Glock 19s are like roaches, they’re everywhere. It’s the gun to get when you don’t know what to get, or the gun you come back to because you figured out it’s the only gun to get. It’s the one gun option, the Swiss army knife of the gun world; the handgun goldilocks would conceal carry, if those pesky bears had followed her into the forest after eating their food.
It’s boringly reliable, the gun you bring home to your parents, only to leave the house and grab the 1911 when they’re not looking. The 1911 isn’t as reliable but the unknown excites you, until you remember you might have to save your life with it one day. The 19 is for the shooter, who treats range days not as an event or weekend activity, but as a training session, with the piece of metal and plastic that spends a majority of the day sandwiched between his hip and raw denim jeans. The gamer that wants to play how he might have to fight. The daughter who comes home late at night, The Glock 19 has carved a spot in our life by doing everything well enough. The Glock 19 is the nice guy who wins.
