Two days ago, a battered teal Cavalier pulled into the pawnshop parking lot. A beefy blonde with a sweat stained shirt and dead eyes got out and shuffled up to my counter.
"I stopped cause your sign says 'GOLD'" he said.
"Okay."
"My root-canal fell out of my head. I can't have it put back, because my tooth broke with my root-canal. My root-canal is made of gold. Your sign says 'GOLD'."
He dropped a gold crown into my hand. It was full of rotten tooth. I looked at Aunt Cheryl and saw her standing behind the gun counter, red-faced and silently laughing.
I dropped the crown on the gold scale and calculated the value. "Your tooth is worth $12."
"What? Twelve dollars? Gold is worth eight hundred dollars. I saw it on TV."
"Yep. Pure gold is worth eight hundred dollars an ounce. What you have here is dental gold, which is 12 karat gold. And you only have two-point-two pennyweights, so your tooth is worth twelve dollars."
Please publish my book. I make three hundred dollars a week, and I have to weigh people's teeth.
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