Marquel was doing nothing when he read Censorship in Your Doctor’s Office. Florida puts gun rights above the right to free speech. This was enough to make Marquel think that perhaps the US should secede from Florida if Florida is too afraid to take the bull by the horns itself.
He read the story and it seems like doctors in Florida are forbidden to ask their patients whether they own a gun. Whether this is really the doctor’s business is debatable, Marquel thought. But whether it could possibly be legitimately criminalized seems beyond debate. Unless you’re the sort that gets excited by seeing athletes say to the camera, “I’m going to Disneyworld.”
There was something topsy turvy going on here and Marquel was determined to identify it. He went out to I95 and hitched a ride down to a swampy place in Florida, Tallahassee, the state capital. Walking through the rather grand state house, he noticed that everybody was staring at him. A couple of people pointed their fingers at him in a gun like shape then blew away the phantom smoke.
“Where your gun boy?” Asked one passerby, and Marquel couldn’t tell if he was being given a command or posed a question.
“I ain’t got one,” he responded, trying to fit into the vernacular, and using an answer that fit both a command and a question.
A crowd formed. They looked at me as a curiosity. I saw they were all wearing handguns and a good half were wearing two. Holy Bat Masterson, I thought.
I found the governor’s office and knocked. The door opened and two burly men whirled me around, pinned me to the wall, and said “No concealed weapons in the governor’s office.”
“I’ve got no concealed weapon,” I protested.
Once again the same question, “Where’s your gun, boy?”
“I ain’t got one. But I’ma lookin’ for one,” I added in an attempt to placate them.
“Jeez, boy, that’s downright dangerous walkin’ roun’ naked like that.”
The governor stepped out of his office. He had two six guns, one holster on each hip. I looked closely and realized, aside from the ivory handles and elephant tusk decorations, that they were S&W Model 500s, only five shots apiece but each one of them .500 caliber, about as deadly a handgun I could imagine.
We went into his office and the governor started doing gun tricks, spinning them on a finger and then flipping then into the other hand, followed by another finger spin, airborne, and then dropping straight into the holster. He may not be very bright, I thought, but he could get a job in any circus.
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” He asked, nudging me out of the corner where I had huddled for safety.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, “I was just concerned for your safety.”
“My safety?” He asked, “I couldn’t be safer.”
“Once you shoot all ten rounds,” I said, “you’re basically defenseless.”
“Wrong,” he said, pressing his arm against his chest, delivering a small derringer into his palm through some sort of spring mechanism.
“Whew,” I said, “now I’m not so worried.”
He smiled and said, “you’ve got good instincts, I like you.” I thought, I bet he tells all the New Yorkers he meets that.
“I wanted to talk to you about the law forbidding doctors from inquiring into gun ownership.”
He leaned back in his chair, smiled, and said, “We just won that one in court.”
“I was sure you would,” I lied, “but I’m wondering whether it’s really going to be effective.”
“You mean doctors will be asking questions like that anyway?” He asked, “I’ve got 500 agents making doctors appointments around the clock ready to shoot any physician who mentions guns.”
“What if they did though? My point is that a doctor’s question can’t possibly convince someone to give up his gun can it?” I asked.
“Are you nuts boy?” He asked, “Do you realize how much eduKAYshun doctors have? They’re downright intimidating. In fact when I go to a doctor, I’m so intimidated by their eduKAYshun I’m almost tempted to follow his advice. Can you imagine what an ordinary citizen might feel?”
“I can’t really say,” I admitted, “but I would think if they’re adult enough and responsible enough to carry a deadly weapon, they can probably withstand a doctor’s words.”
“Wrong,” he said once again. “Do you realize we have the country’s second worst educational system and the lowest IQ in all of North America, including U.S. territories and protectorates?”
“Actually I didn’t realize that,” I answered. “I just know you’ve got a helluva lot of guns down here.”
“That’s cause you’re from New York. Here the people are dumb, D-U-M, they’re easily led.”
“That’s funny because you look happy about that.” I observed.
“Damned right,” he insisted, “I’m like their pappy, they need a leader, and like any pappy I take care of what company my chillun keep.”
“So this law will have an effect after all,” I noted.
He clapped me on the back and said, “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Now you do pappy a favor, will you?”
“Sure, anything.” I said.
He handed me a paper card. “This’ll get you ten dollars back on your parking fee, and the receipt’ll get you ten per cent off at Pappy’s Guns right across the street.”
“I don’t have a car,” I said, so I don’t need the parking card. But thanks.”
“Ain’t no matter,” he said, “a gun’s much more important. Promise me you’ll get one today. Remember, ten per cent off.”
“You bet, Pappy,” I said, inching out of his office.
***
BY MARQUEL: Curb You Gun Enthusiasm, Florida
Seems pretty straightforward to me: the people asking for gun rights have guns, the people on the side of free speech have…, words
Typo(?):
“I ain’t got one,” he responded, trying to fit into the vernacular, and using an answer that fit both a command and a question.
(“I” responded) ?