I don't find it funny to set somebody up for pain...
... or to neglect safety training.
However, while this story involves some pain and embarrassment, it wasn't due to lack of training, and the person involved came out of it just fine.
I was living not too far from Pax's neck of the woods, and had just returned from some haze grey and underway time. I had just started dating a woman who was involved in marketing, and tended to dress for success; she also was frequently mistaken for Kelly Ripa, but that's only a factor for this story in that she liked to dress to look good, at all times.
I had done a previous tour in a more rural part of the PACNORWEST, and during that time had discovered a nice indoor/outdoor range up near Fairhaven, off exit 246. I mentioned this to the new ladyfriend, and she said, "I'd like to learn how to shoot."
So, the next day I drove to her place with the collection I had at the time, which was limited to a S&W 18 (my parents bought it in 1966; I have the original box, manual, and receipt...), a Beretta 92FS Centurion (sold to a friend last year) and a SIG P220. I showed her how to ensure each weapon was empty; showed her how to use the safety/decocker on the Beretta and the decocker on the SIG; went over and over the big 4 safety rules; showed her the differences in DA and SA in all three handguns; and had her dryfire the semi-autos. I also hammered home that if she had ANY malfunction at the range, just put the weapon on the swing-down loading table, muzzle downrange, and let me handle the problem; I didn't want her to experiment in a non-sterile environment quite yet.
Last thing I said before I took my handguns and went home was "wear something you can get dirty, preferably with a t-shirt under your shirt or jacket, and some flats. See you in the morning."
So I go to pick her up. She's in the short, black leather blazer that all the trendy Bellevue women were wearing that season; under that she's wearing a low-cut, teal silk camisole; tan dress pants; and high heels. When I asked her if she really wanted to wear that to the range, she gave me a look that implied I was crazy to have thought she'd dress down to go out in public. Ah, well...
We drive to the range, sign in, and go to the indoor area. I start her out with the .22, and show her a basic Weaver stance. She loads the revolver, gets set in her Weaver, and fires a round. She is startled by the bang and the (light) recoil, and she shrieks, and sets the revolver down on the table, muzzle down-range. Then she steps back a couple paces, eyes wide. I ask if she's ok. She calms herself, then picks up the revolver again, and proceeds to shoot. She's cool with the noise and kick now, and she's hitting the silhouette, which I have run out to around 5 yards so we can see where her rounds hit. Interestingly, she hits low, with most around the groin of the target. I've noticed this with a few women, and I can't help but wonder if it isn't intentional on some unconscious level...
Anyway, she gets very comfortable with the .22, and decides she wants to try the Beretta. First round fired, she gets a center hit; big smile. She decides to keep shooting the Beretta for a couple more magazines. So far so good. She then tries the P220, and hits the target, but decides she doesn't like the recoil of the .45. So, she goes back to the Beretta, which is now her favorite.
She's getting consistent torso hits on the target, which I've now moved back to 7 or 10 yards, when it happens: a casing lofts up more vertically than usual, and instead of going back behind her, it drops right down into the low-cut scoopneck of her camisole. The lady filled out a camisole in a very pleasing manner, so the casing had enough room to drop in and out of sight and reach. Her eyes go huge, and she bites off a startled yelp, but she has the presence of mind to set the Beretta down on the table, muzzle down-range, before she sets about retrieving the casing.
Meanwhile, I'm honestly thinking, "this is our third date; do I reach down her camisole and grab the hot brass, or will that get me slapped? what do I do now?" I'm sure my expression was quite stupefied... At the same time, the range master is trying so hard not to laugh that he is visibly biting his tongue, his eyes are bugging behind his glasses, his face is turning red, and his belly is shaking. My date is jumping around in high heels, somehow managing not to twist an ankle, squawking, and finally pulling out her camisole from her pants and fanning it back and forth until the casing drops to the floor.
She was a sport, and regained her composure almost instantly. I praised her for setting the weapon down as briefed, and sagely refrained from any "I told you so's" with regard to t-shirts and flats. The range master said nothing, but I couldn't tell if his tongue was bleeding...
My date then got back into her Weaver, picked up the Beretta, and resumed firing that mag, and then another. We left on a good note, and she kept her targets.
I ended up buying her a handgun for her birthday that summer. She selected a Beretta 92 Brigadier. She liked the feel of the Beretta, and she shot it well, but I think the two selling points on the Brigadier for her were: 1) reinforced slide added both safety and weight, good for controlling muzzle rise, and 2) (perhaps more importantly) she really liked the bright blue slide around the bright stainless barrel...
We're no longer together, but I do know she used that Brigadier successfully in two SD encounters later; once while we were still together, vs a guy who had followed her nearly 10 miles and across some mountains from an encounter where she'd intervened when he was choking his girlfriend in public (I was deployed; she was at the beach with some jarhead friends of ours; he was a complete stranger, aside from the beach encounter, but he and a friend of his apparently followed her to our house after she split off from the group, with retaliation in mind) - luckily, the guys didn't realize she had a Rott-Shepherd, who provided the initial deterrent - and then they didn't expect the cute little blonde to come up with a 9mm. The guy and his accomplice ran away, and were later found by the PD. Later, I heard a rumor that some biker friends of hers may have had a word with them after the PD sent them on their way.
In the second instance, after she and I had gone our separate ways - but were still in occasional contact, she managed to convince some would be ATM robbers to back away from her long enough for her to get her truck in gear and drive away.
So, we had some comedy, but it turned out well that day, and the training and the subsequent purchase of her own handgun turned out to have saved her from assault and possibly worse on at least two occasions.
