Good article Kevan.
Last night, I was in Wally World picking up some cleaning supplies, and I noted a rather funny looking kid hovering over the shotshells. He had a discernable limp, and his arm was in a cast. His nearby buddy was, in my parlance, "a punk." Hat pulled down and canted sideways, pants falling off his ass, t-shirt about five sizes too big. Both of them had these goofy grins on their faces like they'd just dropped acid over in the toy section.
Anyway, the kid with the broken arm picks up a box of #8 Winchester shells (2 3/4") and asks one of the clerks in an odd tone, "Could I kill a deer with this?" I couldn't hear what the clerk muttered to him, but the kid decided to buy the shells. At the counter (now closer to me), he asked the other checkout clerk, "What are these used for?" The clerk tumbles them around in his hands for a minute and replies, "Pretty much anything, I guess." Mr. Broken Arm gave his buddy a little grin and mumbled, "Well, maybe they'll work." He paid, and they left with the #8s.
My initial impulse was to pull the young man aside and lecture him on the proper shell selection depending on his gun and the range he wanted to shoot. But my bull**** radar had already long gone off, and I got the distinct impression that neither of these young fellows had ever seen the deer woods. They just didn't seem "quite right," and I wasn't sure that deer were the intended targets of these shells. So I just kept my mouth shut, watched the clerks in their grand ineptitude, and then paid for my supplies.
This fall, one deer may feel the slight tap on his back from some #8 shot fired at 100 yards and be glad of my silence. Who knows?