I went to Wal-Mart this week to buy a pack of BBs to discourage some unnamed pests that are hanging around our bird feeder. When I tried to ring the BBs up at the self-checkout, management had to come and approve the sale.
For BBs?
How well can I remember buying BBs to support my air-gun habit throughout my youth. They came in small cellophane packages, and I believe they cost a dime. They also sold them in larger tubes for about a quarter. I had more fun with my various BB guns than with any other of my childhood items, with the exception of maybe my bike. But it was close.
I got my first BB gun at age 7, against the strong objections of my mom, but Daddy came through at Christmas. I plunked away for three or four years with my genuine Red Ryder carbine until Daisy came out with a pump BB air rifle. While the carbine was fun, the speed of the projectiles flying from its barrel was not impressive. A bumblebee could fly along beside the airborne BB and not lose ground. But the pump air rifle would deliver impressive speeds and no starling was safe on our block.
You could even adjust the sights and shoot tight groups at 5 meters. My Daisy pump air rifle was my constant companion.
Daddy let me drag it along when we went out to work the bird dogs in the fall. If a covey got up, I shot off a round to hurry them along, but never connected. I did, however, shoot a pigeon once, the BB gun equivalent of harvesting a wild turkey.
In all the years, I never shot my eye out nor that of anyone else, but I did get my finger caught in the pump mechanism once, squirted blood in all directions and fainted cold turkey. When I came to, I bandaged my finger and resumed target shooting.
I can’t believe they now require an ID check to buy a pack of BBs. What do they think – that someone might scatter them across the floor of a public building and have bodies slipping and flying in every direction? Come to think of it, that would be fun to watch.