Spring Break
A tribute to our most terrifying amendment
Mark Donnelly
Issue date: 11/12/08 Section: Entertainment
I went to the Memphis Gun Show. It was an extremely bizarre experience for me, surreal almost. I don't own a gun, but I have a weird fascination with them. I didn't think that this would be a situation where I would feel uncomfortable. What could possibly be weird about a room full of guns, ammo, knifes, and people who want to buy them?
I put on my blue jeans and leather belt, tucked in my shirt that read "NRA" on one side and "The Second Amendment America's Original Homeland Security" on the other, slipped my white tube socks into my tennis shoes and left my house for the convention center at the mid-south fair grounds. I pulled into the parking lot of completely domestic vehicles, seventy-five of which were trucks and at least half of them sporting McCain-Palin stickers. The rules were fairly simple: if you brought a gun, you had to get it tied at the ticket counter and you must leave all your ammo at the front, which was made apparent as a man unloaded his revolver bullets at the entrance as I walked up.
I paid my eight dollars, entered into a raffle and started to walk around. Guns were everywhere. On almost every table. Hand guns, machine guns, rifles, shotguns, It dawned on me at this point that if I wanted to shell out the cash, I could walk out of here with a high-powered assault rifle. Then I looked around at all the other people thinking the same thing and a chill went down my spine. It was not the hunters or gun enthusiasts that did it, but the other that was at this exhibition. The other I feel is best summed up in a conversation I overheard while looking at hand guns. A man was explaining to his friend that the government was tapping his phones, reading his mail and spying on him in other secretive fashions that could not be proved. He then lifted up his shirt that read "No law ever enacted has stopped a murderer, thief, or rapist from commiting their crime like the justice of cold blue steel." to expose his secret carrying case where he kept the items "they'll never get to or see." This put a whole new spin on "from my cold, dead hands."
I put on my blue jeans and leather belt, tucked in my shirt that read "NRA" on one side and "The Second Amendment America's Original Homeland Security" on the other, slipped my white tube socks into my tennis shoes and left my house for the convention center at the mid-south fair grounds. I pulled into the parking lot of completely domestic vehicles, seventy-five of which were trucks and at least half of them sporting McCain-Palin stickers. The rules were fairly simple: if you brought a gun, you had to get it tied at the ticket counter and you must leave all your ammo at the front, which was made apparent as a man unloaded his revolver bullets at the entrance as I walked up.
I paid my eight dollars, entered into a raffle and started to walk around. Guns were everywhere. On almost every table. Hand guns, machine guns, rifles, shotguns, It dawned on me at this point that if I wanted to shell out the cash, I could walk out of here with a high-powered assault rifle. Then I looked around at all the other people thinking the same thing and a chill went down my spine. It was not the hunters or gun enthusiasts that did it, but the other that was at this exhibition. The other I feel is best summed up in a conversation I overheard while looking at hand guns. A man was explaining to his friend that the government was tapping his phones, reading his mail and spying on him in other secretive fashions that could not be proved. He then lifted up his shirt that read "No law ever enacted has stopped a murderer, thief, or rapist from commiting their crime like the justice of cold blue steel." to expose his secret carrying case where he kept the items "they'll never get to or see." This put a whole new spin on "from my cold, dead hands."
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