Explaining gunfire out of a restaurant window

I'm not sure if this is a great sub for this, but I've not seen anything like this. I recently purchased a Saiga shotgun. It's a real treat to shoot, and a little bit of a handful with the 8-shell drum mag. I took it to the range right after lunch the Saturday after I picked it up. <br><br>One of the best Vietnamese noodle shops in the city is very close to the range. I figured I'd grab dinner before heading home, and I didn't feel like taking the gun back out to the car. The place is pretty empty by 7:30, so I walk in with the shotgun slung across my back. The owner was sitting with her daughter, and they sort of looked at me funny. The food is so good, I can sort of get away with this.<br><br>I eat the pork noodle soup and then the glorious pork chop. Then I drink a beer and wait until the place starts getting busy and I figure I wouldn't be interrupting conversation. <br><br>"You know," I say to the owner, "I have a shotgun on my back. I just shot it at the range. About a half hour ago." My eyes are locked on hers, and she looks like she's staring through me. <br><br>The daughter at first looks at me like I'm a freak, and then starts staring at her mother. Her eyes fill up with tears, and she is about to cry. I can almost hear a whimper, and she might just scream.<br><br>"See, I picked up a new firearm over the weekend. It's something we call a Saiga shotgun. The Russians make those," I explain, trying to keep my tone as deadpan as possible. The daughter and mother don't seem to hear that, though. It's like I'm talking to the wall.<br><br>"See, I've never shot a Russian gun," I continue. "I don't know much about it. I think they make those for when they want to hunt bears."<br><br>The daughter starts to hyperventilate, and her mother closes her eyes and covers her face. This might not be a good idea.<br><br>"So I go to the range. My dad used to take me shooting, and he had a bunch of guns. I got this one, but I've not shot it." I make some shooting noises.<br><br>The daughter starts crying, and sobs. The mother tries to hug her, and she just gets out of her seat and runs out of the restaurant. The mother gets up, and she is shaking just a little bit. She looks at her phone, and she seems to be texting.<br><br>I sit down, and pretend like I didn't notice. I don't want to play this too long, but I need to go through with this. I've already gone this far, and I've got to see this through. <br><br>"I shoot out of the little booth," I continue. "I put in 8 shells, and I shoot them all. It was a lot of fun." I make more shooting noises.<br><br>The mother is crying at this point, and her face is red. She is holding back, but from time to time she loses control and starts shaking.<br><br>"Then I clear the firearm, and I eject the shells. I reload, and then I shoot even more shells." I make even more shooting noises.<br><br>The mother stands up, and she is shaking very badly now. She is crying, and she can't compose herself. She walks past me and out the front door. <br><br>I sit there for a few minutes, and the waitress out of the kitchen comes out. "Are you ready for the bill?"<br><br>I nod and hand her my card, and I try to play it cool. They bring me the bill, and I figure I should get out of there. I pay, put my card in my wallet, and stand up.<br><br>The owner is back in the restaurant. "What, *how* do you do this?" she asks me.<br><br>"I told you, out of the little booth at the range." I shrug, as if I don't know what she means.<br><br>"No, not the gun. How do you say this *out of a restaurant window*?" She is still trembling.<br><br>"Oh shit," I laugh. "It's out of a window washer. It's a long handle with a brush on the end, and then a long piece of squeegee on the end of that. You have a bucket of water with suds in it, and you dip the squeegee in it. Then you hoist it up with the extension handle and swab the window. Then you take the squeegee and run it across the window, and the water runs down. And then you take a dry towel and wipe the bottom of the window so it doesn't run on the sill."<br><br>She looks at me, still trembling. "I'm going to my daughter. I'll be back." She walks out the front door.<br><br>I sort of feel like an asshole, but I figured they'd have to know eventually. They were even out of the little metal window squeegees that you see people holding in their hands, so I had to buy the long-handled one. I didn't tell them that I was practicing cleaning windows for a second story window. <br><br>I sit back down, and pretty soon the owner comes back in with her daughter. They both hug me, and then the daughter is still crying but laughing at the same time.<br><br>The owner pats me on the back. "Sometimes we even call you a little freak." Her daughter looks at her, and they both laugh.<br><br>"Yeah, I know." I shrug. <br><br>I leave, and I feel like I've made the world a better place.