“Hey, buddy? Chu think?â€?

Scott really didn’t know where to go with this. He’d been in instrument retail most of his adult life and made a pretty good chunk of change scamming widows out of antique mandolins and guitars. They’d usually come in tearful and slide the case up on the counter. Then he’d listen to them drone on and on about how this belonged to their late husband/father/brother, etc and how they just don’t know how much it’s worth and they really don’t have any use for it cause, well, they don’t play it. And Scott waits patiently during this whole diatribe for the perfect opportunity to break it to the old bag that their mint condition pre-war Gibson Mastertone banjo was only worth about 250 or so, and if she wanted he could take it for her and pay cash right now. These maw maws would usually sputter, “well, law, I didn’t figger it was worth all ‘at,” and happily walk out the door with enough money to tint their hair as blue as the veins creeping up the back of their legs.