Cash America Pawn

There was a time I had between jobs when I had to do something stupid like pawn some valuables to live til my next part-​time paycheck. Extreme measures for hard times. I absolutely hate to borrow money from friends or family, so I decided to hit up the strangers down the street.
I’d been in to this particular shop before to look for DJ equipment, but had never been a paying customer. The selection was mostly bottom-​of-​the-​barrel. Like an indoor yard sale. Even the gun and jewelry choices were lean.
So I bring in my old .30-.30 rifle that my father gave me when I was in high school. I knew they wouldn’t be keeping it, as I was sure to be paid soon. The gun was the most portable, valuable thing that I wasn’t using at the time.
The transaction goes smoothly enough, but I get the feel from the employee like I’m some second-​class, possible addict looking for his next score. I don’t recall looking disheveled, but perhaps I wasn’t in the best of moods for being a broke-​ass.
Fast forward a couple weeks to when I have the cash to get my gun back.
I go in and tell them I’m there to pick up an item and here’s my ticket. The lady behind the counter is a total bitch to me! She was practically yelling at me, unprovoked, when all I wanted to do was give her money and get back what was mine. The effed-​up part was that she was the supervisor! I was dumbfounded. I wanted to load that rifle and shoot her in the pinkie toe, just so we’re about even. Alas, lucky for her, they don’t sell ammunition.
Haven’t been back since. If you ever need cash that bad, go elsewhere. Hell, I’ll spot you if it keeps you from resorting to pawning a prized possession.