Brandeis get your gun
by Rachel Pfeffer
Features | 1/31/06
Posted online at 11:52 PM EST on 1/30/06
"The only thing worth getting up this early in the morning for is shooting things," Ben Shapiro '06, told us as we piled into three cars in H-Lot. It was 10:30 on a Sunday morning, and I was still half asleep.
The "Kind of Like Duck Hunt" club was indeed kind of like the classic Nintendo game Duck Hunt. The difference? Instead of using a fake plastic rifle to shoot at pixilated ducks on a TV screen, we used powerful handguns to shoot at paper targets.
We drove about 20 minutes to the shooting range in North Attleboro, Mass. Inside the main store at the American Firearms School were rows of guns, packages of mace, holster lubricants and various other firearm accessories. Five TVs hung from the ceiling, set on the Military Channel-a channel I did not even realize existed. American flags were strung from every possible surface, and posters with bald eagles blessing America were generously distributed around the store. Before doing anything, everyone signed a contract stating that if we shot ourselves, we can't get mad at the school.
After we all signed our lives away, we were herded into the Rec Room, which had a bar, a TV and plush green velvet couches. A majestic bronze chess set and a stack of magazines with creative titles such as Shooting, Guns and Handgunner adorned a sturdy coffee table. Rich the "Gun Guy," a Long Island native, briefly explained how to avoid killing ourselves or others.
"Don't be stupid with the gun," he said after telling us about a particular gun that shoots bullets that ricochet off your bones and stirs things up inside if they hit you.
"But it will only hurt if you get shot," we were assured. This didn't make me feel much better.
After the short lesson, we were given earmuffs, protective glasses and a small box of ammunition. We waited behind an unassuming red door with "Range" printed on the front, and intimidating gunfire coming from the other side. "Beyond this door lies my fate as a sniper," I thought as I snapped on my earmuffs.
The "Kind of Like Duck Hunt" club was indeed kind of like the classic Nintendo game Duck Hunt. The difference? Instead of using a fake plastic rifle to shoot at pixilated ducks on a TV screen, we used powerful handguns to shoot at paper targets.
We drove about 20 minutes to the shooting range in North Attleboro, Mass. Inside the main store at the American Firearms School were rows of guns, packages of mace, holster lubricants and various other firearm accessories. Five TVs hung from the ceiling, set on the Military Channel-a channel I did not even realize existed. American flags were strung from every possible surface, and posters with bald eagles blessing America were generously distributed around the store. Before doing anything, everyone signed a contract stating that if we shot ourselves, we can't get mad at the school.
After we all signed our lives away, we were herded into the Rec Room, which had a bar, a TV and plush green velvet couches. A majestic bronze chess set and a stack of magazines with creative titles such as Shooting, Guns and Handgunner adorned a sturdy coffee table. Rich the "Gun Guy," a Long Island native, briefly explained how to avoid killing ourselves or others.
"Don't be stupid with the gun," he said after telling us about a particular gun that shoots bullets that ricochet off your bones and stirs things up inside if they hit you.
"But it will only hurt if you get shot," we were assured. This didn't make me feel much better.
After the short lesson, we were given earmuffs, protective glasses and a small box of ammunition. We waited behind an unassuming red door with "Range" printed on the front, and intimidating gunfire coming from the other side. "Beyond this door lies my fate as a sniper," I thought as I snapped on my earmuffs.
