The word is “weapon”.
Tonight a Customs Agent, freshly minted by the looks of it, enquired of me. “Any firearms or weapons?”
“No firearms and define weapons please.”
I get the Clint Eastwood “Make my day” squint back…
“Well self,” I’m thinking, “Here we go. Orifice check Aisle Two…”
A couple of questions get fired at me, to which I have the reply. “I’m a firearms owner…I don’t approve of the word “weapon”. You have a sidearm. That sidearm is a tool. It becomes a weapon if you are forced to draw it. It depends on the context you’re asking.”
Eyes are now locked on. Clint Eastwood squint and that “thin lip” smile…
“You own firearms?
I start to rattle the list…semi-auto rifle, bolt-action, bolt-action…
“Do you carry them?”
“I’m not allowed.”
“Do you have them in the truck?”
A couple more questions with direct answers. (This is a humerous story. It’s not my place to divulge some things.)
“When was the last time your cab was searched?”
I answered and inform the Agentof the folding lock blade in the pouch in my jacket that is used to cut packaging at customers. I’m figuring I’m getting lined up for a search. Meantime I’m thinking “Search…plus. Cool I go to double-time for the delay.”
More Clint Eastwood squint as the decision is being rendered…
Finally I get my paperwork back and told to have a good night.
No hard feelings. You did your job. It’s what I expect. I just don’t think you expected to run into me and get an “education” by asking me the question, worded the wrong way.
I’d like to the see look on your face though when you check your inbox when you come to work tomorrow night…
Sleep well folks.