Qu'est Que C'est

I'm sitting on my floor naked, eating Life cereal at 4 in the afternoon out of what I assume was intended to be a small dog food bowl, responding to Craigslist "roommate wanted" ads and trying not to sound like a psycho killer. Yeah, this is going to go well.

I've enjoyed living by myself for this past year, but I feel like I've become somewhat isolated from my friends. I think I can blame some of this on the fact that I had a girlfriend for most of the last year who wanted me to spend our free time together or out with her friends. But to pin this all on her would be unfair, as I was the one who constantly obliged her instead of saying, "No, I think I'll find out what my friends are doing this weekend."

And even since I've been single again, I feel like I've spent most of my time alone in my studio. This is not to say I haven't enjoyed my time by myself (I could go for days reading comics, watching Netflix, and tinkering with bits of code!), but I don't know how healthy this is for my interpersonal development and psychological health.

When I'm by myself, it's so easy for me to ignore the rest of the world and live inside my own bubble. There's no one to come into my room and snap me out of it by asking me if I want to try out a new restaurant or go to a show. Or, conversely, there's no one to annoy me so much that I have to just get out of the apartment and be around other people. I've been living inside my little hermitage, and inside my own head, for this past year, and there's been hardly anyone to challenge me or motivate me.

I'm hoping that living with people again, albeit even with strangers, will help me to re-enter society. Or at least prevent me from talking to myself so much.

There Is No STFU in Team

I first noticed a reference to 'Team Edward' a year or so ago. I learned it had something to do with the Twilight series but didn't catch much more because the voice of the person explaining it to me was drowned out by the alarm going off on my I-Don't-Give-A-Shit-O-Meter. What I did hear, though, was that in these books Team Emo Kid is versus Team Wolf Man. I don't know what that means. Perhaps they're baseball teams, or maybe they're sled dog teams. Like I said, I don't care. Those Twitards can do whatever they want, as long as they leave me alone. I thought, at the time, that I had just learned Yet Another Useless Bit of Trivia&trade.

But then I saw it again recently. This time it was in reference to the Leno slash O'Brien Tonight Show debacle. Team Jay versus Team Conan (or Team Coco, affectionately) were the supporters of their respective favorite late night hosts. At first I wondered what the connection between Twilight and the Tonight Show was. I mean, the Tonight Show airs almost exactly equidistant from either period of twilight.

Then I saw it yesterday in a blog post about Fox News: Team Sarah (Palin) versus Team Glenn (Beck), the two talk show darlings of that network. Letting alone my confusion over why the viewers of these two pundits would be opposed, I was struck again that something so totally disparate would be alluded to in terms of Twilight.

And then it dawned (get it?) on me: People are trying to make this a thing.

So, I'm here to nip this in the bud. We're not doing that, sorry. We're not going to apply Team Whatever and Team Other Thing to all of our public discourse. We're not going to refer to celebrity disputes as Team Brad vs Team Angelina. We're not going to call the 2012 election Team Obama vs Team Huckabee. We're not going to refer to the war in Afghanistan as Team America vs Team Al Queda. It's asinine, it's reductionist, and we're not making this a thing, okay?

Some things you can say instead of "I'm on Team X" include:

• "I think X is completely relatable"
• "I support X"
• "I'm on X's side of the debate"
• "I thing X is the best of all options"
• or simply "X!"

I fear that I might be too late, though. This Team phenomenon has probably completely invaded popular culture already and I just haven't noticed until now. In which case, I would just like to say, I, for one, welcome our new Team Overlord.

Frustrating

I know my previous posts about my new job have been just short of gushing, making it seem as though I've found the most awesome job in the world, so I thought I'd make a post about how it does frustrate me sometimes.

The "president" of the company ... (Tangent: In such a small company, traditional corporate titles become ridiculous, being both ostentatious and not descriptive enough. Our president is a figurehead for the company, but he also is the sales department slash account representative slash the guy who smooths things over when shit goes wrong.) ... where was I?

Anyway, the president and I have very frustrating miscommunications sometimes. The miscommunications sometime come in the form of novel-length email strings or whole days of walking back and forth between each other's office looking confused. This is a result of us being two distinctly different types of people. In the time-honored tradition of reducing a complex society into an oversimplified dichotomy, he is a Talker and I am a Doer. (This is not to be confused with the Thinker vs Doer generalization.)

Talkers react to issues that would best be solved by discussion and negotiation and schmoozing and other human interaction. Doers react to issues that would best be solved by planning and organizing and completing tasks. This is not to say that Talkers don't do anything, and that Doers don't talk. It's just that each group doesn't see what the other does as necessary to resolving an issue. They often can't see or don't understand the issues that the other can.

For instance, the president spends his day wheeling and dealing, and he finally pulls in an account. The talk is over, so to him the deal is done. The only thing that's left is that pesky problem of delivering on the promises he made during his speal. He doesn't care if what he promises is reasonable, feasible, or even doable. It's not an issue to him; he just talks until the deal is closed.

Enter me. I've got to make what he said we could do a reality. I need to take the client's specifications, and the extras he said we would do for them, and figure out a way to execute them. Whether or not he promised something we can't do or that can't be done is not an issue to me. It was just talk.

Obviously, this is where we don't see eye to eye.

When he closes a deal, he'll send me reams of email strings that criss-cross, overlap, back-track, and repeat themselves, as well specification documents that the client created and negotiation documents that he and the client made together. It takes me literally hours to sort through all this crap to find out what it is I'm supposed to do. There's stuff in there like, "Hey, it was good seeing you at the convention! Are you going to the next one?", "The next time you're in town, I know a great steak place to eat.", and "You have a great weekend with your daughter!" It's all mixed in with relevant details about the deal, which also might be mixed in with relevant details about other simultaneous deals. Writing code and entering information in to a database is easy. Parsing through this bullshit is one of more difficult parts of my job. It get's a little frustrating.

Similarly though, when he asks me for a status update on a project so that he can impress, reassure, or otherwise talk at his clients, I give him a list of what I've completed, what I am working on, and what I have left to do. He often gets flustered and asks, "Yeah, but is it done yet? What do I tell the client?" I'm trying to do something, and all he cares about is what he'll say.

So, there you have it. In summary, my job's not perfect, the world is full of confusion, and this post is done.

Marriage

I don't get it. Apparently, you have a problem with people getting married. Well, not all people. You don't care if some people get married. And you don't care how long they stay married. And you really don't care how many times they get married. The confusing part is, you don't even seem to care what species is getting married, just as long as one is male and the other is female. So, what's the deal with not wanting queers to marry? I must have missed the part where that seemed totally ridiculous.

Is this over the word? The word 'marriage?' Is that what all the fuss is about? Fine, keep your stupid word. 'Marriage' can be a religious ceremony between a man and a woman. Neat, now your precious word is still sacred. Now the rest of us will enjoy 'scribblybop,' a new word I just made up that signifies a legal union between two consenting adults. Okay? Are you happy now? Your religion's got its word, the US has got its word, and never the twain shall meet. Done. Issue solved. Case closed.

But, just out of curiosity, what was it to you? What is so goddamned precious about your word? Is it some magic incantation? Is it a secret password? What is it? You fought so vehemently to protect it; it must have some special power that you're not telling us about. No? It doesn't? It's just some plain, ol', stupid word? Huh ... Weird.

Well, if we're just coopting words, then we get 'God.' You can't use 'God' to mean what it means to you any more. Yeah, sorry. We called it; you should have been quicker on the draw.

So, now we get to choose how to narrowly define 'God' to suit our whims. You can't use 'God' anymore to mean an excuse to be narrow-minded or as a means for being self-righteous in your persecution of others. Nope, sorry. We have a new definition of 'God.' Yeah, from now on, God is defined as a compassionate, all-loving force that unites humanity and is diametrically opposed to suffering and injustice. I guess you'll have to make up your own word for whatever you had been calling 'God' (and 'scribblybop' is already taken).

For a more practical method of bringing about change than made-up words and sarcasm, Mom in Real Life would like a moment of your time.

Not How It Works

Someone needs to tell these guys this is not how the Internet works.

Adventures in Craigslisting, Part 7: Hard Bargains

This post is the long-overdue finale to my Adventures in Craigslisting. I might even call it the piece de resistance of the series. So, please, sit back, relax, and enjoy.

This tale starts not with me trying to sell my car, but with my once-and-previous roommate, Jaysix Usaustin, trying to sell our crap before moving out of our place in Kansas City.

We listed most of the major items in the Garage Sale section and then cross-posted into several other sections (furniture, electronics, etc.) and made it clear (I thought) that these were not all the items we had for sale and that they were not described in full detail because we had so many. At the end of each post we instructed the reader, if interested, to come by the sale and check the items out in person.

Immediately, we began to receive questions about specific items, how they looked and in what condition were they. To most of these questions I replied something like, "We have too many items to describe in detail. Please drop by and check them out for yourself."

Now, I understand the incredible power of communication over the internet, that information can nigh instantaneously be transmitted over vast distances without either sender or sendee ever leaving their chairs. But this is not the point of a rummage sale, now is it? The point of a rummage sale is to get up off your duff and scour through mounds of useless crap that your neighbor is trying to get rid of. The point is not to have him describe every item in detail to you before you think about checking it out. This would pretty much be a waste of everyone's time.

Well, this didn't sit well with one potential customer, but I'm getting ahead of myself. First, here is his initial inquiry:

From: [Collector]

Hello,
I was wondering if you could tell me what games you have with the Sega Genisis? Do they all come with the cases and booklets that came with them? Is everything in good condition? Sorry for the questions I am actually a collector. Please let me know how much you would like for everything and for individual games.
Thank you
[Collector]

Seeing that I might have the opportunity to get rid of a whole bunch of stuff at once, I thought I'd forgo the usual "come check this crap our yourself" and give him enough details to say "Yes, I'll take it all." So, I replied:

From: [Mr McBastard]

The games are Sonic the Hedgehog 2, TMNT Tournament Fighters, Risk, and Herzog Zwei (all with original cases and instructions), and also Vectorman and Comix Zone (no cases).

I've kept the system in its original box. Everything worked the last time I played it, but that was nearly 10 years ago. I have not opened it up since then.

I'm really just trying to get rid of this stuff, so does $25 sound like a deal?

Also, I have a Playstation (complete system with original box) with games (no original cases) and a Nintendo 64 (unfortunately, no box, controllers, or games). Are you interested in either of those?

--[Mr McBastard]

If you give 'em an inch, the saying goes, they'll take your sanity. Collector had a favor to ask of me:

From: [Collector]

I hate to ask this but can you send me some pics of the Sega Genisis box so I can see the condition of it? That would really help me a lot. Could you send a pick of the N64 deck as well
Thank you
[Collector]

After having responding to dozens of pointless Craigslisters' questions over the previous weeks, I could see that this wasn't going anywhere. Also, I doubted that Collector really "hated to ask" me this favor; if he really hated to, I doubt he would have done it. Anyway, I reverted to my standard response:

From: [Mr McBastard]

I'm sorry, but we've got quite a few items, too many to take pictures of each one. If you're interested, please stop by the address listed in the posting and get a glimpse of it first-hand. Sorry again.

--[Mr McBastard]

Note: I really wasn't "sorry." Or "sorry again," for that matter.

He responded:

From: [Collector]

I just want to see the condition of the box and I will take it off your hands.

I concluded that this guy was just another time-waster. No real collector would just want to see a picture to determine the condition of the item they're collecting before they bought it. If he really did collect, he would get up off his ass and come to my house to look at it himself, to see what scratches, dents, and tears were there that a photograph wouldn't show. So, if this guy just needed to see a crappy picture of the box to determine the condition, I figured a crappy description would be just as good:

From: [Mr McBastard]

The box is in pretty good condition: a few minor scuffs on the surface and a little wear along the edges and corners. I'd say it's really good for being 15 years old.

I received his reply:

From: [Collector]

I need to see pics so I'm gonna pass thank you though.

Oh no! He wasn't going to buy my discarded crap unless I did everything he said! Who didn't see this one coming? Well, not to be out-douched, I sent him a reply:

From: [Mr McBastard]

You drive a hard bargain. Attached is a picture of the box.

--[Mr McBastard]

photograph courtesy of Jaysix Usaustin

He was not pleased:

From: [Collector]

Dude you are a waste of flesh and my time. I will be removing your posting.

"A waste of flesh and my time?" Funny, I was thinking the same thing.

Holiday Spirit

Yesterday I was thankful that I actually cursed-out a customer. It has been a dream of mine since high school, and it was finally realized in a nearly justified manner.

I worked as a cashier yesterday, instead of at the Service Desk, because no other cashiers wanted to work on a major US holiday that a grocery store has no business being open on anyway. About half-way through the day, I began scanning one guy's groceries and asked him, as I am required to do of every customer, if he had a Piggly Wiggly Preferred Club Card. He responded, "Not with me."

This is a typical response, to which I usually and did reply, "Would you like me to look it up for you?" (We have a subprogram on our registers that allow us to look up customers' Preferred Card information if they forget to bring it with them.)

He said, "If you want to."

This is an atypical response; "Yes" or "No" (or something similar) is what I usually get. It is never left up to me to decide such things. Why would it be? It's not my food; it's not my money. So, I replied in my usual deadpan snarkiness, "Well, I don't want to, but I will if you want me to." I expected a chuckle or smile and a real answer to my question. I received none of these these.

At the end of his order I asked again, "So, do you want me to look up your card for you?"

"Don't put yourself out," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Okay, I thought, so, we're being pricks about this.

"Look," I said, "I've already asked you twice if you want me to look it up for you. So, do you?" Sometimes it's hard for me to understand why these little things are such a big deal to people.

"And I said, 'If you want to.'"

"And then I said that I didn't want to but I would if you said so," I said with an implied "So what?" at the end.

"Well, that's some great attitude."

"Sorry for being honest." I waited, hoping he would just say "Yes, fine, just look it up already!" and we could finish the transaction. We looked at each other. He wasn't budging. Seconds swam by. I finally called it. "Okay, so that's a 'No.'" I told him his total.

As he swiped his credit card, "You're the worst one here," he said in regards to the renown the store has for hiring cranky help.

By this point I was done. "Okay," I said, knowing this to, in fact, be false, but not wanting to encourage him. He had all the courage he needed.

"I'm going to call your manager tomorrow."

I nodded and raised my eyebrows, as if to say, "Neat, I love threats." If you've got nothing better to do on your holiday weekend than tattle on the mean kid at the checkout counter, then, bud, you've got to find a hobby.

He continued, "That's just fucking laziness is what it is."

My finger hovered over the last button on the register for a second before pressing it. Did he just call me "fucking lazy?" Should I curse him back? The receipt printer hummed under my hand. No, I know you really want to, but just let him have his last word. I tugged the receipt loose from the printer and turned to the angry man. But he said "fuck." Why can't I say "fuck," too? His eyes glared at me, dared me, taunted me. Let it go. Let it go. Let it go. "Well..." I said. Part of me sighed and hung it's head at another part that was beaming like an overjoyed child. You've already started; you might as well finish. I handed him his receipt. "... fuck you, too."

He walked away muttering more curses under his breath. Are you happy?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Coming Out

So, some of you have known this for some time now, and the rest of you may have already guessed. But I think it's time I finally came out of the closet. I can't hide the truth anymore: I have a beard.

I know some of you may disapprove of my beard; you may find my "alternative lifestyle choice" to be "unnatural" or "against God's plan." But why would God make hair grow on our faces if he did not want us to have beards? Others of you may think that my beard goes against traditional American values. However, just look to the past for numerous examples of great Americans who wore beards and wore them with pride.

I know some of you may be afraid of me now, but you have nothing to be frightened of. I don't want to "corrupt" your children and convince them to grow beards. I don't want to push some bearded agenda on you. I am not a pervert or a freak. I am a person -- the same person I have always been -- just with facial.

I want the same rights and privileges you enjoy: freedom from harassment, equal opportunity for employment, and the right to marry whomever I choose. I know this last one may be a offensive to some. Some people believe that this would destroy the traditional definition of marriage -- that it is a contract between a clean-shaven man and a clean-shaven woman. To you I say, Perhaps it is time to change this tradition (if it indeed exists at all) and progress into the future, when everyone will be free to love anyone he or she chooses, regardless of facial hair.

Army Recruitment Video

Why is it that Army recruitment commercials only depict black, urban families or white, rural families? There's never a white, suburban kid trying to convince his parents to let him go into the Army, which you'd think would be the largest untapped market.

I think such a video could go something like this:

Middle-class, white family standing in the driveway.

KID: Thanks, Mom and Dad! This Scion xB is the perfect graduation present. But you know what I really want? To join the Army!

FATHER: I don't know, son. Your mother and I were all ready to pay for your college education in full; we just don't know about you earning money for college for yourself.

MOTHER: Well now, Father, let's just listen to our son for a minute. After all, the Johnsons next door let their son join the Army. Maybe we ought to think about this.

KID: Yeah, Dad. Plus, I've done a lot of research and found that I might get woefully inadequate compensation and horrible health care benefits, and I'll get to be a pawn for large corporate interests ... just like you!

MOTHER: He might even learn such things as Respect and Honor; things us parents or teevee can't possibly teach a child.

KID: Well, that is, if I don't die first.

They all laugh.

FATHER: Well, OK. I'm convinced.

VOICE OVER: If your son or daughter asks about the Army, listen.

Don't Take the Rice So Literally

This story comes straight from the What The Fuck files: A man came into the store yesterday and approached the service counter. He had the shifting eyes and huffiness of a person that cannot believe they must suffer the great indignity of making a formal complaint. I waited with annoyed anticipation to discover what inexcusable tragedy had no doubt befallen this poor soul. "What can I do for you?"

He set a box of instant rice on the counter and flicked a receipt at me. "I want a refund for this."

I grabbed a pen and began to fill the Returned Merchandise form.

Date: 11/2/08
Item: Minute Rice
Reason for Return:

"And what's the reason you want to return this?" I asked with faux interest.

"It doesn't cook in a minute." I stopped writing and hoped, just hoped, that he was joking. I looked up and saw on his face that he was not joking in the slightest. I sighed the deepest sigh and trudged forth through the mire of mind-numbing ignorance.

The story ends with him walking away in a huff, leaving his half-used box of Minute Rice behind because it was "worthless." I can't help but wonder how many cups of rice he could have cooked in the time it took him to drive to the store, make an utter ass out of himself, refuse to file a complaint with the manufacturer, waste my time, and then drive back home.

A Question for the Class

Does a lack of compassion have any practical applications?

Banks Can't Swim

While standing in line at the bank, I heard one guy tell his friend that "he didn't believe in banks." This is a statement that I would expect out of a grizzled old man with a dip of chaw in his lip and his 'coon-hunting rifle in his grip, not from a twenty-something prep-punk that follows his buddy to the bank. Though, with the way financial institutions in America have been going under like so many unsupervised kids at the public pool, I don't begrudge anyone not trusting in banks anymore.

Fuckin Donuts

At work the other day, a man came through my line with a paper bag from the bakery. These bags are usually used for doughnuts, so I asked him, "How many doughnuts do you have?"

He replied, "They aren't doughnuts."

Sometimes people put rolls or buns from the bakery in these bags instead, so I inquired what was in the bag.

"They're long johns."

Usually when immense stupidity happens upon me while I'm at work, I do my best to ignore it. My face goes slack, my eyes glaze over, and I feel a little bit of my soul sucked out of me and vanish into the ether. For some reason, though, this time I decided to try to educate this poor, misinformed man. "Long johns are a kind of doughnut," I explained.

"No," he replied, "long johns are long." Then, in case I didn't understand the point he was attempting to make, he added "Long johns."

I thought a second, collected his change from the till, and returned, "The thing that makes them all doughnuts is the dough." I handed him his receipt, "Doughnuts."

He didn't say anything in reply, but, then, he didn't have to. After all, he was free roam the earth, probably gainfully employed and with a happy family waiting for him at home, horribly misinformed about doughnuts and uneducated in the basics of rhetoric, while I was stuck working for the minimum wage allowed by law at a place not-ironically named for a wiggling piglet.

Adventures in Craigslisting, Clarification

I suppose I should make it clear that these communications with Craigslisters that I'm sharing with you are months old, from May, before I came to Chicago. If anyone was worried that I still haven't sold my car, it and any other items I have mentioned are long sold or gotten rid of. Sorry for the confusion.

Adventures in Craigslisting, Part 6: Captain Obvious

I put my car up for sale at approximately 9:40 in the morning. By 10:21, not even an hour later, I received this email:

From: [Capt. Obvious]
Subject: 1997 Pontiac Grand Am

Let me know if you still have this car for sale.

[Capt. Obvious]

I know that some people don't pull their posts down even after they sell their item, but I think one can usually assume that an item will not be sold within 40 minutes of it being posted. Trying not to sound too condescending, I explained to Capt. Obvious how Craigslist works:

From: [Mr. McBastard]
Subject: RE: 1997 Pontiac Grand Am

I will take the Craigslist posting down once it is sold. As long as it is up, it will be for sale.

--[Mr. McBastard]

I received this response:

From: [Capt. Obvious]
Subject: RE: 1997 Pontiac Grand Am

You're in brookside right?

Well, I know that this guy was just trying to get more information about me and my car. But instead of reading the details that were readily available to him on my Criagslist post, he decided to annoy me instead. One question at a time. I envisioned his next email would be "Is this a Pontiac Grand Am?" and then "Is it a 1997?" and then "Is it a car?" and so on. Plus, at this point, I had already contacted several other Craigslisters and I wasn't up for any more moronic shenanigans.

So, I sent this facetious response:

Please see the attached diagram. [Pictured to the right.]

This was the reply:

[Mr. McBastard],

If you could provide an address and a time I could look at your car tomorrow that would be great too. A simple yes would have been less work for you too.

[Capt. Obvious]

Capt. Obvious's response was surprisingly calm. My following response was not. I'd like to say that there was some excuse for what comes next, but the fact that I'm an asshole will have to suffice.

[Capt. Obvious],

Because you had such difficulty in comprehending some of the basic concepts of my Craigslist post -- that I was indeed selling a car and that I did, in fact, live in Brookside -- I think that simply providing you with my address may prove fruitless and would probably only result in more questions.

To avoid any further confusion, I briefly considered constructing several more diagrams outlining how to get to my house at an appropriate time (complete with cartoon versions of you, myself, and my car). However, in your last email you seemed unappreciative of my previous visual aid, so I quickly abandoned this tack.

So, instead, I propose that you provide me with your address and a time that I could come by tomorrow and lead you to my house. This course of action may be more effort on my part, but it could prove to be better and safer for everyone involved.

--[Mr. McBastard]

But don't worry, dear readers, Mr. McBastard gets his comeuppance:

I can appreciate that while you seem to write very well that you are a little self absorbed. Maybe you have too much time on your hands and in the preparation of your "diagram" you became a little light headed from the effort required. Good luck in your efforts to sell your car and when you're finally able to offload your car you'll be able to go back to your video games, porn and cheetos. I asked a few simple questions and your taking offense to those questions would lead me to believe that while possibly having a high IQ you've put yourself into a life situation that makes you lash out at others because you've been able to squeeze yourself into a pathetic life. Good luck with that [McBastard]

Well, jokes on him; I don't even like Cheetos.

Adventures in Craigslisting, Part 5: The Sob Story

I received the following email the day that I put up the ad for my car:

From: [Cry Baby]
Subject: 1997 Pontiac Grand Am - $500 (Brookside)
i am very interested in your car for a friend of mine that is going though a really bad time right now. She has no money, just totaled the only car they have. She has 2 children one with health problems and they frequently have doctors appointments. I am going to try and help her with getting some kind of transportation. I myself have had a hard time this past few months and really dont have much to help out, but i can do the work on the car, and i can probably come up with about $200 maybe $300 and i will see if she can come up with the rest. She is stuck here in missouri without family or friends.

Unfortunately, the area of my brain that is supposed to feel sympathy is currently occupied (and has been for the past fifteen years or so) admiring round, jiggly boobs. [Links provided for your viewing pleasure.] I guess it makes me an asshole, but I just don't care about the poor, helpless, lonely, single-mother-of-two friend to some also-down-on-his-luck guy who I don't know, who has poor grammar. I put my car up on Craigslist; I didn't give it to the Salvation Army. Sorry.

Adventures in Craigslisting, Part 4: What?

I made mention previously of how poorly worded and spelled some inquiries into buying my car were. The following query, though, is probably the most incomprehensible of the bunch:

From: BAM KATTAN
Subject: 1997 Pontiac Grand Am - $500 (Brookside)
pics plase n locaion

I assume this roughly translates to "Send me pictures, please, and your location."

Perhaps it's just me, but when I'm trying to buy something, anything more expensive than a doughnut really (let along something five hundred times more expensive than a doughnut), I tend to use sentences. And punctuation. And real English words.

I'm glad that he was polite enough to say "please" (I think). Nevertheless, I did not reply.

Adventures in Craigslisting, Part 3: The Low-Baller

This post is still in reference to me attempting to sell my car on Craigslist. It's not that weird; it's mostly just me being a dick.

I received two emails that were simple, straight-forward offers, such as this:

From: [Low-Baller]
Subject: 97 Grand Am
Offer: $250
[Low-Baller]
[phone number]

I replied to this one:

From: [Mr. McBastard]
Subject: RE: 97 Grand Am
Counter offer: NO-fifty

Credit must be given to my friend, Mr. P. Tott, for providing the inspiration for this one.

Adventures in Craigslisting, Part 2: The Jealous Boyfriend

This one is really just an extension of the previous post about Craigslisters asking very difficult questions. It starts out the same, with a brief message requesting me to call them, despite the precedent and ease of electronic communication:

From: [Female Name]
Subject: Car
please call me at [redacted],thank you.

As with the previous set of requests, I called this person hoping that perhaps her questions were so detailed that they could not be answered over such an impersonal medium as email.

When the other end picked up, this is (roughly) the conversation that followed:

Male Voice: Hello?

McBastard: Hello, my name is [Cynical McBastard]. Is [Female Name] available?

MV: What's this about?

McB: [Female name] had contacted me about the car that I'm selling. Is she available?

MV: (suspiciously) How do you know her?

McB: I don't. She just gave me this number to call.

MV: (still suspicious) Do you work with her...? I mean, how does she know you?

McB: We don't know each other. She replied to an ad I have up for a car for sale.

MV: (as if he's caught me in a lie) So, how did you get this number?

McB: (annoyed) She emailed it to me. Is she available or not?

MV: Hold on. (fumbling with the phone) This is my phone. So, wait, she was going to buy your car?

McB: (perturbed) I don't know; that's what I'm calling about. Is she there?

MV: Now hold on. Maybe it was me who emailed you. [Female Name] is my girlfriend, but I buy old cars from time to time.

McB: (completely without patience) So, are you interested in buying a car or not? I really don't understand the problem here.

MV: (scoldingly) Now you listen here!...

At that point, I had had enough of the jealous boyfriend and I wasn't about to let him scold me for being fed up with his jackassery. I hung up.

Jealous Boyfriend called back immediately, but I didn't pick up. He left a message, though, and I wish I'd kept it. To the best of my memory, it went something like this:

I don't know what the hell your problem is. You got a real attitude problem. I am just trying to find out the situation with this car and you keep talking about [Female Name]. I don't know who you are ... who you think you are, but you're not going to sell anything talking to people like that. I just wanted to find out if this was a car I wanted to buy and you got a real attitude. So, to hell with you. Good luck trying to sell your car, buddy!

He was right about one thing: I wasn't going to sell anything.

Adventures in Craigslisting, Part 1: Difficult Questions

In a vain attempt to sell my car, I put an ad up on Craigslist. Within minutes I got replies. I was a bit confused, though, when several of the replies were simply phone numbers. A couple were literally just the numbers, but a few tried to spruce up their messages with actual words:

Please call me at [redacted]

I want to try and buy your car u can call me at [redacted] or [redacted]

i'm interested in your car could you give me a call @ [redacted]

These were honest inquiries, mind you. They were emailed to me, not texted, so I can assume that the writers had access to a full, standard QWERTY keyboard. I can also assume, with some reservation, that these messages were not written by elementary school children. These messages came from people of legal driving age (and most likely, old enough to vote), and they could not even form enough of a coherent thought, let alone express that thought with proper English, to ask any relevant question about the car itself or how they could go about obtaining said car.

I decide to give these people the benefit of the doubt, though. I hoped that perhaps they were busy and hurriedly firing off emails, and, despite having utilized the internet to find and contact me regarding my item for sale, they chose to disregard this medium of communication because their questions were so detailed and intricate that they were incapable of being translated into the written word.

This was false hope.

When I called some of these people, the most detailed questions I received from any of them were one, if not all three, of the following:

What color is it?

How many doors does it have?

What was wrong with it?

These seem like reasonable questions when you don't take into account that there were four color pictures -- one, a full-length side-view depicting two doors (so one could assume that there is an equal amount on the other side) -- at the bottom of the Craigslist ad that explained, in detail, that there is a major leak in the coolant system. In short, they only wanted to ask me questions to which adequate answers were already available.

As it turned out, not one of them was interested in buying my car. Just wasting my time and cell phone minutes.