Tired of the rampant systemic oppression of your people, you ignore the “No Weapons” advisory sign on the door and charge right on through.
Immediately the security guard, a handsome young man no older than twenty-two, approaches you with a surprisingly sympathetic expression on his face. You know what he’s going to say, but it appears he doesn’t really want to say it. The guard is no doubt under the mistaken impression that he is a good man “just following orders”.
“You can’t be here, sir,” he says timidly.
“And why not?” you counter indignantly.
“Because you’re a gun, sir,” he says with a you-should-know-this tone. “Guns aren’t allowed in this building.”
He’s right, of course. You’re an AK-47 assault rifle – a mad one. You’re so mad, in fact, you’re shaking. Your loose tolerances cause your furious quivering to rattle the bolt carrier inside your receiver. A loud and irregular rattle emanates from within you.
The guard hears the rattling and dives back behind his desk. You lose sight of him but assume he’s in the fetal position.
“Racist,” you say as you walk out.