Already in a delightful mood I passed by this gun shop, plant in hand from The Plant Connection. That’s when this tiger rug in the shop window caught my eye. I’d seen them in so many cartoons but never in real life! How morbid! Even more so the pith helmet placed on it as if the tiger slew some eccentric rich British guy from back in the day and his buddies took the pelt in a bloody revenge ritual!

One of my travel companions thought there might be something cool to poke at in this shop so although I had my reservations, we all went in. And immediately regretted it. It was so tense you could slice the air. Here I was, a mere woman, and my other companion feeling like this might not be the best establishment for a person of color like himself, and the travel companion who started this who lamented later the place had “intense INCEL vibes.”

The men at the counter stared at us so intensely I wouldn’t be surprised if he developed X-ray vision. And the cherry on top of the cake? Literally everything interesting you could find in this shop were in the window. The rest? Boring.

We all left having not even the chance to see some good stabby things (knives) as I guess this was really and truly just a gun shop. We all took a big breath as we got outside and compared notes. Did anyone else feel severely unwelcomed? Oh yes, all of us. ALL. OF. US. Though we did get a good laugh afterwards, my melanin-blessed companion saying maybe the dude thought I was a race traitor. Loooord, I hadn’t even gone in that direction with it! I laughed at the absurdity of this in this day and age. This place made me feel like I needed a bath.

Do I recommend this place? No. No, I fucking don’t. Unless you’re an old white dude. Or possibly a young white dude with a chip on your shoulder you can see from space. Maybe then. Just maybe.