Tall.... but true!

[Soldierboy]

The tale of the the Norwegian, the ATF and the Big black gun case

Once upon a time, there was a (not so...) young Norwegian, in Norway (where most norwegians usually are.)  He had couple of years earlier, discovered that he was about to turn thirty, and realized that he had to become "something". After much deliberation he found out that he wanted to become a high school teacher (There is a dramatic lack of cowboys in Norwegian schools). Well, after some thinking and applications he embarked on his studies to become a teacher, at he university college in Oslo (the capitol of Norway! See, you learn stuff when you read this), After three years as a student, and always practicing his CAS skills (students can be rough these days) a great opportunity arose. He could do his finishing fourth year of studies abroad. So he started thinking again...

Hmm! He thought, maybe I should go the US, because then I can probably get to play cowboy a lot, and I can go to End of Trail, and all those other neat big matches they have. And hey! I can even go to Texas, that must be a great place for Cowboy Action Shooter to be, Texas is kind of cool (and full of strange and weird people too). So he smiled happily to himself and started the process of going to Texas (Go west, it is peaceful there...) now to play cowboy, one needs guns, (lots of guns in fact, Isn't that kind of a rule?) and those are not the easiest items to transport across international borders. Our Norwegian did not want to break any laws or anything rude like that (maybe except the speed limit now and then, Texans claim it's not a real limit, but more of a guideline...) So he went to that very big place, known as the internet. There he found the castle of those who deal with Alcohol, Tobacco and firearms. (Yes he thought, I do smoke, and I like to drink beer after I have been shooting, so this must be  right place for my quest).

He entered the gates of the ATF fortress carefully, and soon founds rules, regulations and forms! Lots of forms, in fact what he would call, if translated from Norwegian "a ####load of forms!" Carefully our hero scrutinized the different forms and and rules he had to wade through. He even called upon the dour ogres that was working with the forms a couple of times, to find his way around. Finally a he found with the help of the ATF ogre, the NIA 6 form, for temporarily importing firearms to the great land across the sea. He was not planning on staying more than that one year, so the title Non Immigrant Alien should fit rather nicely (Even if he did not hatch from an egg or had antennas sticking out of his head). The form was duly filled out, with lots of numbers and different information on his precious firearms. Invitations to attend shooting competitions was gained from both cowboy friends, IPSC shooters, and even an invitation to shot with the forth worth Police department he got.

So one nice and warm summer day, he wrote a nice and polite letter to the dark master of the ATF. Explaining how he had been accepted as a student at university in Texas, and planned to stay for a whole year in that great lone star state. He then told them, that he would like to bring some of his shooting irons, as he also wanted to play cowboy when he was in Cowboy land. Time went by....

And then one day, in his mailbox he found a lot of bills (as usual...sigh)  but no nothings from the ogres at the ATF castle. Now about a week before the big iron bird would take him across the large bit of water, between viking land and cowboy land, he finally called the ogres again. Very carefully and politely he asked if it might be possible to maybe inquire about how is very neatly form was faring. "GRUNT" the ogre said! We are moving! Everything is delayed! GRR, You civilian mundanes are disturbing us in our important work, bothering us everyday with your petty issues!  (ok... The last part is kind of artistic liberty, but I'm pretty sure the ATF ogre thought it!)

So our guy, had to leave his beloved homeland and those beloved pieces of nicely shaped smoke wagons back home in the permafrost. So he arrived in the state of the star, completely without any kind of dangerous implements or tools. But that would not stop him from wandering across the very big and very flat state, in search of Cowboy matches any way (Homework and studying did that....) But he did get around, and met many nice Cowboy friends, and was always helped out with a gun or two if he needed that. Then one day about a month after he came to that big and kind of united land of states, a phone call came from his homeland. The papers had arrived! (You see, because the application was written in Norway, there was no way in (Very warm place) that the ogres could send the documents to him in Texas. (They had probably already calculated the stamps in their budget, and did not want to mess with that, or something...) So finally after a lot of back and forth and with the good help of a cowboy Pard or two back in the old country, his tools of the trade (That is making a lot of smoke and making metal go "ding!", now and then) was packed up in a big, solid and black golf bag case thingy. Deals were made with someone who would take care of the shipping and everything seemed good. For while waiting for his guns, the cowboy to be, had already gotten a gun cabinet, a friendly blue ammunition puttogether thingy and other neat stuff. (He does admit in very private conversations that he is a "stuffslut") Indeed three moons had waxed and waned during this time, so he could actually legally but some more firearms in this new land. As it turned out, the thing he had to do, to be found worthy of buying firearms in addition to have stayed in Texas for 90 days, was to get a deer hunting license! (so, I guess that means that there is something in the Quoran that says that people who make bombs shouldn't hunt deer, or it breaks the criminal code of conduct or something. At least it cost $23 at walmart. Good and failsafe national security system there...)

But to get back to the story at hand, finally the day arrived, when his guncase should come to the forth worth / Dallas airport. Obediently he went to pick it up, but alas! There was no big black golf bag case with cowboy stuff there for him. But not to worry the gnome working at the desk said! It will be here tomorrow! Good the Norwegian thought, because this is the weekend of thanksgiving, and i will celebrate that somewhere else a long way from this airport, and I have a shoot to go to with my friends (who also would feed him the turkey) on that very sunday. It will be nice and good to go to a shoot with my own friendly and well used guns. The next day he called the airport gnome, and asked politely for his guncase. "Err...." the gnome said. "We haven't received it yet!" Okay, the norwegian thought, and then he asked where it might be and when to expect it? "Err..." the Gnome said, "when I say we haven't received it, I actually mean that no one at all has received it, at all....". The Norwegian thought a lot of things then, which it would be rude to translate into english. So he went away for the Turkey eating and kept calling the airport gnomes every day.  Now, the Turkey was delicious and the company appreciated, but after a day or two without the gnomes being able to tell where the big black guncase was, our inteprid hero decided to go back early, in case the case showed up (Pun intended...) Maybe he could get them in time for the sunday shoot? )he have no idea why he entrained such a silly optimistic thought!) But days came, and days went away, until! Late monday evening his portable telegraph thingy started to chime, a cheerful voice told him. "we have found your case, It is at your airport now, you can come and get it!!"
We the Norwegian boy thought, and threw him self into his rather nice white 1990 Cadillac Sedan Deville (with dark blue leather interior! And a new windshield after he managed to crash with a low flying carrion bird a few weeks earlier...) He whipped all the 145 or so, horses (but kept the speed limit!) And rushed to the airport gnomes.  Now, after he came to the airport (And it is a quite Texan style airport where talking about here, like in BIG!) he realized that he did not know where the cargo gnomes lived, so he called them and got directions. (And when i say i have no sense of direction at all, I actually mean that literally, no joke) After while cruising the not so scenic airport he finally found the gnomes little warehouse and jumped out with a big grin on his face. (And how long do you think that will last, eh?) He almost skipped and jumped as he went up to the big tall ominous looking desk, where a gnome greeted him.
He would like to pick up the shipment of firearms, the norwegian explained. "Err..." the gnome replied. "it seems that there is a slight problem..."and tried to look embarrassed.  HUH? The norwegian uttered! And he thought something that probably would be translated like this: #¤%&/[{€$£§¤%@##!!!!   "you see..." the gnome mumbled, "it appears it has not been cleared by customs yet..."  the poor alien (non immigrant as such, still no antennas, but at this time his skin was kind of turning in to a funny color...) sighed deeply, and asked where customs where, he got the directions but the gnome added in a cheerful voice "they're closed now... Comebacktomorrow?". Well, not a weak man to be stopped by minor setbacks, the Norwegian rode his carriage back home, while playing some really loud, heavy and angry music... The next day, he arose with a smile on his face. Today is the day he was thinking to him self, finally after over three months I will have my babies again! (wanna bet...?) He rode his carriage out to gnomeville again, and after a few other scenic tours of the airport and its surrounding area, he kind off accidentally found the office of the department of homeland security (!). He entered through the door slowly, looking around in the small room. He bravely went up to the desk, where a clipboard was lying, along side the instruction to sign in. He grabbed one the pens (Really, I'm not making this up, the kind of pens that have huge fake flowers taped to their ends, a hole vase of them!!) And wrote his name. Now as it turned out, the customs persons were really nice and friendly, and when the Norwegian said that the original papers and approved import permit were shipped with the big black case, they went down to the continental cargo gnomes and looked for them... Shock, surprise and horror! The papers were not in the box! The papers were nowhere, the gnomes didn't know anything (Except that the case apparently had been shipped to germany and back for some unfathomable reason). As the story goes, the nice customs person tried calling the ATF ogres, to se if they could fax a copy of the permit. (And he was at a pint standing with a phone in each hand to his ears!) But Ogres said NO, and then they probably said NO, A few extra times as well. Now, as it turns out, the shipping agency that the Norwegian had used did indeed have a office just across the street from customs. Our hero ( the poor sap...) ran across the street and went into the office, It was the wrong one.... That office was only domestic (like in domestic cats???) but hey told him where to go to find import and export! And so he did (After going around a while and seeing many nice new roads and warehouses) At the new office, they said "Sorry for all the mess" while they held up really sad looking eyes. And then they promised to get his papers, or at least copies of such for him. Again, the Cadillac carriage had to return to the worthy fort in Texas, without any guns...  The next day arrived and not completely without doubt, the foreign cowboy went back to airport an the nice customs people, he had with him all the papers he needed and a bona fide genuine copy of his approved import permit, listing all the guns he wanted to import (kind of obvious...) The nice customs persons looked at hi papers and thought it looked both right and good, but just to make sure (since it was a copy and not an original...) the called the ATF ogre... And the ATF Ogre said "NO, this is not right!!! The Norwegian has been in Texas for more than ninety days! He his now a a Texas resident And not a non immigrant alien! That import permit (approved and okayed by the atf, along with the letter that stated the length, duration and where he would live...) is the wrong form!!! No, no, no, It Can't be done! NO guns for the Norwegian (Who has a deer hunting license so he could go to the nearest gun shop and buy any kind of firearm legally and approved by the same ogres...) He must make new application on right form, that will be five weeks!!!.
Despair was close at hand! Was there no end to this? Now the big black case would have to be shipped to some remote central warehouse somewhere in the very big nation of (more or less) united states.  Alas.. All stories need a good ending, and a kind of one actually appeared. For the very nice customs persons said to the lost boy. "you know... We can give the guns to someone with an FFL to keep them while you get your right form approved" And then in hushed voice they admitted that the ATF ogres were not their favorite associates either. As far as they could understand and all, the Norwegian was a non immigrant alien, and he had a big cowboy hat and a very big brass belt buckle that said TEXAS, so he was probably a good guy anyway. (How does that saying go? My enemy's enemy is my friend... Or something) As fortune would have it, the Norwegian had traded with a friendly cowboy gun dealer a few weeks earlier, and he quickly pulled out his mobile telegraph thingy. A quick call, and a rather hurried explanation (Which it was kind of hard to get the FFL guy to believe...) the cavalry arrived at the last scene of this story in the form of the most honorable and perfectly swell FFL guy Brother Dave of Arlington. So now, the big black case and all the nice firearms within, is safely stored at a fellow cowboy friend. So all that remains is to fill out the right form and get it approved (which inncidentely will import the firearms permanently to the US, so if the Norwegian would want to bring them back again he will need an export license...)

Oh powers above! Why couldn't I be really interested in knitting, collecting stamps or something....

Not even roughly based on a true story, as it is all true (except a few parts and shortcuts, there was actually a bit more of going back and forth) The name of the innocent has not been altered, because I believe Bro'Dave of Bro'Daves gun is a tremendously nice guy, and a true follower of the "cowboy way" (And that you all should buy guns from him, if you need some!).


John "Soldierboy" Hancock
SASS # 33884
Also known as
Jostein Hassel and a lot of variations to that name....

[Joyce (AnnieLee)]

Oh, my lands!! 

Soldierboy, that has to be the BEST tall tale I have read in a very long time! Gads, you had me laughing while at the same time, I was wincing in empathy for everything the Ogres put you through!  I am so glad Bro Dave was able to help you.

Thank you, thank you, for crafting the tale and sharing it with us.



AnnieLee

[Forty Rod]

Now, you can't have us beleive that there aren't Bureuacratic gremlins, ogres, and trolls in Norway, can you?

Think of all the fun you'll have returning with your guns.

Take a tranquilizer, a bottle of booze, and a Midol and have a good weekend.