My old Toyota has something in excess of two hundred eighty thousand miles on the odometer, and despite her leaking, squeaking, clunking, rattling, leaky clutch slave cylinder, and stubborn-when-cold starter, she has never left me stranded. Hell, the air conditioner still works. However, I do get a bit nervous when I have to take it on long trips when timing is critical and a breakdown would be most inconvenient.
So, I rented a car for my six-hour round trip to the dentist the other day. My local Enterprise rent-a-car (at least on the day that I went) was run by the least professional, lackadaisical dipshit I’ve seen in a necktie in a long time.
I arrived at about 0805 – five minutes after they were scheduled to open. The office was dark. Shortly before 0815, this dude rolls up. We do the paperwork and the walk-around, and I’m on my way in a Dodge (spit! Government Motors #2 spit!) Caliber quickly enough. I had reserved a Compact, mostly for fuel mileage reasons, but the Dodge (spit!) was the smallest thing that they had ready, and he was smart enough not to try to charge me more for it.
The vehicle itself was unremarkable. It did what I required of it, without impressing me or pissing me off, so I’ll call that a win.
I returned at around 1715 (that’s 5:15 PM for those of you out there who aren’t familiar with military time). The lights were on, but nobody was home. (I crack me up!) Seriously, the lights inside were on, but the same “we’ve stepped out” sign that was there when I arrived that morning was back on the door, and there wasn’t a soul inside. There were three people waiting to get inside, and since there was this cold, wet stuff falling out of the sky, they weren’t in a very good mood. I really didn’t give a shit. I dropped the key into the lock box and left. Unimpressed with Enterprise.
Wait, I missed part of the story. When we got home, and I dropped off Wifey and The Boy, I found a holster in the back seat. At first, I thought that it was one of mine, and somehow it had spent the day in my jacket pocket without me noticing. Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was a Safariland ALS belt holster, model 6377. It is labeled 6377-919, S&W M&P 45C No Safety. A few seconds on Google turned up this information:
6377-419-411 Smith & Wesson M&P .45 (No Thumb Safety) (4.5″ bbl),Plain,Right Handed, Has the 1.5″ belt slots
Well, I don’t own a S&W of any flavor. I’m still pissed off about the deal that they made with former Jackass of the United States, Billy-Joe-Bob “Bubba” Clinton back about twelve years ago. I warned you, I hold a fucking grudge like no other.
Anyway, back to the holster. Nothing I have fits properly. My Glock 17 slides in OK, but I never carry a wimpy 9mm unless I have to be ultra-discreet, and calling an OWB holster discreet is akin to saying that Lady Gaga’s fashion style meets Amish standards.
Since I was unable to ask the idiots at Enterprise about possibly contacting the previous renter and returning the holster to him/her, I’m offering it to a reader who has the model firearm in question and is willing to pay shipping. I’d really prefer that you not ask for it with the intention of reselling it, but I reckon I’m going to have to trust you on this.
It has been used, but is in very good condition. No, I’m not going to take a fucking picture of it. If you have a 45C without the thumb safety and are willing to send me something less than ten bucks for postage, it’s yours. Don’t be picky.
There is a “contact me” section to your right on the sidebar. Use it if you want the holster. If you aren’t smart enough to decipher my e-mail address, you’re probably too stupid to own a gun in the first place.