The slavery of the free?

I got to the shop today determined to spread some compassion to somebody. Some days you get like that, you wake up and something in you becomes more alive and for a brief moment you forget about targets, you decide you actually want to talk to people properly and not just comment on the weather, or silence conversation with a stoic gaze in order to get them out the door before they lose any more blood on your door mat. Sometimes you feel the urge to connect with people, so I tried it…

The door buzzed and tattooed-to-hell fairground pirate Sonny barged into the lobby, gold chain in one hand and a dog the size of a bear attached to the other.

"Alrite Sonny, nice.. horse you got there"

Sonny glanced in my general direction and muttered a greeting, stuffing his free hand into his filthy jeans the traveller pulled out a Keeper ring the size of my face, hesitated then pulled another chain off his neck, he looked at the dirty yellow mess in his hand and scowled before throwing the lot into the counter's steel tray, "Two Fifty i'll get em back on the morrow".

"Whatever you say mate" I don't even test them, hes a pikey, he won't give up his gold not in a million years. I look at the jagged heavy ring and wonder how Sonny got it, probably won it in a fight... Or more likely, it was his mums. Either way i'm taking too long fucking about and Sonny shows his distaste by giving the bear/dog a boot to the legs, "make it quick i've got stuff to shift!"

I cast an apologetic look at the dog, my god that dogs massive, why do gypsies need massive dogs? they’ve already got guns and hard sisters. Dog scrabbles about on the laminate floor and barks, Sonny barks back “shut up you wanker!”

Christ, who calls their dog a wanker? Sonnys in a bad mood so as i push the grimy 20's through the counter, i decide to leave out any attempt at human connection on this transaction.

The day went pretty fast and i hadn't managed to spiritually aid anyone, missed out on lunch break AGAIN as according to the boss "Lunch is for Queers and Spaniards!" and evidently not for me.

Not one grain of humanity shared all day with one single customer until the last half hour of the day. A visibly distraught old-ish man in a ruined blue suit, wild gaze and what appeared to be a burnt tie charged through the door "Hello are you open?! I mean... you do money here don't you?"

"Yes sir we do a wide range of money" I replied in a monotone

"I mean... not that i need it, its just..." he drifts off,

"... Just an unexpected bill perhaps sir?" My head tilted i finish his lie for him

"Yes! Thats exactly what it is!"

Fantastic, i love it when we get the suits in here, frantically trying to justify why they've walked into a pawn shop, why they don't really need to be here and how this whole lending thing is so terribly unfamiliar to them. They will hang around the door perusing and browsing the nothingness which is the lobby, and then when they have summoned the courage they will cross the void and declare for what purpose they have disturbed the beast!

 Of course just asking for a loan without turning the whole simple process into a red blushing pantomime is out of the question...

Eyes bulging, left arm on the counter the guy spreads a mist on the glass in front of me.

We surveyed each other, clearly here was a man with a straight job, probably had kids, he owed money that was a cert! And it was to someone who obviously didn't offer installment plans, someone who wanted every last penny back right fucking now. With what dignity he had left he would not beg me for help but the desperation, the pleading was etched in his eyes.

We were closing soon, after 5pm i tend to lack tact,

"How much do you want?"

"...Well i have no ID you understand, or any proof of income..."
"Of course, perhaps a bit of paper with your name scrawled with crayon?" 
No answer but the guys right eye started to twitch, i felt nervous,

I leant in hands resting on the counter "How much do you want?"

His face moved closer sweat beading on his face, red flushing his cheeks, i could see blood in his eyes. Behind him outside the shop door a dark BMW was waiting engine running, a hand with a cigerette was resting on the open driver's window, just darkness inside.

 Hands clasping on the counter the man's lips trembled as he went to speak...

I cut in "Don't... just give me five minutes"

What is irresponsible lending anyway? In this town i call it charity