A neighbor of mine has made his position on guns very clear.
In the front window of his very large truck, he used to have a sign that read: “I carry a gun. Because a cop’s too heavy.”
Or something like that.
I avoid this guy not just because of the gun thing, but because he seems grumpy all the time. I have never seen him smile. He’s mad at something. Somebody. Maybe even somebody like me — a peacenik liberal with a Bernie Sanders sticker on his car.
So when this dude pulled a really inconsiderate stunt in traffic this morning — getting out of his truck at a red light to go talk to the driver of a village DPW truck in the next lane, preventing cars behind them from proceeding with the green — I sat meekly in my car.
Ordinarily, this would qualify as a “man-card violation,” a euphemism for being a wuss. But in this case, knowing he might be packing, I entered it into the “discretion is the better part of valor” category and did nothing. The guy seems pissed off all the time. Strike one. He likes guns. Strike Two. And drives a big-ass truck. Strike three.
This is not the hill I want to die on.
So this our reality, given the angry, polarized, gun-infused America we live in . . . we don’t dare call somebody out on bad behavior, for fear they’ll start shooting.
Seems to me a lot of this Second Amendment nonsense is more about the right to be an intimidating bully than anything else. But if I ever need a militia to protect me from the black helicopters, I hope I can count on my neighbor.