Saturday morning dawned bright and early, and Shootin' Buddy & I drove to the local outdoor range, only to find that the Five-Oh had commandeered it for the weekend. So we rescheduled the weekend's shooting for Sunday morning at the local indoor range.
A good time was had by all, or at least as good as can be had on a crowded indoor range on a beautiful, sunny weekend morning. I got in some desperately-needed revolver time, shooting both my Model 64 and a borrowed Model 17, as well as putting a few cylinders through my 296Ti.
Loitering about in the showroom after finishing up, Shootin' Buddy gestured at a pyramid of ammunition on the counter. "What? I don't carry Gold Dots in my .45's..."
"Not the ammunition; the sign behind it."
"Part-time help wanted? Hmmm..."
I asked the dude behind the counter, and he indicated that I should drop off a resume for consideration.
I went home and made sure mine was up to date... Yup, fifteen years of retail FFL experience. Doubt they're going to get one stronger (although in this business, being a guurrrl is something of an initial handicap; you have to convince them that you're qualified without, you know, coming across as a bitch by pointing out that in all likelihood, you know as much or more about this stuff than they do.)
I'd accidentally printed out two copies of my resume, so I drove the other one out to Premier Arms. (Which is an awesomely cool shop that I'd just discovered. If I stocked a gun store, it would look a lot like Premier.)
We'll see. I'm starting to get the itch to put my toe back in the water; sling a few guns across the glass.