I Don't Deliver

As I mentioned on Sunday, we spent the majority of our Saturday purging our attic. Nothing was sacred, nothing was safe. In fact, the only things I didn't open and dig through were our Christmas decorations, 'cuz I went all ape-crazy hard-core purging machine on that stuff before I packed it all away in early January.

What I didn't mention is that I spent all of Saturday evening, until about 11:30, taking pictures of some of our more "sell-able" items and writing up ads for them on the infamous cr@igslist.  I did so, knowing that it's not the best way to make huge amounts of money. But the stuff we're parting with truthfully isn't really worth a ton. And I did a little homework, checking on and off in the weeks prior to the big day to research what was selling and what it was bringing in for sale prices.

By 11 p.m. Saturday,  I already had two hits on my listings. They were fairly straight-forward, serious-intentioned inquiries. And in fact, I made $30 in one hour on those sales Sunday afternoon. But then the weirdness began.

Early Monday morning, I got this email:

Desperately interested in XYZ ASAP. Please contact 2day.(555)123-4567. Thank You.

followed by a bunch of symbols and other gobbedly-gook that appeared to be a bad translation of another language. Unless she was cursing at me and I'm just not hip or cool enough in my texting skills to know it...

So, eager to make the sale, I called the number. Not the Hollywood number like I listed above. The real number. Yeah, you see how I went all film-maker there and gave the "555" number?  Anyway. 

Whoever answered did so in what must have been a very crowded subway or train or bus. Cuz if that is how noisy her car always is, then she has some serious issues with training her kids. I'm just sayin'...  And through the shouting and (ahem, colorful words?) in the background, I made out that she's not sure she can get "all the way up there" to my town. That she'll need a ride, unless I'm willing to drive to SOUTH PHILLY (caps because she was shouting at me over the din in her background) to deliver the goods. Nope, sorry. I don't deliver. She was not pleased and went all "well, do you want to make this sale or not?" on me. With more garbled and, I'm sure, colorful words, in the background.

Ummm, yeah. It's not like I'm selling this item for a gazillion bucks. It's FIFTEEN dollars.  So, no. I'm NOT driving to SOUTH PHILLY for $15.

Then, this morning, I got another request.  To deliver a similar, $10 item down to University City. Not much closer than SOUTH PHILLY. But folks, it's $10.  And if you want it that bad, you come to me. Right? So, no, I don't deliver.

Got it? I don't deliver.