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I have no idea what to title this
Aug. 16th, 2013 10:12 pmDad asked me to get the contact information for the local pawn shops so he can get the ring he made back. So I dropped by the local one to get a new card, and looked at the rings. The guy behind the counter casually said that of course he only put out the good diamond rings, the little ones he just melted down for the gold.
I did not quite make it to my car before I melted down too. I KNOW IT'S NOT A VALUABLE FUCKING RING, OKAY? MY GRANDFATHER WAS POOR WHEN HE BOUGHT IT.
I called the pawn shop when I'd calmed down, but he said he couldn't say anything over the phone, that he worked solely from police reports. Mo pointed out that the police report isn't just inaccurate about our possessions, despite the continuation written by us, the officer confused my move-in date with my birthday.
I'm not entirely sure how to approach this now. "Hey, Officer, have you had a chance to file the continuation report with the more up-to-date descriptions? I'd like a copy of that for my records too." Or "Seriously? For fuck's sake, you think I managed to buy a house at age 13?"
...and then I get on facebook and someone's posting frantically that their sister is pulling together what she can lay her hands on and run, because a wildfire is only a mile away from her wooden house, and I get a reminder that no matter how upset I am, cosmically speaking I do not actually have problems.
(This is the kind of thing that made me share the Night Vale FB post "Count your blessings. Count those blessings as they come in through the windows. Count them as they hiss and slither toward your feet.")
I did not quite make it to my car before I melted down too. I KNOW IT'S NOT A VALUABLE FUCKING RING, OKAY? MY GRANDFATHER WAS POOR WHEN HE BOUGHT IT.
I called the pawn shop when I'd calmed down, but he said he couldn't say anything over the phone, that he worked solely from police reports. Mo pointed out that the police report isn't just inaccurate about our possessions, despite the continuation written by us, the officer confused my move-in date with my birthday.
I'm not entirely sure how to approach this now. "Hey, Officer, have you had a chance to file the continuation report with the more up-to-date descriptions? I'd like a copy of that for my records too." Or "Seriously? For fuck's sake, you think I managed to buy a house at age 13?"
...and then I get on facebook and someone's posting frantically that their sister is pulling together what she can lay her hands on and run, because a wildfire is only a mile away from her wooden house, and I get a reminder that no matter how upset I am, cosmically speaking I do not actually have problems.
(This is the kind of thing that made me share the Night Vale FB post "Count your blessings. Count those blessings as they come in through the windows. Count them as they hiss and slither toward your feet.")
