As a freshman in high school, my son was required to make a short movie for English class. He and a friend wrote a script involving their favorite things: the "Call of Duty" video game and "Monty Python." The plot had two soldiers travel back in time to protect a kingdom from a vicious beaver. Pretty typical 14-year-old stuff.
I was enlisted to help out. We set out to film at a hilly, wooded park near home. The boys, dressed in camo and carrying toy airsoft guns, tramped about the park to simulate a Ranger patrol while I filmed.
Most park visitors we encountered were amused by this decidedly amateur production, but not, apparently, everyone. We wrapped up our filming, placed the airsoft guns in a duffle bag, and started back to our car. A park ranger and sheriff were waiting for us.
"Gentlemen," the park ranger called to us. "What's in the bag?" He was leaning back against his car, his body language suggesting a distinct lack of concern.
I told him about our film and the replica guns in the bag. I started to open the duffel for him to see. "Not necessary," he replied, and the conversation moved on to the film permit that fortunately we didn't need.