The Summer of Free Ice-Cream (A Running Tally)

Saying that I love ice-cream is an understatement. A more accurate phrase would be that I am obsessed with ice-cream. To provide some degree of perspective into my zeal, I would have you know that there was a point in my life (a fairly recent point) when I was eating ice-cream daily. I would buy it gallons at a time and eat directly out of the large 5-quart tubs. But due to a concern about my financial budget and general health, I decided to moderate my consumption. I struggled with this for months, attempting to quit cold turkey, but returning to the ice-cream isle each week and peering through the glass doors for sales. I was never able to fully wean myself off that most supreme of desserts, but I felt that I developed a more moderate and healthy relationship with ice-cream. That relationship, however, has been sacrificed. Past goals of moderation be damned, I am about to embark on what will henceforth be known as THE SUMMER OF FREE ICE-CREAM.

I previously worked at a Dairy Queen and consumed many gallons of my sweet addiction, but that former job did not provide me with undeterminated amounts of free ice-cream. I was able to drink free shakes and an occassional ice-cream blunder, but I had to pay half-price for most of what I wanted. My current summer job, on the other hand, promises to provide me with all of the ice-cream I could possibly desire while on breaks. I have heard beautiful tales of their break rooms. Break rooms stocked with a dazzling array of delicious ice-cream things. I have also heard tales of how if there is something lacking in the break rooms that the employees are free to waltz (others may not waltz, but, believe me, I will waltz) over to a production line, grab a case of whatever they desire, and then retreat to the break room with the captured bounty to gorge themselves. After I am through with this job, the company may change their policies due to it being abused. There is a strong chance I may ruin this free ice-cream perk for everyone, but I don't care. Just as long as the benefit is removed AFTER I have bid my farewell. Otherwise, I will riot.

Being the obsessive monster that I am, I have a goal of tracking every ice-cream treat I will blissfully consume this summer. I will be updating this blog entry regularly with all of the ice-cream things I have eaten. Check back regularly for updates.

THE LIST OF FREE GOODNESS

2 - Pieces of ice-cream cake (this was free, but pre-employment)
1 - Double scoop waffle cone (this was free, but pre-employment)
1 - Double scoop sugar cone (this was free, but pre-employment)
1 - "Goliath Ice-cream Sundae" (consisting of 12 scoops of ice-cream and three toppings)
52 - Ice-cream candy bars
10 - Fudgesicles
1 - Orange/Vanilla Treat
1 - Root Beer Float creamsicle
40 - Orange Sherbert push-ups
2 - Orange Sherbert squares
2 - Popsicle
7 - Rainbow sherbert push-ups
5 - Ice-cream bar
6 - Miscellaneous ice-cream treats
4 - Cookies N Cream ice-cream waffle cones
1 - Vanilla and hot fudge waffle cone
2 - Vanilla waffle cone
1 - Banana Split waffle cone
2 - Peanut Butter Parfait treats
3 - Vanilla with carmel and brownie waffle cone
9 - Vanila with carmel ice-cream waffle cones
2 - Cookie Ice-Cream sandwich
5 - Chocolate ice-cream waffle cone
24 - Strawberry crunch bars
22 - Chocolate crunch bars
5 - Turtle ice-cream treats
1 - Frozen yogurt square
1 - Strawberry fruit bar
4 - Toffee ice-cream bars
1.375 Gallons - Chocolate and Caramel ice-cream
1/2 Gallon - Strawberry ice-cream
1/8 Gallon - Cherry Nut Fudge ice-cream
1/2 Gallon - Hot Fudge Sundae ice-cream
1.75 Gallons - Tin Roof Sundae ice-cream
1/4 Gallon - Strawberry Cheesecake ice-cream
1/4 Gallon - Butter Toffee ice-cream
1.5 Gallons - Rocky Road ice-cream
1.125 Gallons - Cookies'n'Cream ice-cream
1 Gallon - Cookie Dough ice-cream
1/8 Gallon - Blueberry Pomagranate ice-cream
3/8 Gallon - Neapolitan ice-cream
1.125 Gallons - Birthday Cake ice-cream
1/4 Gallon - Caramel Pecan ice-cream
3/8 Gallon - Chocolate Brownie ice-cream

Beginning Weight : 178     Current Weight : 177.5

last updated : 23 July 2011

What a joy it will be to watch this list grow and grow and grow all summer long. And what an even great joy it will be when I remember that all of it was free.

Selling My Soul

As stated in a previous blog entry (see Changes Are Coming), I had been planning to leave my job at the pawn shop in the hopes of becoming employed at an ice-cream factory for a change of pace and higher wages over the summer. Done and done. I submitted an online application to this ice-cream factory several weeks ago and received a reply that I was REQUIRED (yes, it was in bold and caps lock in the e-mail they sent me) to attend what they called a Career Fair.

When I think of a Career Fair, I think of those things colleges set up to help students get internships or summer jobs which will provide useful experience to aid them in advancing in their future professional fields. This Career Fair, however, was nothing more than a hiring blitz this company regularly conducts throughout the summer to find much needed temporary help. Hundreds of people show up, fill out applications, are interviewed, and are hired on the spot. Thus, the stipulation for me to attend this meant that they wanted to mix me in amongst the droves of people they planned to interview and hire. But it doesn't matter that the label of Career Fair was just a shameless attempt to inject pride and legitimacy into what they were doing because I knew what I was getting myself into and I was doing it strictly for the money. I'm like a prostitute like that. It's okay.

So, the Career Fair was situated in a community center and I got there right before the masses really started filing in. There were several steps throughout the hiring process, but while I waited for this process to begin, I was seated in an area where there was a TV showing a video of various production lines, and it looked miserable. People moving boxes off conveyor belts or mechanically filling boxes with frozen treats. That was it. No cheesy smiles or thumbs up. To be honest, I think the video was meant to scare away the people who didn't realize that production is not terribly unlike the eternal torture poor Sisyphus (the guy who pushes the boulder up the hill in Hell for eternity) must endure. Luckily, I was given a tip.

There are a couple summer positions open, but my brother-in-law (who currently works for this company) told me to ask about a job in sanitation. Someone in production either fills product into machines, makes sure the machines are making the treats properly, fills boxes, or moves boxes from location A to location B. Someone in sanitation, on the other hand, moves around the entire plant and takes apart, cleans, and reassembles machines. Apparently, this is better because it provides you with more mobility throughout the day and is not quite as painfully monotonous as being on a production line.

The Career Fair was composed of several steps: preliminary interview, comprehension testing, final interview, paperwork, all of which were interspersed with healthy doses of waiting. For me at least, the Fair went smoothly. The man who conducted my final interview ended up knowing my brother-in-law and thought very highly of him. Hooray for in-laws!

One thing I found disconcerting was how miserable and exhausted the man conducting my interview looked. He didn't attempt to reassure me that the job wasn't going to be horrible. All he seemed able to do was look at me with this pitiful deadness in his eyes. It was obvious that he hated his job. This was not a good sign, but I only have to put up with this for two months. I can do this.

In the end, I was offered a position in sanitation (pending I successfully pass a drug test and physical) at 11/hour and 60+ hours a week. Money, money, money! I know that the man who interviewed me looked like he wanted to kill himself, but I respect him for his scruples. He could have lied about how interesting and rewarding the job was, but he didn't. Besides, my current naivety convinces mto to think that my new job won't be that horrible. I will get to dissemble all kinds of machines, which sounds pretty cool to me. Plus, I get paid pretty well and get free ice-cream while on the job. That's really all I need. I would sell my soul for free ice-cream, and, in a way, I am.

Today, I went to the drug test and physical. The drug test should be self-explanatory, but the physical was a bit more interesting. I had to prove that I could lift and move around various things of various weights. I also had to squat and hold my wrists in strange positions. I squatted and walked across a room on my heels. I told them what colors I saw on a wall. I squeezed and pinched devices that measured how much pressure I put on them. I even flapped my arms a little bit. It was kind of silly, but the worst part was how impersonal the woman doing my physical was. She didn't feign a smile or indulge in chit-chat whatsoever. I have concluded that this woman also hates her job. And to add to the list, my brother-in-law has told me that he wishes he could quit everyday. I recently met a friend/co-worker if his who also told me the same. Everyone--literally everyone--that I know who works for this company has either told me or given off obvious signs that they hate their jobs. This should be interesting.

My Last Day Mistake

At last, The Great and Dreadful Day has come and gone, and I can now officially say that I am finished with my pawn shop career (even though I may consider working at a pawn shop where I’m moving since I am led to believe it would be more exotic), and what a career it was.

Over all, nothing terribly exciting happened on my last day at the pawn shop. I was in a really good mood for the most part. I smiled a lot more than I generally do because I couldn’t hide my thankfulness for leaving behind the many annoyances of the pawn shop (understaffing, overworking, not getting breaks, dealing with stupid customers, dealing with moody managers, haggling, having more merchandise than we can sell and not knowing where to store it in our already overflowing warehouse). Like I said before, it’s not that I hated working at the pawn shop, but it definitely had its low points. But, other than my blatant euphoria, there is one story I would like to relate about my final day.

It begins with a slightly annoying woman entering the pawn shop with the purpose of buying an MP3 player me being the unfortunate employee who was wrangled into helping her find what she wanted. After finding an MP3 play that satisfied her, she realized that she also needed to buy headphones.

The pawn shop has several varieties of headphones. We have some pretty nice used Turtle Beach ones and then we have brand new ones which are very cheap. The woman was, of course, interested in the cheaper headphones, and, for some reason, I told her how it seemed like the headphones she was buying tended to fall apart soon after being purchased.

Well, guess what happened. The woman bought the MP3 player and headphones, the headphones fell apart, and the woman returned with the shoddy headphones in hand. Only, this time, she came across the store manager instead of me and explained the situation without forgetting to include the detail of how I had warned her of the potentially shoddy craftsmanship of the headphones she was purchasing.

What an annoying, tactless woman.

Of course, I had no idea that the woman was returning the headphones (and MP3 player, too. It turns out the headphone jack was stripped). I was just going about my business, unsuspecting any pending chastisement, when the store manager approached me and said she did not appreciate me telling customers that our merchandise was crap. She then asked why I had never said anything about the headphones breaking so often before that and why I would have sold the headphones if I had known they were worthless.

I explained that I wasn’t talking bad about the merchandise, but that I was more or less thinking aloud. I had seen three pairs of those headphones turned because they had “fallen apart” on the customer, but it hadn’t been until then that I had connected the dots and considered the fact that they were all poorly made.

Oops.

There wasn’t much more that I could do other than apologize and I did that and then went back to work. I felt horrible, but, eh, I made a mistake and it was my last day. Did I really care that much? Maybe I should have, but I didn’t.

Roaches, Roaches Everywhere

So, the overnight study last night was one of the most gruelling experiences of my life. I got up yesterday at 7 am, worked 10 hours, and then went to the study and had to struggle to stay awake until 5:30 am this morning. During my final drive (which began at 4 am), I couldn't stay awake. I don't even remember falling asleep, but there was one point when the driving simulator started to rumble and I opened my eyes and I was going off the road! And even though there was no chance of me getting harmed, it still made me nervous to fall asleep behind the wheel.

Moving on, today was my second to last day at the pawn shop and I have decided to briefly share several experiences I've had with cockroaches. Yes, the pawn shop has a cockroach problem. But I must say that these  "cockroaches" are not what the usually think of when I hear that word. I suppose they're legitimate cockroaches, but these are much smaller and less disgusting. To be honest, we think most of them get into the pawn shop riding in the things our beloved customers bring in. Just lovely.

Alright, here we go:

1) See Cockroach Gumballs.

2) Similar to Cockroach Gumballs, we found additional roaches in a candy machine, scurrying across the Peanut M&Ms and darting in and out the gaps between them.

3) One day, I was warming up my lunch in the microwave in the break area. The timer went off, as they tend to do, and when I opened the door, a cockroach scurried out. I think it was just hiding in the space between the door and the unit since it probably would have died if it had been inside the microwave while it had been running. Or at least that's what I told myself while I ate my lunch.

4) I was ringing someone up at a counter and looked over towards the rack where we display all our DVDs. It's a free standing unit on wheels, so you can easily see under it. And under the DVD rack was a cockroach slowly crawling along the length of the rack. I had the sudden urge to run over and crush it, but I stopped, knowing that it would draw more attention to the pest than should be.

5) I was cleaning something when a co-worker approached me. She had been showing a customer a set of surround sound speakers when the customer noticed a baby-sized cockroach staring out of one of the speakers at her. Unsure of what to do, this co-worker asked me what we should do about that. I looked over where the customer was and saw her stomping her foot on the ground. Apparently, the problem had already been solved.

6) I was showing someone some of our watches that were in what we call The Bling Case (the glass display case where we have our cheaper watches and gawdy, fake jewelry, among other things) when a cockroach ran across the glass top of the case. The customer noticed this and announced it to the world. Wanting to avoid even more embarassment, I did the only thing I could think to do. I swept the roach onto the floor with my hand and stepped on it until it stopped moving.

Looking at this series of stories, I would have you know that the pawn shop where I work is not filthy or completely overrun with nasty bugs. All of these stories occured throughout my entire pawn shop career, which spanned the past 10 months. Although, come to think of it, four of these six experiences did happen during the past few weeks. We do have an exterminator that comes once or twice a month, but I think it's time we get a new one. This guy seems pretty worthless.

The Knife Guy

There are two things I would have you know:

#1) This is my 100th blog entry! Wooooo! Wooooo! Party!

#2) I am writing this while participating in an overnight study for drowsy driving. I will be staying up overnight and randomly driving a very expensive and complex driving simulator in order to aid scientists in understanding the effects of driving while not fully rested. I have been fitted with an EEG (a connected series of sensors which have been glued to my head to monitor my brain waves) and am already feeling tired even though it's only 8:30. Give me a break, I got up at 6 am and worked 10 grueling, busy, understaffed hours at the pawn shop. I have a feeling I am going to fail one my drives. I kind of hope I do. I've even contemplated running over a child on purpose. It makes me wonder if the simulator will shake like a real car would if you hit someone or something, or multiple someones or somethings. Buahahaha.
And now on my official 100th blog entry! Today, I wish to tell you about a frequent customer who will be henceforth be referred to as The Knife Guy. He is a short man with coke-bottle glasses. Whenever he comes in, he always immediately heads towards the knife section of the store. He peers through the glass and asks if we have any new knives we will be putting out soon. He's always looking for something new and is in at least two times a week. He's a nice enough guy, but his zeal for weaponry is a little disconcerting. And then there is the odd fact that he is always wearing these wrist braces on each wrist. It just adds to the air of strangeness.

The other day, I was showing The Knife Guy--surprise--a knife from our knife case. He handled the knife and then informed me that it wouldn't work because it didn't fit into the area between his thumb and pointer finger, which was rigid due to the hard-shelled brace he wore.

Feeling brave, and a bit rebellious as reckless since I only had a few days of employment at the pawn shop ahead of me, I asked The Knife Guy what had happened to his wrists. He didn't seem put off by it at all and responded that he had obtained his injuries while working at a hospital while applying anesthesia to a patient. According to him, the anesthesia made the patient violent and she attacked him, biting one thumb and almost ripping it clean off and janking the other one out of its socket and twisting it around until the bone and tensions and nerves had all snapped. The braces, he told me, held his thumbs in a rigid position so he would be able to get some use out of them. Otherwise, his thumbs were useless.

A couple of days later, The Knife Guy came back into the store. He rarely finds any knives he wants to buy. He's looking for actual weapons and functional blades rather than the "wall hangers" that make up most of our knife merchandise. But, this time, he found a small sheathed machete that he wanted to purchase.

I ended up ringing up his purchase and was informed that he was buying the machete for his five year old nephew. I asked him if his nephew's parents would appreciate that, and he assured me that they would. It may have just been the pride of a loving uncle, but The Knife Guy said his nephew was a natural with guns and knives. Why, when he was four years old, I was told, this young lad shot a hole through four watermelons right in a row with some kind of low-powered firearm. The Knife Guy said he wanted to sharpen the blade and then let his nephew walk around the woods with his new machete.

Now, I may be wrong, but that seems like a bad idea.

It made me think of The Sword-Wielding Possum Slayer (see The Sword-Wielding Possum Slayer). It seems very obvious that The Knife Guy's nephew and this kid should be friends since they seem to have so much in common . . . inappropriate weaponry being given to them . . . being allowed to be unattended in dangerous situations . . . stupid adults destroying their lives . . .

On the other hand, I just watched Kick-Ass for the first time and I loved it. That little girl was so cute with her plethora of weapons and skills of mass killing. Maybe we need more children like that in the world and these two boys will be them. I see two possible options for the lives of these boys. Either they will become spunky and cool, yet restrained and mature, or they'll become serial killers. Only time will tell.

They ARE People

I will shamefully admit that I sometimes forget that the customers who come into the pawn shop are actual people. A lot of them just seem so single-minded (see Chester) and over the top (see Quote Vote) that they seem more like characters from SNL skits rather than complex human beings. Well, faithful reader, I will relate to you a handful of experiences that have reminded me that these people do not simply materialize outside the pawn shop doors, but that they exist independent of the pawn shop and live daily lives.

1) My Twins' New House  --  My Twin (see My Twin) recently moved into a new home with his fiance, and a week hadn't passed before they realized they had moved into what appears to be an epicenter of our pawn shop patrons. Sadly, a lease was already signed before this discovery was made.

Experience A : My Twin was relaxing out on his front porch, enjoying a beer in the spring weather, when a series of police cars came skidding to a halt just a few houses away. A number of officers entered the home and then brought out a woman in handcuffs moments later. Instantly, My Twin noticed the woman in custody as a frequent customer and attempted to hide his face. Apparently, this woman had a restraining order put against her which required her to stay away from the house where she had just been in. He learned all of this and much more thanks to all of the shouting that was going on. "I know I'm not supposed to be here, but he takes care of me! He takes care of me!" she kept screaming. And then in an attempt to convince the officers of her innocence, she began to plead with them. "Why are you arresting me?! I didn't do anything! I was the one who was attacked! Look at my finger! Look at my finger!"

Experience B : Another day, My Twin was sitting out on his porch (which we now see is a bad idea) when a customer approached him. This customer is very tall, very large, and mentally handicapped. He is very gruff and demanding when he comes into the pawn shop and is perhaps the most volatile person I have ever met. Once, he even picked up a little person (see There Is No Way of Saying This Without Offending Someone). Anyway, this man simply approached My Twin's porch, climbed the stairs, threw himself down into a chair, and began to discuss pawn shop matters, something I'm sure My Twin was not thrilled about. As the continued talking, it was revealed that this man lives only two blocks from My Twin and walks past his own on a regular basis.

Experience C : My Twin was cutting his grass one day and took a break in the middle of it. While he was leaning upon his mower, he overheard a man and a woman arguing from next door. Their windows were open and he could clearly hear them heatedly discussing how much they would be able to get if they brought in a certain item for a pawn loan. The woman kept telling the man to bring in the item because My Twin would give him a specific amount, but the man kept saying "No, he won't." The woman continued to insist that My Twin was a nice guy and would give them the amount they needed, but the man continued to deny her assurances until finally he explained himself. "He won't give me $X because he's RIGHT THERE!" and pointed to My Twin through the window. At this point, My Twin hurriedly went back to mowing.

2) Mr. Congo -- There is a certain Congolese man (who will henceforth be referred to as Mr. Congo) who frequents the pawn shop for payday loans, or, even more often, to buy electronics to send back to Africa. He is a very, very nice man, but he can be very bothersome because he buys many things (video cameras, projectors, etc) and then returns them the next day because he either doesn't like the item or can't figure out how to work it. Thus, this man comes in a lot and I know him by name.

This past weekend, after attending the graduation ceremony of a friend, Mr Congo appeared out of nowhere and shook my hand. Surprised, I did the polite thing and said hello and introduced him to my friends, one of which spoke fluent French, Mr. Congo's native tongue.

Mr. Congo and my friend began to chat warmly in French for a few minutes. After the conversation ended and Mr. Congo had departed, my friend revealed some shocking details about Mr. Congo's past. Apparently, Mr. Congo had been in the Congolese military years back. Well, while Mr. Congo was in Congo, there was a shocking amount of civil unrest and those who had formerly served in the military were being hunted down and killed by a certain group. As it turns out, Mr. Congo had an identical twin, and he watched this twin be killed in front of his eyes because the killers thought he was his twin. It was at this point that Mr. Congo fled his home country and came to The United States for safety. I can't even imagine how horrific that must have been, being hunted down, seeing your brother killed because he was believed to have been you, and then having to flee halfway around the world. The oddest thing about this was how nonchalantly Mr. Congo revealed all of this to my French-tongued friend. It was like he was telling him about a boring weekend.

The Last Days

This past week has been insane. Between working Monday through Friday from 8 am to 7 pm (sometimes even later) while being severely understaffed, planning a bachelor party (which involved recruiting one of my friends to play the part of a stripper to fool everyone into thinking we had an actual stripper and then spraying them all with silly string), attending said bachelor party, packing to move this coming weekend, selling furniture and personal belongings on Craig's List, being in charge of setting up and running a wedding reception, executing said wedding reception, attending a graduation ceremony, and getting some small amount of sleep, I haven't been able to do much of anything else. It has been a very productive week outside of my blog endeavors, but I promise to do better as I enter my final week at the pawn shop.

I have a number of great stories in mind, so, stay tuned this week, as we enter THE LAST DAYS. These final entries will be awesome. I promise.

Naughty Bear

Something I saw today at the pawn shop had my heart racing like it hasn't raced in quite some time. Behold!

A video game?
Of a scarred teddy bear that looks very pissed off?
Holding a huge knife?
With a terrified bear reflected in the dangerous blade?

WHAT?!

After my brain had processed all of these tantalizing tidbits of visual stimuli, my immediate response was "I need to buy this game! But, wait, I don't have an XBOX. I need to buy an XBOX!"

Instead, I decided to see if they had a version of it for Wii (as I already am the happy owner of one of this gaming system). Sadly, there is no Wii version of the game, but that may not be such a bad thing. The information I found on the game was less than stellar.

Apparently, people have called this game "boring" and "repetitious" and as "having no plot". It was berated with the shameful title of Worst Game of the Year and received very low marks from numerous gaming magazines, critics, and gamers.

But, my question, is how can this be? Not that I'm saying these hundreds, possibly thousands, of people are idiots and that they are dead wrong. Nor am I saying that they are neither sophisticated nor disciplined enough to discover the subtle ingenious sparks hidden throughout the game. But while reading the description of the game's various levels, I was left in awe at the staggering randomness. Here are some examples (thanks to our omniscient and omnipotent friend Wikipedia):

"The episodes that follow have Naughty deal with a variety of unusual events: fighting ninja bears to take out Mayor Chubby whose re-electoral promise is to kill off Naughty; battling the military to punish Cozy for using birds to spy on him; killing Nibbles for raising the Un-Ted; fighting his way through the Bear Emergency Action Response (BEAR) unit to kill oil baron Trembles for intending to kill Naughty and build an oil rig over his hut; and executing Fluffy for unknowingly threatening all existence while taking down his robot bear army.



In the seventh episode, a bear named Sunbeam makes contact with aliens. However, the aliens enslave the bears and take over the island. After killing the aliens and Sunbeam, Naughty Bear is congratulated by the other bears for his effort, and was even offered a cake. However, Daddles smashes the cake in Naughty's face, humiliating him in front of all the bears on the island as they all played him. Heartbroken, Naughty Bear goes back to his hut, but not before he destroys the cabin all the bears are in with an RPG."

There are few things in this world that I find as equally or more mesmerizing as what has just been described, but, then again, that's me.

Having said all this, I wanted to put in a shameless plug for my other blog. DEAD TEDDIES. Perfect segue, huh? Anyway, check it out at http://www.deadteddies.blogspot.com/. Maybe this is why I find this game so exciting, because my mind is linked to the mind of the creator of Naughty Bear in inexplicable and vague ways--which should not be confused with "not at all". But, of course, my poetry, crafting, and blog will get much better reviews than the game of my mind-friend.

Timeless Pawn Shop Question #2

There are some questions which simply cannot be answered -- Did Courtney Love kill Kurt Cobain? How can people honestly believe that Elvis was abducted by aliens? -- You know, stuff like that. 

Well, the realm of the pawn shop also has questions that are just as perplexing.

Timeless Pawn Shop Question #2:

Since when did paying sales tax become optional?

I cannot tell you how many times customers have squawked about paying sales tax. They seem so upset about it, shocked at the often negligible increase in price. I've often thought it would be nice if retailers would include sales tax in the prices they post (for example, listing DVDs as $21.40 instead of $19.99), but since the retail business doesn't function in such a manner, I've learned to automatically tack on that extra 7% onto my purchases. I thought every adult had come to that point. I was wrong. Very wrong. There are many of my fellow adults out there who try to get us to lower the price of our items in the amount of the tax so it appears as if they are not paying tax ("appears" is the key word here since we just lower the price and they are charged tax anyway, but the lowered price and tax equal the originally listed price, creating the illusion they are not paying taxes). It makes me want to stab them.

(See also Timeless Pawn Shop Question #1)

Ancient Loans

I spend a lot of time in the warehouse where we store our pawn loans (see Loan Walking), so I really can't help but notice a few things. I get to see all of the strange loans that come into the pawn shop (the most recent being a glass case housing the complete set of KISS Barbie dolls), but I also notice other things, like how some of the paper bags in which we store many smaller loan items (such as DVDs, video games, digital cameras, etc) are turning colors because they are getting that old.

After spotting these discolored bags and then looking at the loan tags (stickers stating the loan number, customer name, and date when the transaction occurred), I found a number of unbelievably old loans. There is a cheap video camera from February of 2010, an XBOX 360 from January of 2009, a microwave from June of 2008, and--get ready for this--a trumpet from July of 2007. I can't believe it. Some of the customers at the pawn shop have been paying on the same loans for coming up on four years. FOUR YEARS!

After doing a little bit of math, I have put together some rough estimates of how much these foolish customers have paid in interest on their loans thus far.

Video Camera -- $20 loan -- February 2010 -- 15 months -- $5 a month -- $75 paid in interest
XBOX 360 -- $70 loan -- January 2009 -- 28 months -- $16 a month -- $448 paid in interest
Microwave -- $10 loan -- June 2008 -- 34 months -- $5 a month -- $170 paid in interest
Trumpet -- $50 loan -- July 2007 -- 46 months -- $10 a month -- $460 paid in interest

WOW!

The interest these people have paid could have bought them a new trumpet and video camera, two new XBOX's, and three new microwaves!

I expressed my shock at how long these loans have been going on to my boss and half-jokingly asked if we ever just gave the people's stuff back after they've paid for such an ungodly length of time such as four years. And, no, we don't. We will hold onto their things for as long as they pay on their interest, until they pick it up, or until they stop paying the interest and we sell it--whether that be two days, three months, or four years.

There are a number of other loans with origins rooted in ancient pawn shop history. We currently have a crossbow in a hard case that has been on our shelf for over three and a half years, and I don't even know how old some of our jewelry loans are. I bet there are a number of very old jewelry loans since those get people more money and would subsequently cost more and be more difficult to get out.

This raises the question of what knowing this should make me feel. Amusement at the silliness of it all, guilt for being a cog in a system that relies upon financial desperation, indifference because these people knowingly enter into these contracts and keep paying their interest, pity for the futile diligence of these long-term loan holders?

I don't mean to give off the impression that the pawn shop is a heartless corporation that chews up and spits out the underprivileged. I have seen the owners and managers show generosity and get burned for doing so. I have also seen many people who were able to get through hard times because of the services we offer. It's just that there are some people (due to foolishness, bad luck, or whatever other reason) who get caught in a rut and they can't get out. And, granted, it's not our job to pull them out. This is not a charity. It is a business, yet a business that exhibits some degree of charity.

Wow. That turned serious. I'm done now. Go read one of my happier blog entries.