A few weeks into my search my wife and I had planned to travel home for family related reasons. This was my big opportunity. To return to the store where I sold my guitar to see if there was any piece of information they could provide. Was there a sales record or receipt from when they sold it after I sold it to them? Was the serial number in their system which would tell me if the guitar ever made it back to that particular store in the past twenty years? Would they at least take my name and phone number just in case they ever came across a tidbit of information that may lead me back to my first guitar?
We packed up our car and made the long twelve hour journey from Middle Tennessee to Northeastern Pennsylvania. I knew we were going home for an important family event, but I couldn’t push my secondary mission out of my head. Could this lead to the big break in the case? Would the people in the shop welcome me as if they had been waiting for me to come back after all these years? “We’ve been waiting for this day”, they would say handing me a glass of champagne and patting me on the back. “We’re so excited to be part of this story, we live to reunite people with their guitars from years gone by”, they would say. “We live for the nostalgia!” They would pull out a huge book from under the counter labeled 2006 blowing an inch of dust off the cover. I would let out a big sneeze and we’d share a laugh. “Ahh yes, here it is. The Richie Sambora Fender Stratocaster in Lake Placid blue serial number XXXXXXX. According to our records…” Boy was I wrong.
I approached the counter and spoke to the young clerk. As always when explaining this situation I begin by saying that I am very much aware that searching for a guitar from twenty years ago is very much a longshot situation, but I am just taking a shot to see if there is any information that may help in my search. Afterall, I am the guitar Columbo and I must leave no stone unturned. The clerk was friendly and tried pulling up my old account. I had to give my parents’ home phone number to find it. That is how long ago this was. A rush came over me. I might be on the verge of some valuable information. The clerk then suggested I speak to someone who would be better suited for this job, but she was across the street buying garbage bags. No problem. I’ll gladly wait for this expert now that we may have the key that will unlock this guitar mystery.
I brought my friend along for this trip as he is a guitar enthusiast himself and has been a champion of this journey since I started just a few months ago. We browsed around the uncrowded store and waited. A few minutes later the worker returned to the store. Garbage bags in hand. She complained aloud that they didn’t have the size she was looking for as the first worker I spoke to briefed her that there was a customer here trying to track down his old guitar. “Ha! Good luck with that,” she said sarcastically. The conversation was all downhill from there.
I will skip the dismissive details because the search for this guitar is bigger than this one disappointing moment. When I was able to get a word in I asked if she would be willing to take my contact information just in case they may ever come across anything in the future. Especially considering she did not bother to ask my name or look up my account as the first employee did. “No,” she replied. “We get too many people here looking for guitars”. Then she turned around and walked off and went back to talking about the garbage bags.
A poetic theme for this pilgrimage. Garbage.
Help Me Find My Guitar 