I am a very messy person. The inside of my car looks like Hurricane Katrina has made a permanent home in my back seat. So I decided to remove some of the sticky papers and clothes and parking tickets and I found, buried under what I think was an old sandwich, my wedding band. It was covered with raisons and string cheese and whatever else I had eaten last September and I tried to shine it up with my tee shirt. Hmmmm. My wedding band. So I went into the house and for some reason I had saved the receipt after all these years. It cost, with tax, $950.00. That's a lot of money. What to do, what to do. And then I remembered this funny pawn shop in Santa Monica. Now I am sure there are a lot more pawn shops downtown and in all of the other interesting areas of LA, but here I am on the Westside and all I really know about is the shop that I've passed a million times. So armed with my receipt and my ring I went off to get me some cash.
The pawnbroker was not like I had imagined. Of course I was picturing Rod Steiger. (For those of you too young to have seen the movie The Pawnbroker, rent it. It's one of the really good ones.) This guy was more of a scary robber looking kind of guy with a big frightening smile on his face. He looked at the tiny ring, turned it round and round. "I'll give you fifty bucks." "Are you kidding?! This ring is from Tiffanys. I've got the receipt. That's real silver." Then he told me that the most expensive thing he'd ever sold in the shop was one hundred and fifty dollars. And he was certainly not going to sell a silver ring for more than fifty bucks. If he sells it at all. So I decided to keep the ring and on a day when I felt like having an adventure I would drive around LA and look for a better deal.
But I walked outside and there was a homeless woman I'd seen around town for years. She asked for a dollar. I gave her the ring and told her to go into the pawn shop. Fifty dollars for her would be a windfall. She went in and I stood out of sight by the door and heard the guy offer her five bucks. I knew he was a shmuck. So I walked just slightly inside and he saw me and he offered her the fifty bucks. She thought about it. But she decided she'd rather keep the ring. She walked past me, forgetting who I was or just not caring. And she put my wedding band on her finger. I certainly hope she has more luck with it than I did.
Yesterday there was an article in the Calendar section about Blogs. How gratuitous they are and who cares if you think your life is interesting. No one else does!! Personal stories, one person shows. How many people are actually that interesting? That's what the article put forth. And I say, aren't we all interesting? Are you who wrote the article interesting? Should we really care about what you're thinking? Mr. Edward Champion! Now, the article is not all negative. But it does give one pause. (paws) Am I writing for me? Am I writing for you? Why the hell am I writing? And the answer is... I have no idea. I just do it. I think about it and then I write it down. I guess in another age I would be writing this in a journal and hoping that when I die the journals would be discovered and published to great aclaim and I'd be right up there with Mr. Peyps. (I think that's how you spell his name. Or Mr. Peeps. Or Mr. Peepers.) I know I started out writing about having cancer but really, how much is there to say about that. You've got it, you deal with it. And then there's the rest of life which, truthfully, is much more interesting than needles and pills.
I wonder if she's still wearing the ring? I think it's time I threw out the receipt. Yes, it's time.