Get the picture? … by Sherry Hopkins

Well, gosh darn and dang it, too – who knew Dear ol’ Don could be on to something?

Don has been (much to my chagrin) visiting pawnshops for nigh on thirty years.

He is always on the hunt for that elusive music album or cult favorite movie that life would not be complete without

Over the years I have waited patiently and at times not so patiently in the car while he goes in pawnshop after shop browsing for the obscure.

After a remnant of time he would bound out plunder in hand and a gully-wide grin on his face.

For just mere dollars he had struck gold. Or as he likes to proclaim, “The classic find.”

I am neither here nor there on such loot because those things don’t interest me much. But he interests me a great deal so I abide.

A couple of weeks ago he made an unexpected (to me) stop at such an establishment. As he made his polite excuses about what he was looking for and how long he’d be, I surprised him.

When he opened his door I grabbed my purse and said, “I think I’ll go in and see what all the fuss is about.”

He sat there for what seemed like a long time, slack-jawed and speechless. “YOU want to go in a pawnshop?” It was all he could muster.

“I think I will,” I exclaimed.

So in we went. There was a young woman sitting solo on the stoop as we approached and she grabbed up her purse and held it tight to her chest as we stepped closer.

“Do we look like the type who would deprive her of her purse you think?” I asked Dear Don in surprise.

“No,” he answered. “ That was strange.”

As we entered, Dear Don headed to the area of music and movies. I just stood in the doorway kinda taking it all in.

There were five-gallon buckets filled to running over with every type of tool imaginable.

Shelves filled from top to bottom with used equipment. I scanned each aisle and a display of old cast iron caught my eye. Just that week I had thought about looking for a big deep black skillet. The kind you use for frying fish and hushpuppies and chicken legs.

Lo and behold right in front of me was the very skillet I’d hoped to find.

I lifted it and it was heavy. I rubbed my fingers along the bottom to see what was dust and what was rust.

I checked the outside and it looked good.

The white tag hanging from the handle announced a price of fifteen dollars. A fair price I thought.

I took the skillet to the counter and waited my turn. When the man asked what he could do for me, I asked boldly and confidently, “Will ten bucks buy this skillet?”

He looked over the top of his glasses at the white tag.

“Yep,” he said.

“You just sold this skillet,” I proclaimed to all within earshot.

As I handed over my money I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on Dear Don’s face when he saw that not only was I inside, I was shopping and buying!

“Aren’t you glad you got off your high horse and came in?” he asked.

“Yes indeed.” I replied.

“Gosh, I know of a lot of pawnshops on Highway 51 all the way to Memphis,” I said excitedly.

He just looked at me in astonishment, probably thinking sadly that I have now invaded his last bastion of mysterious fun man stuff.

Whatever he thought I am there for the ride and not on a high horse.

You get the picture?

(Contact award-winning columnist Sherry Hopkins at swhcsc@wildblue.net.)