass cabinets to weapons gleaming in silver. He unlocked the case and slid one out.
“Ruger 357 Magnum — a tank of gun” he stated as he handed it over to me. I didn’t know I was in the market for a tank, but panic was powerful pressure. I accepted it into my hand. It was heavier than he had made it look. I found the only lever to release the cylinder where the bullets would go, and thanked my lucky stars I’d seen that done before so I appeared to know what I was doing. The cylinder rolled out and bore before me six unmistakably empty chambers — precisely why I liked revolvers in the first place.
Looking around the chaos in the store, I asked how long it was this busy. “February.”
“When do you guys get shipments and how long can you keep them?”
“No idea. What we have is what we have.” He then began looking over my shoulder to the other guests, as if I was wasting his time. I guess I was, in this scene of skyrocketing demand and low supply. He didn’t need me, but I needed him, and I needed this bazooka that would make Clint Eastwood proud.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
He slapped his hand on the glass to confirm the deal — there was no going back now.
