Posted: 1/15/2009 12:07:11 PM EDT
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I had heard there is a show at the convention center starting today through sunday, does anyone know if this is true? I have never seen them open on a thursday. If its true does anyone know what the admission is? I know in the past they have charged $15 for the friday show and $10 on sat/sun.
thanks guys |
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Quoted: FWIW...and for those to lazy to look at the link....this looks like a hunting/fishing show and not a gunshow. Don't want someone going there expecting EBR's and all they see is stuffed deer only to come back here and complain. Yeah, what he said. If you want to pick up beef jerky, crab cakes and stuff like that, this is your event. It is NOT a gun show. |
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Quoted:
Quoted:
FWIW...and for those to lazy to look at the link....this looks like a hunting/fishing show and not a gunshow. Don't want someone going there expecting EBR's and all they see is stuffed deer only to come back here and complain. Yeah, what he said. If you want to pick up beef jerky, crab cakes and stuff like that, this is your event. It is NOT a gun show. If you want beef jerky from a "real" gun show, there is the Philly National Guard Armory show this weekend. 
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Philly shows always sucked!! The first time I went I heard some "urban youth" yelling across the place, "Yo Tisha, how do I look wid dis piece hea yo?"
It's never a good show when you have "urban youths" moving in packs of 10 trying to have their "baby's mama" buy them firearms. At least the PA dealers know well enough to say GFY! |
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The Philly Sportsmens show was such a joke. I thought the Armory show up in Southhampton was quite good. Here's a story I wrote about my experience at each that day:
Last night, I took the kids to my mom's one bedroom apartment in NE Philly. It wasn't sooo bad, I guess. I brought the Wii with us, and we played Mario Kart to help pass the time lol. We did go out to dinner at Hibachi which was fun where I helped myself to a carafe of sake and a pair of Sapporo. After I woke up, the kids decided they wanted to stay another day. I wasn't havin any of that so I left them there. Decided to invite myself to the Philly gun show down at the armory. I graciously accepted. I load up the truck in the 4 degree weather (above zero, btw) and chart a course downtown to 23rd and Market. Parking is flat rate in the city on weekends. Just $15. A bargain I thought... I walk in to an empty armory. I ask a guy where the gun show is, and he tells me it was incorrectly listed on the website, and I needed to go back to 1 and Southhamption. The NG Armory about 2 minutes from my mom's house that I passed a few minutes into my 30 minute trip down... Back in the truck, tell the GPS to take me to US1 and Southampton. Tells me to hang a left on market, and get on the vine street expressway down at 30th street. The Amtrak station is on 30th and market. Guess who was at the train station today? That's right. Fucking Obama... He haunts me. Some innauguration train ride? Police out the wazoo, taxis everywhere, news crews larger than the populations of most small countries. U-turns aren't an option. The gun show turned out to be quite nice, although of course, all of the great deals sold out first thing when they opened and I was "slightly" behind schedule. There were still deals to be had though, and I picked up a half case of 5.56, a .40 mag, some powder and a tactical light. Parking was free! weww heww. I invited myself to the Philly outdoor show while walking around the gun show. This is fun, I'm thinking, lets check out the other. Of course, I accepted my gracious invitation. I'd been to the Philly show in the past, back when it was held in Fort Washington. Wasn't a great show like Harrisburg, but quite pleasant. Nice variety of vendors, and probably a thousand booths. After about a ten minute walk through the NG Armory parking lot lugging a half case of ammo and goodies in single digit temps, I was glad to be back in the truck, and told the GPS to take me to the Valley Forge convention center and the exciting Philly Outdoor Show. I love how she (gps) never argues with me. tap tap tap, Turn right on US Route 1 she says, in a pleasant HAL-like voice. I oblige. 45 minutes and a few cell phone calls later, I arrive at the convention center. I scurry through the parking lot, excited by what I might find. Maybe the Stetson hat I'd been wanting? Maybe a drop in trigger for the AR? In the door, down the stairs, to the right. Lady asks for $10. I hand her a card. CASH ONLY SIR, in that thick downtown philly screw-you-kinda-accent. OK, off to find an ATM, as the little cash I had on me was depleted at the gun show. There's one. Just a few feet away. AHHHH. Stick in the card, type in the pin, accept the $2.95 fee (rape I think to myself, but who cares, this is JEFF-DAY), wait for my cash. "Systems down" the machine replies. WTF? Systems down? Back upstairs to the Raddisson front desk to find an alternate ATM where I am informed that the hotel and center's networks were down and none of the ATMs are operational. There's a Wawa up on Gulph road she smiles politely. hmmmn... ok, whatever, back to the truck. 2.7 miles, to be exact. Looking on the bright side, the trip gave me a chance to get a cheap lunch at Wawa while there, and the ATMs are fee-free. Prolly shoulda stopped there first anyway. Doesn't matter how we got here. Back in the truck. One hand on the wheel, the other around half of a fat Philly Italian Hoagie with a delightful soft roll. Life is good. I wonder if they have beer at the show? They did out in Fort Washington? MMMmmm, that's the ticket. I'm gonna treat myself to an ice cold big tall (probably $10) imported beer, and walk around in wonderlust among all the cool displays of the latest outdoor gear. Life is good. Eagerly, I post up to the ticket counter, and hand over my crisp $20 bill. There's at least $20 there I joked with the lady, wrinkling the fresh new bill to ensure there was just one. She didn't even make eye contact. Fuck you very much, I thought to myself, as I turned and gayly waltzed through the ticket styles––handing my "keep this coupon" red, cheap-o ticket stub to another grumpy old bastard that also didn't look happy to be there. MMMM, there's a fudge dealer on the corner. Rocky road fudge. oh yeah, I MUST have some. Fudge and beer and guns and gear! Does it get any better? Wee! Proudly guarding my celophane wrapped quarter pound of ebony delight, I turned the corner into a room about the size of a McDonalds dining room. I discounted the small room size quickly, assuring myself there must be other connecting rooms. There were about 60 visible booths. I walked past them all. Half were bullshit imported and As-Seen-On-TV crap––including this space aged shammy that can supposedly sop up an entire keg of beer (Im wondering how you could even spill a keg, now that I type this. *shrugs*) and of course the venerable ginsu knife and the scissors that can cut through galvanized steel nipple. The ginsu dude had a fascinating aparatus which allowed a standard microphone to be propped up in this wire frame around his neck. He was working the few people in the room for their attention, much like a Carny guy luring kids to throw darts at balloons. I couldn't be bothered with him. I had cool shit to see, and his didn't rate... There were food booths where one could buy jerky of just about any mammal on earth. There were roasted nut vendors with cashew and pecans and peanuts, and those funky brown nuts that my grandmother referenced by a most inappropriate name. There was fleece configured in every shape and color imaginable. There were unbranded knives, quite obviously asian imports for like 99 cents. Am I being punk'd? Is this some sick candid camera episode? The other half of the booths (about 30) were populated with a pleasant mix of outfitters, boat, atv, argo, and outdoor power tool dealers. Oh, and the PA Game Commission. Lucky fucking me. Not one gun. Not one bow. Not one bullet. Not even a picture of cool stuff that could be ordered now and shipped later? I'm reminded of Christmas Story––the long wait up the stairs to see Santa only to have him tell me I'll shoot my eye out, kick me in the head, and start me down the slide. Fifteen minutes pass. I've seen every booth. I get to the end and look for the hallway. There's got to be a hallway. Where the hell is my beer? Nothing. Curtains. It took me all of 15 minutes to see everything. I'm pissed. Its building. Angry, fiery hot lava, pushing up from my belly button. Somebody's gotta hear about this. This is just wrong. They stole my $10. I don't even care about the ten dollars. I wanted to be entertained damn it. Forget all the bullshit I went through getting there, the gas, the ATMs, the traffic, the fuck you chick at the ticket counter... WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BEER! This inferno of pissed off BOILING magma is about to erupt. I plot a course to the ticket counter. Fuck you chick sees me coming. My gait has changed noticeably from the lawrence welk excited waltz to the not only do I want my ten dollars back, but I demand compensation for this embarrassment of a "show". OK Jeff, deep breaths. Remember, she just works here. Be cool. Just get it out of your system, ask for your money back, and if you don't get it, just leave. Alright. "Hi" I said, faking friendliness. "Listen, I recognize that you probably just work here, but I really need to tell you something". As its coming out of my lips, a guy comes out from behind the curtains in a black long sleeve t-shirt. About my size. Maybe 50 years old. Graying with a beard. Fuck you chick raises an eyebrow and nods as if to say "go on", but remains silent. "I can't believe you charged me $10 to see THAT", as I point beyond the curtain to the carefully hidden eenci weencie joke of an outdoor show on the other side––whatever control I had of faking friendliness evaporating rapidly. Black t-shirt dude asks me calmly, what other shows have you seen that are better? ALL OF THEM I answered. Harrisburg, Christ, even the old Fort Washington show was better than this, and I don't remember them being $10? He tells me he spent $200,000 putting this show together, and my $10 hardly defrays the cost. "Well then you spent too damn much" I yelled back at him. Ya know how sometimes you're flossing your teeth or whatever, and you accidentally get a finger back too far in your throat, and you begin an unstoppable chain reaction of unpleasant events––usually followed by a minute or two of dry heaves? Black t-shirt promoter dude was just the earthquake that started my internal Tsunami. I'm closing in on his beach, and closing in fast. "I'll bet whatever you do, you suck at that too" he shouts at me. FUCK YOU MOTHER FUCKER! I shout back, closing the distance between he and I. I noticed one of Philly's finest closing in from the side. Oh boy, lets not go to jail this afternoon. The hefty, tall and obvious supporter of our President elect was in front of me in the blink of an eye. He made eye contact and told me "time to go, brothah". I nodded back at him, turned and left. |