I ran into something similar a week or so ago at the local Sportsman's franchise. The lone clerk in the pistol area was helping an apparently new-to-handguns customer, and I pulled up to spot-check whether the place might have the black Walther PPS on hand. From out of nowhere, a big guy slides next to me -- uncomfortably close -- and starts making comments to both the customer being helped and the clerk. "I'm an armorer," he says more than once in a span of five seconds or less, "and I know what I'm talking about."
I'm not impressed, but I am forced to move out of the way because the guy's body odor is as obnoxious as his demeanor and his ignorance of personal space with strangers. I move to the other side of the customer, still scanning the handguns on the wall, when the "armorer" starts in on how Glocks are the
only pistol to own, an apparent slam at what the clerk is suggesting to the impressionable customer. It's not a horrible suggestion, you understsand, but it was an uninvited one as far as I could tell. The clerk and customer try to ignore the "armorer," but it's getting difficult because the guy is so loud and persistent. So I finally say, out of sheer boredom, "You couldn't give me a Glock." (Note: The statement was not true. You
could give me a Glock. You
still can give me a Glock, in fact. A Glock is not on the top of my Christmas list, but you could give me one.)
The "armorer" does not like this comment. "Why would you say that? What makes you say that? The Glock is the finest pistol ever made, period. Bar none. You must be crazy to make a statement like that. What qualifies you to say that anyway? I'm an armorer, by gawd, and I know my guns." This is delivered in a rapid-fire, but-wait-there's-more-coming, gushy squack, his voice and complexion rising with each word.
Failing to see a Walther PPS in stock, I turn and walk away and consider it a good day at the local gun warehouse. But I would
not want to be a store clerk there.
Who would?
