conjectural navel gazing; jesus in lint form

pawn shops and jerry falwell (this is a preemptive post)

Well, it occurs to me that I have not told of my adventures to the Motherland for the wedding more than a week ago. It was quite the eventful trip for me and my guitar.

But before I begin, I need to express my deepest appreciation for a giant of a pawn shop in lovely downtown Lynchburg, Virginia. Here's a big shout to L. Oppleman at 909 Main St. If ever you need anything...a guitar, jewlery, firearms, lawn equipment, or even good advice on where your mother should get her hair cut, this is the place for you.

[Editor: So, you know, it's like this...I can't post on Saturday. I have no internet at home. But I can post on Friday and date it Saturday. How much of a loser am I?!]

So, getting to the airport went without a hitch. I had my guitar with me in a hard case...strings loosend so they don't snap with all the temperature changes...and one other bag with clothing. The guitar was my focus. Nothing but the guitar mattered. Nothing.

So, I arrived at the ticket counter with all at the ready. The plane was going to leave late, but I was not too worried. I had a book and was ready to pass the time. The gentleman at the ticket counter informed me that there was no way that I would make my connecting flight in Charlotte.

*gulp*

So he decided that I could take a flight with another airline...direct to Lynchburg allowing me to arrive at the Roanoke Airport two hours ahead of time. O, Frabjous day! I hustled down to my new ticket counter, guitar in tow.

I went through the line without insident. The large Pakistani family infront of me were tring to get to Cleveland. They had two tickets for six people. Their travel situation was much less rosie than mine. Anyway, I walked up to the counter and the lady went pale.

"You want to check the guitar?"
"Yes, please."
"Well, here are the 43,571 waiver forms. Please sign here, here and here."
"Okay. No problem" I said, signing the paperwork and wondering how good my insurance really is. The lady at the counter's color returned as I signed my life away.
"I'll give your guitar to Jimmy over here. We cannot place your guitar on the conveyor belt as it is an unusual size. It is likely to be destroyed."
"Well, Jimmy sounds better and better all the time."

I left to go to my gate. With the change in flights I had just enough time, or so I was told, to get there.

Just as an aside, I spent and extra twenty-five minutes with a guard at the security checkpoint. He was very kind. American Tourister, however, will be getting a letter from me about how their luggage sets off the explosive materials sensors. But that is another story.

I arrived at my gate with enough time, I thought, to get on board. But, alas, more waiting was in store. The flight was delayed. I thought to myself "Well, this is good. Jimmy will have plenty of time to get my guitar to the plane." and went to get a cheeseburger. Changing flights at the last minute has always made me hungry.

The plane arrived. We boarded. A horrible storm arose. We sat on the tarmak for many minutes...no air-conditioning on the plane...waiting for the lightening to stop. Somehow an unair-conditioned metal tube does not feel as secure in a lightening storm as one might imagine. The most disturbing thing was the bags that were left out on the tarmak. You see, the people who work at the airport don't go out when there is lightening. This makes all kinds of sense, of course, but the moans and wails that were uttered as the plane pulled away from the bags will haunt me forever. They were the posessions of a college group that had left China the previous day. This was their final switch. Gloom, despair and agony! And thank God my guitar was not left out in the rain on the runway. Good ol' Jimmy must have come through for me.

Alas, good ol' Jimmy did not come through for me.

Due to the delays, we arrived in Lynchburg at the same time I would have if I had gone to Charlotte. My mother and Trish were waiting at baggage claim. I showed up with the explosive luggage and a hopeful demeanor. I just knew Jimmy had come through. Those poor pitiful collge kids' stuff was left behind, but not mine. Oh no!

By 01:00 in the a-friggin'-m I began to worry...actually, I think the term is "ponder the demise of baggage handlers from Chicago to Virginia." Eventually someone from the airline found us and, through the miracles of modern computing, discovered that my guitar was not in Chicago.

That is all. It was not in Chicago. The more banal technologies of looking around the baggage compartment revealed that my guitar was not in Roanoke either. Wondering who I needed to baptize to get my guitar back in time for the wedding that was to take place in 16 hours, we all left for my mother's house.

"I am sure that the guitar will get to you some time in the next two days!" said the airline rep, smiling.

Oy.

Later that morning, Trish arose and made her way to the brunch to inform anyone but the bride that my guitar was missing, probably on tour with a band called "Jimmy and the Conspicuous Delay". Mom and I made our way to the porch where there was coffee. I thumbed through the phonebook and discovered the three listings for music stores in Lynchburg (no hyperbole, people). I called L. Oppleman. They said that they would rent. "Excellent!"

We had also gotten a call from Trish's mother saying that they had found a guitar that would work, but as things kept going awry, I figured that renting would be fine if it did not cost too much. I learned very quickly in this trip, that one cannot trust Jimmy. This guitar sounded like a Jimmy to me.

We arrived in downtown Lynchburg...plenty of parking...and found L Oppleman's. Incredible. It was a pawn shop. It was the friendliest pawnshop ever. You could buy a great Martin or a used weedeater. They were freindly and set me up with a $900.oo Alvarez cutaway for a $20.00 rental fee that included the use of a gig bag. I may have to get me one of them Alvarez guitars one day. It was a great instrument to play. And the gang at Oppleman's was all that and a bag of fritters. They helped us find a place to eat breakfast. They told mom where she should go to get her hair done. All was right with the world.

The wedding went well. My guitar arrived the next day. The delivery guy, not Jimmy by the way, tried to deliver the guitar to mom's neighbor, but my mother cought him in time. We returned the rental to the pawnshop on Monday. This is a respectable establishment. They are closed on the Lord's Day and sponsored a big charity tennis event the Saturday of the wedding. When we returend the guitar, they remembered us. This is remarkable because three other people purchased guitars when I rented the Alvarez. They were busy and yet they remembered.

Incredible.

So, if you are ever in Lynchburg, go to Oppleman's. As you can see from the link. They are also online. I think that I will try to get that 1947 Martin mandolin some day. That would be great.

There is a story about Jerry Falwell and expensive end tables, but I am tired and this post is far too long as it is. I'll get to that one some day.

Y'all be good!

Posted by tripp at June 25, 2005 12:32 PM