Macho Men, I Remain Unimpressed With Your Extra Brain

The pawn shop I work at is owned by my aunt Cheryl. She loves guns. When she talks about them, her eyes light up, and her face gets blissful. It's charming. She knows more about guns than any of the male employees at the shop, and loves to pass her knowledge to other people (especially women). Unfortunately, gun shops are macho environments, where men go to celebrate their guns, and I'm not just talking about the ones used for hunting. They sit around, trying to impress one another with tales of 400 yard shots that took down a deer, and their expansive gun collections. They don't have anything on my aunt, who owns more guns than most of them can imagine.

The macho attitude that we deal with causes men to disbelieve things that we women folks tell them about guns. In their minds, it's not true unless a man says it. Despite the fact that I handle their orders for holsters for a Glock model 22 with tactical rail, or find the top mount for their AR-15, they assume that my actual job is to make coffee and file paperwork. The men I work with don't have a clue what is going on, but they reap the glory anyway. I call bullshit on that.

Three days ago, a tiny, elderly man came into the shop in search of a red-dot scope for his rifle.

"What model rifle do you have" Cheryl asked.

"It's a Winchester model 74" he replied.

"Winchester doesn't have a model 74. They have a model 70. Marlin makes a model 74. Are you sure it's not a Marlin?"

"I don't know" he said.

After furthur deliberation, it was decided that he would go home and find out what make and model of rifle he owned. He would come back to tell me, and I would order the mount that would fit his particular gun. He was very polite, if a little bewildered by the lack of a manly presence in the store.

"Thanks for the help ladies" he called behind him as he left.

Yesterday, he came back. I was in the middle of writing descriptions for the gun auctions I was posting. When I saw him, I greeted him, and asked if he'd found his gun model.

"She couldn't find my rifle in that book you're looking at. I think she was looking in the wrong place." He chuckled.

"Sir, she didn't look the gun up in the book, because you weren't sure what make and model of rifle you owned."

"It doesn't have a model," he shouted. (It does have a model number. It turns out that he owns a Marlin, as Cheryl suggested, and it's a model 336)

At this point, my co-worker, Carl, decided to step in, regardless of the fact that he had no knowledge of the situation. He, like many of the other men I deal with, likes to pretend that I am helpless and incapable of problem-solving.

"What can I help you with sir?"

The man explained what he wanted, and Carl declared that he would get the scope put on the rifle immediately. He got a mounting rail from the display, and began attaching it.

"Carl, I've already dealt with this. I need to order a special rail, and all he is here to do is give me the model number so I can order it."

Carl ignored me in favor of manly talk with the customer. They discussed Cheryl's inability to get the job done, laughing.Carl filled the man's head full of erroneous gun knowledge, impressing himself and the customer. Their penises grew a little bit bigger. I proceeded with my job of ordering the correct rail, because I already knew how this story would end.

"This rail won't work. Rebel, you're going to have to order a rail for this."

"I've already done it Carl."

"Sir, she's going to order a rail for this, and we'll get it put on."

The customer left, confident that the idiot he had just dealt with was going to tackle the problem at hand, because that's what men do.

Meanwhile, I will order the correct part, Cheryl will mount his scope, and Carl will take the credit.