srb08
Doesn't play well with others
- Local time
- 2:07 AM
- User ID
- 1905
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2016
- Messages
- 2,492
- Reaction score
- 8,674
- Location
- Mid Mo
When I was a kid, one of the places we lived, was in a large subdivision in St. Louis. One day, while riding my bike to a friends house, I stopped at a garage sale. Among the baby clothes, toys and other junk for sale, was an old Cresent Arms 12ga hammerless SxS shotgun with 30" fluid steel barrels. The price, written on a piece of masking tape, stuck to the stock was $7. The finish on the gun was good and the stock wasn't cracked or broken.
I didn't have $7 with me. A kid just didn't carry that much money. I rode back to my house as fast as I could, counted out $7 and headed back to the garage sale, worried the whole time that the gun would be gone when I got back. The gun was still there. I grabbed it, walked over to the cashier lady at the card table, handed her my $7 and walked away, feeling like the King of the world.
I rode my bike home, about three miles, with the gun across the handlebars. I got stopped by a cop on the way. He checked to make sure the gun wasn't loaded and asked me why I was carrying it on my bike. I told him the story, he congratulated me on my purchase and sent me on my way.
That evening, my dad looked at the gun, declared it tight enough to shoot and didn't seem too upset when I told him what I paid for it.
It was 1970 and I was 14.
That gun was traded away long ago but I still remember the purchase, like it was yesterday.
Things were different then.
I didn't have $7 with me. A kid just didn't carry that much money. I rode back to my house as fast as I could, counted out $7 and headed back to the garage sale, worried the whole time that the gun would be gone when I got back. The gun was still there. I grabbed it, walked over to the cashier lady at the card table, handed her my $7 and walked away, feeling like the King of the world.
I rode my bike home, about three miles, with the gun across the handlebars. I got stopped by a cop on the way. He checked to make sure the gun wasn't loaded and asked me why I was carrying it on my bike. I told him the story, he congratulated me on my purchase and sent me on my way.
That evening, my dad looked at the gun, declared it tight enough to shoot and didn't seem too upset when I told him what I paid for it.
It was 1970 and I was 14.
That gun was traded away long ago but I still remember the purchase, like it was yesterday.
Things were different then.