It was a drizzly Tuesday morning at Crackshot, our little slice of firearms heaven nestled in the rolling hills of Devon. I’d just finished my third cuppa, bracing myself for whatever the day might bring, when the bell above the door chimed. In walked a chap who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a London boardroom – crisp suit, shiny shoes, and a determined gleam in his eye.

“Morning, sir! Welcome to Crackshot. I’m Dave, but folks ’round here call me Trigger. How can I help you today?”

The gent strode up to the counter, all business-like. “I need a new scope,” he announced. “The best you’ve got.”

Now, I’ve learned over the years that when someone says they want “the best,” it’s wise to ask a few questions first. “Right you are,” I said with a smile. “What sort of shooting are you planning? Target? Hunting? Maybe some long-range work?”

He blinked at me, clearly not expecting follow-up questions. “Oh, er… well, I’m going on a… a hunting trip. With some colleagues. In Scotland.”

I nodded sagely, though something about his hesitation made me wonder if he’d ever so much as seen a grouse outside of a fancy restaurant menu. “Scotland, eh? Lovely country. What’ll you be after up there?”

“Oh, you know,” he waved a hand vaguely, “the usual. Big… Scottish… things.”

It took every ounce of willpower not to burst out laughing. I could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to conjure up the name of any Scottish game animal.

“Ah, I see,” I said, keeping my face neutral. “Well, let’s have a look at some options, shall we?”

I led him over to our scope display, pointing out a few mid-range models that would suit a beginner. But he wasn’t having any of it.

“No, no,” he insisted, “I want that one.” He jabbed a finger at our top-of-the-line tactical scope, complete with rangefinder and night vision capabilities. It was a beauty, no doubt, but complete overkill for any legal hunting in the UK.

“That’s a fine piece of equipment,” I said carefully, “but it might be a bit… advanced for your needs. Not to mention, using night vision for hunting isn’t exactly cricket, if you catch my drift.”

He looked crestfallen for a moment, then rallied. “Well, what about that one?” This time he pointed to a spotting scope, the kind used for birdwatching.

I was about to explain the difference when Jeff, my well-meaning but sometimes dim assistant, piped up from behind the counter. “Oh yeah, that’s a great choice for hunting haggis!”

The customer’s eyes lit up. “Haggis! Yes, that’s it. We’re hunting haggis.”

I shot Jeff a look that could have frozen the River Exe, but the damage was done. Our city slicker was now convinced he needed a spotting scope to hunt the elusive haggis.

For the next half hour, I tried every trick in the book to steer him towards a sensible option without outright telling him he’d been had. I explained the differences between riflescopes and spotting scopes, demonstrated various magnifications, and even gave a brief lesson on eye relief.

But he was adamant – it had to be the spotting scope.

Finally, in desperation, I decided to play along. “Well, sir, if you’re dead set on haggis hunting, you might want to consider our special package deal.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Package deal?”

“Oh yes,” I said, warming to my theme. “It comes with the scope, a tartan ghillie suit for camouflage, and a set of bagpipes to lure the haggis out of hiding.”

For a moment, I thought I’d gone too far. But then he nodded enthusiastically. “Brilliant! I’ll take it all.”

As I rang up his purchase, trying to keep a straight face, I couldn’t help but wonder what his “colleagues” would say when he showed up in Scotland kitted out like a deranged Braveheart extra. Still, who was I to judge? The customer is always right, even when they’re spectacularly wrong.

As he left, clutching his new gear and grinning like a schoolboy, I turned to find Jeff looking sheepish.

“Sorry, boss,” he mumbled. “I thought everyone knew haggis was just a bit of fun.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “No harm done, lad. Though I reckon we ought to brush up on our Scottish wildlife before the next city slicker comes calling. Now, how about we take a wee break and rustle up some sandwiches? I’m suddenly in the mood for something… meaty.”

As we closed up shop that evening, I couldn’t help but chuckle. In all my years at Crackshot, I’d never sold a birdwatching scope, a ghillie suit, and a set of bagpipes in one go. But then again, that’s the beauty of this job – you never know what each day will bring. And who knows? Maybe our intrepid haggis hunter will come back with tales of the one that got away. After all, in the world of hunting, the stories are often better than the catch.