I’m heading out tomorrow afternoon for a weekend getaway. I will be hitting the road to beautiful Asheville, North Carolina. I always try to make sure I have the proper accessories when I travel - shoes, jewelry, belts and purses. But even if I forget some of those, there is one accessory that I always pack (pardon the pun) when I hit the road alone - my Smith & Wesson .38 special revolver. Nothing makes me feel more secure than having my gun in the car.
Before you get all up in arms (again, pardon the pun), let me assure you that I have the proper handgun carry permit which allows me to legally carry a loaded gun in my car. And believe me, I earned that permit. I spent an entire weekend, and a considerable amount of money, several years ago taking the proper class to obtain my permit. The instructor was a chauvinist redneck named Cletus. On Saturday, I had to endure an entire day of class which consisted of Cletus “lecturing” about pretty much every subject that was pissing him off on that particular day. He had a captive audience and wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to run his mouth. Cletus was quite the drama queen and liked to make ridiculous statements that made me want to laugh out loud several times. I’ve referenced my favorite Cletus-ism before.
On Sunday, our class went to the firing range. We had to present and register our guns at the beginning of the day. Cletus took one look at my gun and said, “This gun is way too big for your hands, little lady.” I had to restrain myself from telling him it wasn’t too big to shove up his fat chauvinist butt since he could have failed me which would have meant no permit. So I bit my tongue and soldiered on and passed the class. After paying even more money (and an ugly fingerprinting incident at my local DMV we’ll discuss at another time) I was the proud owner of my handgun carry permit. So if, heaven forbid, the shit hits the street this weekend on my road trip, I’ll be prepared!!
-- Haiku Hannah
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