It was common when I was in high school for me to dig deep for milk money and pull several loose .22 rounds out of my pants pocket while sorting my change.
The lunch lady at the cash register didn’t run away screaming and the local police department’s version of a S.W.A.T. team didn’t storm the building.
It was a fact in our rural little town that boys (and a fair number of girls) had and used guns. Seeing them hanging from racks in the rear windows of their trucks parked outside the school building was as unremarkable as it was commonplace.