After five days in Honolulu, we are picking up what the Yanks are putting down. We know the lingo and we're tipping like we've been doing it for years. And of course I love that we, as Australians, are a novelty here.
"Where you from?"
"Australia"
"Wow, I love Auzsees!!"
On Wednesday afternoon, a street hawker convinced Josh it would be a great idea to fire some guns and I reluctantly agreed. We followed the directions the hawker had given us and found ourselves looking down a cramped suspicious alley. All we could see was a small SWAT Gun Club sign in the top floor window of the furthest building. Even in broad daylight I had a bad feeling about this. I told Josh "This is the usually the last thing people see before they die."
I hesitantly followed Josh further towards the back, constantly turning around to check behind us. Rubbish littered the ground and upstairs apartments were almost definitely brothels. We began to climb the rustly external spiral stairs and Josh had to practically drag me up. I was mumbling things like, "We're going to die; they are going to shoot us."
As we walked through the door, I was relieved to see the Gun Club office looked quite professional, considering it was a converted apartment. A friendly Hawaiian welcomed us and got us kitted out with highly attractive goggles, ear muffs and protective bibs. We hoped the extra tip we gave him would mean he'd take good care of us.
I wish I could tell you what guns we shot but all I know is some were old police guns; others were James Bond baddie guns. And it turns out Josh is a better shooter than me. Well at least I let him think that. We got to keep our bullet ridden targets to prove our marksmanship. So if the end of the world does come in 2012, Josh and I are ready.
P.s Sorry Mum.
