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Angeles Ranges is a pretty damn good range. Besides the occasional thug who brings his entire family in an Escalade (including chihuaha and BABY) and shares a single Desert Eagle all day, it has a nice long range and an excellent pistol side. Hell one of the rangemasters posts here and just loves to just talk about OLL's all the time!
But there's one rangemaster that has finally made me to decide to just forget that place anymore.
13 months ago: I was actually working at Angeles during my freshman year at Pierce community college. I was working as the rangemaster for one of my last few days. Finals were coming up and I was just ready to take a break from school and work simultaneously. Nonetheless I was a rangemaster, so I had to be paying attention at all times and making sure projectiles didn't end up hitting craniums. So should "Eddy" the other rangemaster, but we all know where his mind is: BRASS. If anyone who reloads should know... other people's brass can be your treasure. If you are closing every night as a rangemaster, you are Captain Blackbeard of Brass Islands.
There was a guy shooting his National Match M1A. Leopold MKIV and reloads in blue MTM cases. I even asked him what he was using: Vihtavouri. Ooh, a fancy smancy load! Either way he was kicking *** while in a standing unsupported position.
Cease fire comes by and Eddy, the Senior rangemaster who is supposed to be on the PA mic, is also supposed to be making sure that:
1. No one is stepping over the line and touching the benches
2. No one is waving guns around.
3. No one is doing something stupid downrange.
But what is he doing? Going with a trash bag out on the dirt and picking up this guy's NORMA 308 BRASS. NORMA. DOLLAR A PIECE. Nonetheless drama ensues and he is still being enough of an ******* to try and find the 30 or so pieces of Norma out of an already 300 piece filled bag. I don't remember much after that because I practically had to get the range hot again. Did I mention he's a Senior rangemaster and supposed to be doing this?
6 Months Ago: I'm working another job and just enjoying the good college life. My gun friend from Something Awful get's an XD-45. We are giddy-giddy and already set a date for throwing COMPRESSED FREEDOM SOULS downrange the next day. I round up 300 of my Dad's reloads and he gets a cheapo 500 box of Wolf. Not 2 hours later it's all gone. We were the only people on the pistol side that Tuesday because, well, it's a Tuesday. There were a couple of people who brought some 22's and shot a few hundred but obviously you can't reload that. The only thing in the 2 buckets next to us was 22LR, our 45 reloads, and our steel Wolf which cannot be reloaded.
My brother begins to empty the two buckets we dumped it all in into a small box we had. In comes Eddy the rangemaster! Yay! He's telling us we can't do that because the bucket is range property! Oh, well, okay but it's just our brass. Well then according to Eddy I should just take half of the brass. Well you know what just give it all to him instead. Oh now Eddy is saying we are being to cocky with him over OUR BRASS that is the ONLY STUFF IN THE BUCKET and telling us to leave! Thanks Eddy!
And you want to know the best part about this?
I helped Eddy get into reloading. I used to work at the Reloading Store during it's starting months. While people would browse through and buy items in the storefront, there was the Dillon CV-2001 tumbling his collected 30-30 in the backroom. Me and the other employee Ryan gave him all the info, let him read the Lyman reloading book, and give him employee discounts for all of his reloading supplies.
So back to the story, all three of us left steaming mad because this happened. I thought about posting the incident here that very night, but just brushed it off. Why bother getting mad over 300 pieces of 45ACP brass?
Two months ago my father is happily hitting the 100 yard ram with his Marlin 1894 in 44 Magnum. A couple end up on the floor and are swept up by another shooter next to us, who of course dumps it in the bucket. Hey, no big deal, just dig through and grab a couple of 44 Magnum cases.
"HEY YOU CAN'T BE IN THERE THAT'S RANGE PROPERTY!"
"A couple of my pieces of brass got stuck in there, I'm just digging them out."
"SORRY IT'S RANGE PROPERTY NOW I DON'T WANT THIS TO ESCALATE SIR!"
My Dad just dropped it and brushed it off. He has the patience of a one-armed brick layer in Beirut and there's another time for confronting this.
So I go ahead and hit up the range today to test out my father's newly revamped 1911 by Jim Hoag, and throw a few hundred .223 Remington with the registered AR-15. I don't reload 223 yet because I don't have the money for a Dillon, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let the 3,000 pieces of brass through the upper so far go to waste. I practically get down on all fours and pic all of them up... one by one. I leave the box slightly ajar and put it next to my AR-15. There were a couple of shooters that had a Norinco AK-47 and a brand spanking new SOCOM II. I was in bonertown. Show and tell and trade guns for a while... the typical happy go-lucky time with the gun culture.
Being that it was the second to last cease-fire, here comes Eddy the brass hound. He doesn't even bother with a hello anymore, nevermind the fact that we talked almost every day while I worked there for a few months at the store and as a replacement rangemaster. Whatever, I was too busy enjoying the crispest single-hook AK trigger I have ever caressed. Then in the corner of my eye, not 2 rounds left in the 30 round magazine, he did it. I saw him just let his grasp go of the box as it flailed onto the table.
He took my god damn brass that I singlehandedly picked up with my bare hands.
I flicked the safety, I gave him the look. He didn't even bother taking a look around as he dumped it. He didn't even notice me looking at him as he rolled right to the next brass bucket.
I enjoyed the AK a bit more, really enjoyed the SOCOM, let the guys shoot an AR-15 for the first time, and wrapped it up.
I talked with Dennis the manager and told him next time it happens, I'm emptying every single bucket on the pistol side straight into the trunk of my car just to make sure I get every piece of ****ing brass back. But, knowing Dennis, there won't be any serious discipline against him.
So, anyone want to sponsor me for membership into Burbank Pistol and Rifle club?
But there's one rangemaster that has finally made me to decide to just forget that place anymore.
13 months ago: I was actually working at Angeles during my freshman year at Pierce community college. I was working as the rangemaster for one of my last few days. Finals were coming up and I was just ready to take a break from school and work simultaneously. Nonetheless I was a rangemaster, so I had to be paying attention at all times and making sure projectiles didn't end up hitting craniums. So should "Eddy" the other rangemaster, but we all know where his mind is: BRASS. If anyone who reloads should know... other people's brass can be your treasure. If you are closing every night as a rangemaster, you are Captain Blackbeard of Brass Islands.
There was a guy shooting his National Match M1A. Leopold MKIV and reloads in blue MTM cases. I even asked him what he was using: Vihtavouri. Ooh, a fancy smancy load! Either way he was kicking *** while in a standing unsupported position.
Cease fire comes by and Eddy, the Senior rangemaster who is supposed to be on the PA mic, is also supposed to be making sure that:
1. No one is stepping over the line and touching the benches
2. No one is waving guns around.
3. No one is doing something stupid downrange.
But what is he doing? Going with a trash bag out on the dirt and picking up this guy's NORMA 308 BRASS. NORMA. DOLLAR A PIECE. Nonetheless drama ensues and he is still being enough of an ******* to try and find the 30 or so pieces of Norma out of an already 300 piece filled bag. I don't remember much after that because I practically had to get the range hot again. Did I mention he's a Senior rangemaster and supposed to be doing this?
6 Months Ago: I'm working another job and just enjoying the good college life. My gun friend from Something Awful get's an XD-45. We are giddy-giddy and already set a date for throwing COMPRESSED FREEDOM SOULS downrange the next day. I round up 300 of my Dad's reloads and he gets a cheapo 500 box of Wolf. Not 2 hours later it's all gone. We were the only people on the pistol side that Tuesday because, well, it's a Tuesday. There were a couple of people who brought some 22's and shot a few hundred but obviously you can't reload that. The only thing in the 2 buckets next to us was 22LR, our 45 reloads, and our steel Wolf which cannot be reloaded.
My brother begins to empty the two buckets we dumped it all in into a small box we had. In comes Eddy the rangemaster! Yay! He's telling us we can't do that because the bucket is range property! Oh, well, okay but it's just our brass. Well then according to Eddy I should just take half of the brass. Well you know what just give it all to him instead. Oh now Eddy is saying we are being to cocky with him over OUR BRASS that is the ONLY STUFF IN THE BUCKET and telling us to leave! Thanks Eddy!
And you want to know the best part about this?
I helped Eddy get into reloading. I used to work at the Reloading Store during it's starting months. While people would browse through and buy items in the storefront, there was the Dillon CV-2001 tumbling his collected 30-30 in the backroom. Me and the other employee Ryan gave him all the info, let him read the Lyman reloading book, and give him employee discounts for all of his reloading supplies.
So back to the story, all three of us left steaming mad because this happened. I thought about posting the incident here that very night, but just brushed it off. Why bother getting mad over 300 pieces of 45ACP brass?
Two months ago my father is happily hitting the 100 yard ram with his Marlin 1894 in 44 Magnum. A couple end up on the floor and are swept up by another shooter next to us, who of course dumps it in the bucket. Hey, no big deal, just dig through and grab a couple of 44 Magnum cases.
"HEY YOU CAN'T BE IN THERE THAT'S RANGE PROPERTY!"
"A couple of my pieces of brass got stuck in there, I'm just digging them out."
"SORRY IT'S RANGE PROPERTY NOW I DON'T WANT THIS TO ESCALATE SIR!"
My Dad just dropped it and brushed it off. He has the patience of a one-armed brick layer in Beirut and there's another time for confronting this.
So I go ahead and hit up the range today to test out my father's newly revamped 1911 by Jim Hoag, and throw a few hundred .223 Remington with the registered AR-15. I don't reload 223 yet because I don't have the money for a Dillon, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let the 3,000 pieces of brass through the upper so far go to waste. I practically get down on all fours and pic all of them up... one by one. I leave the box slightly ajar and put it next to my AR-15. There were a couple of shooters that had a Norinco AK-47 and a brand spanking new SOCOM II. I was in bonertown. Show and tell and trade guns for a while... the typical happy go-lucky time with the gun culture.
Being that it was the second to last cease-fire, here comes Eddy the brass hound. He doesn't even bother with a hello anymore, nevermind the fact that we talked almost every day while I worked there for a few months at the store and as a replacement rangemaster. Whatever, I was too busy enjoying the crispest single-hook AK trigger I have ever caressed. Then in the corner of my eye, not 2 rounds left in the 30 round magazine, he did it. I saw him just let his grasp go of the box as it flailed onto the table.
He took my god damn brass that I singlehandedly picked up with my bare hands.
I flicked the safety, I gave him the look. He didn't even bother taking a look around as he dumped it. He didn't even notice me looking at him as he rolled right to the next brass bucket.
I enjoyed the AK a bit more, really enjoyed the SOCOM, let the guys shoot an AR-15 for the first time, and wrapped it up.
I talked with Dennis the manager and told him next time it happens, I'm emptying every single bucket on the pistol side straight into the trunk of my car just to make sure I get every piece of ****ing brass back. But, knowing Dennis, there won't be any serious discipline against him.
So, anyone want to sponsor me for membership into Burbank Pistol and Rifle club?
One of the few customers who actually knew their stuff and wasn't blabbering about <insert $700 reloading device> will make me get 1 MOA at 1,000 yards and I should only sell that.
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