/// Rewritten, revised… What a hoot… With for me, a stunning conversation at the end of the day. ///
Yesterday ended about 10:00 PM. Today [Tuesday 24 April 2018] started at Midnight, this time not editing but instead writing the weekly post for These Stone Walls [now published: Fr. Gordon MacRae and Pornchai Moontri: Captives of Catholic Tradition]. I really shouldn’t procrastinate so much. It was written as fast as I could type. But people seem to like it.
That was sent off to TSW‘s publisher and I turned my attention to Laudie-dog and Shadow-dog, getting them ready for the day. Dearest Charlene Duline of State Department fame helps me to keep them utterly spoiled. In Appalachia we say “ruent” as in “ruined.” Then it was time to jump in Sassy the Subaru and head down the mountain to Atlanta.
I’m now sitting in Glock’s armorer waiting room typing this out on my phone. This is the loneliest room in the world since Glocks never break down, well, almost never. I’m always the exception. It seems I wore out my Glock 19 Gen 4 (bought brand new on July 12, 2016, so just a year and some old). But it’s fixable. I was late by 30 minutes due to construction. As I find out, this isn’t the kind of place you want to leave while they work on your gun, as I had planned if necessary. It’s quite the security process to enter the property. Guns have to have a cable put through them. No rounds allowed inside. Special visitor badge with electrical permissions chipped in, or not.
Oddly, just after I got there, some detectives showed up with loaded guns and plenty of full mags. Apparently they had had a chat at the security station at the perimeter and got in with loaded weapons on private property. But Gate Security hadn’t informed the guys in customer service. The Glock guys that came out to the waiting room objected to the officers, saying that unsecured weapons and loaded mags were not allowed. The officers apologized but didn’t comply. They instead just made small talk about a course they were setting up at their own range and wondering if they could borrow – ooooh – eight Glock mags for the day. Think about that. One of the largest police departments in the world is begging to have a lend of a few mags from a private business, as if they didn’t have literally many thousands of mags on hand already. I mean, that’s like Pope Francis asking for a lend of one cobblestone from the city of Rome for a few hours for Saint Peter’s square. Seriously. This went on the entire time I was there, you know, because asking for a lend of eight mags takes more than 40 minutes and is super complicated. Mind you, they were not having their guns looked at. Mind you, they never got the mags while I was there. Nothing. Sigh.
All this made meeting someone like the LMFBR guy rather difficult. So, that’s put off yet again the “conversations” he wants to have with me, though I’m sure not at all about LMFBRs.
As time was dragging while waiting for my own Glock to be dealt with, I went again (and then again) to the hit list in my email involving my “Shadow” about Setraco Group, a multinational construction conglomerate out of Beirut which had suffered a number of assassinations from ISIS. Doing a bit of research on that email it seems that this was sent out by another construction company on the other side of the world. Sectraco is in 30 some countries. My “Shadow” does “construction.” Anyway, enough of that. My Glock armorer just came out…
The armorer asked what kind of ammo I use. He rolled his eyes when I told him, and said that that brand was most likely the source of all the problems. But, just to be sure, he changed out the guide rod with its double spring, added night sights, put on an extended mag release and spruced up trigger stuff to make sure the rounds actually fire when struck. He was pretty surprised at the wear on the slide. Great service. Very friendly.
Outside, no LMFBR guy. So, back home….
Just as I pull into the parish back in North Carolina, I got a call inviting me for the usual day-off meal in Brevard, meaning I would put on a total of about 500 miles for the day. O.K., said I, as it is my day-off.