Cheaper than therapy

Well usually a trip to the range is cheaper than therapy. This trip probably didn't rise to that level.

I cut it short after the young man in the lane next to me cut my target retrieval string and my target slumped to the floor. Good shootin' Pilgrim! That was after a couple magazines through my S&W 22A. Discretion being the better part of valor, I just packed it up and left at that point. At least the counter girl didn't charge me for my time.

That was after he'd shot into the concrete floor about 7 yds from the line.
This was after Jean Claude wanna be a couple lanes to my right started shakingdust loose from the overhead with his rented 44 Mag Redhawk. Even being mostly deaf, the concussive force of that pistol indoors was too much for me today. At least he provided a little light for the dim indoor range with the flames from the 6" barrel.

Of course that was after waiting for a lane to open up while watching Jean Claude and his girlfriend break all of Jeff Cooper's 4 rules of safe gunhandling.
They seemed to be taking turns alternately resting the shotgun muzzle on their shoe tops and leaning on the muzzle like a walking cane -- that was when they were busy choreographing new and interesting ways to sweep the rest of us at the counter with the muzzle.


A bad day at the range is better than a good day at work? Well, maybe.