On one’s journey from who knows where to Death Valley, they might drive past an isolated
pawnshop by the side of the road. Its exterior is weathered by years of windswept sand and
windows darkened from the dust. The only sign of life is a bright neon blue and red sign stating
“OPEN” hanging crookedly at the front of the shop.
I had the unfortunate privilege of visiting the shop a few years ago, and only feel comfortable
enough, though not entirely comfortable, to speak about my encounter now. Driving across the
desert, I had neglected to bring with me enough water bottles to last the trip, and with the last
droplets having been downed hours before, I can not describe my relief to have spotted the
pawn shop.
Sand had caked over any presence of parking lines (if there were any to begin with) and I had to
settle with parking my car awkwardly in the middle of the storefront. The inside of the store was
cold, very cold. Yet I couldn’t hear the faint hum of AC or spot any fans above me. I looked
around to see where the owner was to ask him about how his store accomplished such a feat
and what small fortune he surely had to pay every month for his energy bill. But there was no
one at the counter, just a small wooden sign stating “take what you need.”
Looking around, I noticed the interior was infinitely larger than the exterior led me to believe.
There were at least six aisles of different items cluttered together across multiple shelves, and
try as I might, I couldn’t walk to the end of one aisle, it was as if it was endless. What was even
more peculiar were the items on the shelves. There was what looked like golden treasures,
ancient artifacts, a colossal bone with a tag attached stating “T-Rex Fossil,” what looked to be
the head of a dragon stuffed and fashioned into a hunting trophy, ivory staffs with crystals
imbued at the top, documents labeled “classified,” new gaming consoles that seemed ten years
ahead of our time and countless others. Not a single one held a price.
It was walking far into one of these aisles that I found what fascinated me the most. A six pack
count of bottled water. I grabbed the package, made the long walk to the counter, fumbled
around for a five dollar bill, placed it on the counter, and walked out with my water. Enough
movies and books taught me better than to take anything more.