Alert: No One Died, But the Ceiling Takes the Fifth

As a small-town newspaper reporter, I didn’t expect much excitement in my day to day routine unless you count the occasional complaint about an unattended cow roaming the rural roads. So I was understandably stunned when my days sometimes ended with me gutted by grief, doubled over in laughter, or questioning my career choices while flashing my camera hoping to distract a charging dog.

Still, I showed up each day, ready to cover city council squabbles or fender bender arguments in the parking lot of the local Dairy Queen. A few times a week, I’d pop into the police station to chat with whichever officers were loitering near the coffee pot, shoot the breeze with the chief, and sniff around for gossip that might qualify as “news” in our little town.

One bright summer day, I walked in, blinked—and did a double take worthy of a cartoon. The walls and ceiling looked like Swiss cheese. Not just a couple of curious dents, but dozens of jagged little holes scattered like the place had hosted a very aggressive dart tournament.

The room got real quiet. Cops started disappearing into offices, bathrooms—one guy seemed to be hiding behind a fake ficus. And there I stood, blinking up at the ceiling like it might explain itself.

In my usual tackful way I blurted, “Uh…are these bullet holes?”

The police chief gave me the ‘evil eye’, cocked his finger, pointed to the door to his office and closed the door behind me.

“Well,” he began, in the tone people use when they’re trying to make a terrible idea sound almost reasonable, “we confiscated a machine gun last night. One of the guys picked it up, didn’t quite know how it worked, and… well, turns out it was loaded. Next thing we know, he’s adding outdoor ventilation to the inside of our building.”

No one was hurt, he assured me. Except, of course, the structural integrity of the building and possibly the officer’s dignity.

I barely made it back to the newsroom, giggling all the way and mentally composing my lead: Local police survive indoor shooting range—self-inflicted. I don’t remember what headline ran on the front page that day, but it probably should have read: “Police Redecorate Station with Gunfire.”