That moment when your co-worker reaches into a bag of freshly donated bric-a-brac and pulls out a revolver. Yeah. So immediately it was obvious that W wasn’t about to splatter my brains across the back wall but it did run through my mind that this might be the moment that shit goes badly wrong after some dementia addled old age pensioner has decided, for the good of humanity, to donate their loaded service revolver/hand cannon. You know, the one that had been kept under the bed for forty years just incase the Russians or aliens invaded.
Needless to say I calmly sauntered across the room, established that it was not, in fact, loaded, cocked it, squeezed off the action while pointing in a safe area and then peered down the barrel. Turns out that it had been decommissioned. Much yay.