When I heard that there was a shooting range in New York City, I pictured it located on a dark side street or in a sketchy industrial neighborhood. However, when the day of my first shooting lesson arrived, I found myself standing on the corner of trendy 5th Avenue and 20th Street, trying to discern which of the nondescript buildings in front of me was filled with crazed gun fanatics. As I started to panic, thinking I had to be on the wrong street, my boyfriend stepped away from one of the buildings, grabbing my attention. This had to be the place, West Side Pistol & Rifle Range, where we had decided to celebrate our anniversary. If you want to shoot in NYC, West Side is the only range still available to you. For those who don’t already have a gun license or have never shot before, the range requires you to take an introductory safety course. For $65 you get a criminal background check, the gun safety course, 50 rounds to shoot using your newfound skills, and a three month membership to the range.

As we entered the building, barely acknowledged by the bored security guard at the door, we made our way down a set of stairs that led us to the range, tucked away in the basement. The pings of a motion detector marked our descent. It was strange to think that only a few feet from the swanky shopping district, populated with stores like United Colors of Benetton, was a place where people were shooting live ammunition.

No one was at the reception when we arrived, so we sat on the couches in the waiting area. The place was clean, but looked as if it hadn’t been redecorated since the 80s. We sat checking out the holsters, and bullets, and other merchandise for sale behind the counter. “NRA DINNER $65” was written in childlike hand on a poster board hung near the register. On the floor next to my foot something flashed and I picked it up: a tiny golden bullet casing. It was then that I started to get nervous. What was a super liberal, NRA-mocking, born and bred city girl like me doing at a gun range? Was I really about to shoot a weapon that kills innocent people everyday, just for fun?

Before I could chicken out or finish contemplating my ethical issues, my boyfriend and I, as well as several other people who had shown up during our wait, were led into the classroom. The introductory class teaches you how to hold the gun safely, how to load your weapon, and the proper shooting stance. There were about fifteen people sitting at little desks, causing me to have flashbacks to high school. Looking around the room, I was shocked at the diversity of the class. Women outnumbered men, and the students in the class could have been in an ad campaign for the Benetton up the street. It was a bit unnerving realizing that many of these people had as little experience as I did, and could potentially end up firing a deadly weapon in the wrong direction, namely, at me or my boyfriend. Again, it was too late to worry about that. We filled out our waiver forms, releasing the place from liability should we shoot ourselves or someone else, and then the instruction began.

Our instructor was a little overwhelming. He was definitely former military (it appeared that everyone who worked at the range was). He barked out the rules of gun safety, peppering his lesson with inappropriate jokes and every so often staring a student down and bulging his eyes to make a point. If you don’t have a gun license, the only weapon you can use on the range is a .22 rifle. He showed us the parts of the rifle and how they work, the techniques so ingrained that he often didn’t even look at the gun as he deftly worked its small mechanical parts. His voice filled the room as he authoritatively told us ways not to shoot each other later in the evening, but the class was still fun and the students felt free to interact with the teacher. After passing around unloaded rifles so we could practice locking and releasing the safety, checking the chamber for rounds, and loading clips into the gun, we shuffled out from the classroom. We sat at tables outside the actual range, the muffled boom of the guns greeting us as we received our live ammunition. You get 50 rounds with the introductory class, and the rifles hold five rounds per magazine. We loaded our own bullets into the magazines as we waited for our turn to go shoot.

Once we were out on the firing line, “eyes and ears” (i.e., safety glasses and protective earwear) intact, our instructor let us start shooting, correcting our stance as necessary. I positioned myself as he had told us, body slightly turned, butt of the rifle against my shoulder, elbow out. I released the safety, aimed at the target, pulled the trigger and - it was fun! A .22 rifle uses small (but still very dangerous) bullets, so there isn’t much recoil. You can even rest your head on the gun as you take aim. I shot my first five rounds, taking my time to steady my aim, as my arms were shaking from a mixture of fear, adrenaline, and holding the rifle in position for such a long time. When I reeled in my target to take out with me, I had hit mostly near the bull’s-eye. I was a natural! Not really. Over the course of my time on the firing line, sometimes I did well and other times I wasn’t even sure I hit the target. But for someone who had often looked at guns and the people who loved them as something to be tolerated, I realized that shooting really was an enjoyable activity. When you hit the bull’s-eye, it’s the same as hitting a jump shot in basketball or getting a hole in one at putt-putt. I was sad when I ran out of ammo and the fun was over, but I will definitely be using my three month membership again very soon.

Shooting is not for everyone, but it’s something I suggest everyone try. You learn a valuable skill, and you might also learn a little something about yourself.

West Side Rifle & Pistol is located at 20 West 20th Street, New York, NY 10011.