give your borrowed rifle a name

I named mine Pinky, for obvious reasons – the magazine would get stuck and I had to pull back the bolt while sticking my pinky in the mag to get it to fall out. And, less obviously, it was pink.
(I lied. I didn’t use my pinky. I used my forefinger. And I didn’t actually name it, nor was I asked to. But it was pink and borrowed, and I wanted to make this mangled reference to "Full Metal Jacket.")
I think you can really laugh at yourself when you find out later that, while in the seated shooting position, at least half of your buttcrack was showing. I know I did.
It didn’t help that "Dwight," one of the instructors who was so much like Dwight Schrute that the reference is all too perfect, kept pacing behind me and finding reasons to come talk to me about my shooting. Jessica and I agreed pretty quickly Dwight liked me, the unnatural and unintentionally hilarious blight.
While I was prone and shooting, he hovered over me and asked if I could call the shot I had just taken. I pointed to my ears – with earplugs in them – and shook my head, saying "I can’t hear you." Sarcasm.
He leaned right into my face and yelled it again, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

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