Hot Metal Rain

So there I was, at the shooting range, (50-foot indoor pistol range) with my SW1911. It goes boom in a very satisfying way, and unlike the Walther P22 that I ditched some months ago (for a Kimber Rimfire), it ejects very consistently up to the right, and not straight back into my forehead.

And that is the point of this little post. Every time I shoot, the empty brass flies out of the gun. Given that I was looking down range and chanting silently to myself "front sight front sight front sight" I didn't really watch where the brass was going.

So I was surprised when the guy next to me whacks me on the shoulder when I was half way through an 8-round mag.

I look over. He's an older guy with wispy white hair and pale lumpy features. The combination makes him look rather like a gently steaming cauliflower.

Cauliflower Man says "Hey buddy, could you watch where your brass is going?"

I guess, although he didn't say so, that the ejected casings were flying over the barrier between the stations and landing on him.

My first thought was "Hey Cauliflower. Screw you," but I moved over a little closer to the barrier to see if it could block some of the flying casings.

Apparently that wasn't good enough, cause he noisily packed up his stuff and moved a few places down and spent the rest of his time there fussily tweaking some fancy looking .22 target pistol and glaring at me.

Anyway, I shouldn't have to, but I feel the need to say:

"Gentlemen, especially those of you who resemble vegetables, please remember that shooting ranges are loud places where people often shoot guns. Brass may fly. Do not ask me to try and stop this from happening. Wear a hat, man up and get some cojones."

I still can't talk about the guy who wanted me to stop shooting so he could take a call on his cell phone.