Tomorrow is a big day for Grainy McOakheimer.
We have had our table and chairs listed on Kijiji for the better part of a year, have dropped the price with each season and are anxious to help some willing buyer load it into a truck once they have proven their questionable looking beard is not in fact a thief’s disguise and have handed over the requested amount of cash, preferably in non-counterfeit bills.
We are both incredibly leery of this selling process. Previous items have been taken to a coffee shop and sold out of the trunk of our car like any normal drug transaction. I didn’t want a sea of strangers coming into my home to view an old camera, a cassette deck from a Volkswagen or some video game on how to make your own zoo, won in a golf tournament, mostly because I didn’t want to meet the people who actually wanted to own these items.
A dining room set is different. We can’t rent a U-Haul every time we have an interested buyer and invite a parking lot full of curious shoppers into our mini-traveling home-show, but we are both tiring of the tire kickers who have come and gone without so much as a chair pad.
One man drove three hours to view the table and I’m not sure he spoke.
One man said he liked it but his wife had the final say when it came to major purchases. Where was she?
One person arrived and I’m pretty sure thought we were selling our living room rug. How long have you been in the dining room table business Amelia Bedelia?
One guy emailed, then called, then emailed some more confirming the table was indeed oak. Yes, oak, just like the description in the ad states, just like the close-up of the grains would suggest but when he arrived asked us in person, “Is this oak?” he was adamant that oak simply wouldn’t be able to serve the needs of he and his family. Allergies?
My favourite was about a month ago when a man claiming to be from Ireland, living just outside of Dublin wanted to pay full price for the table and chairs immediately—sight unseen. I think throwing Dublin into his tall tale really had us convinced the offer was legitimate. How many other cities in Ireland could we know? He first requested our banking information (oh no you di’int) and said because he was so far away he would just send a truck with some guys over to pick it up and would pay three times what he was paying for the table to have it shipped to him overseas. A brighter red flag I’ve yet to see. Greg engaged in a few more absurd conversations with this Leprechaun who never used the same email address twice. When we finally said we wanted cash for the piece that was the last we heard from him. Still, we’re not quite sure how his scam was going to play out, just fairly certain it ended with the two of us tied to a pole in the basement surrounded by a sea of Lucky Charms.
We’ve been burned by e-bay before. Maybe burned is too strong a word. We’ve been bruised by e-bay and we want to be sure these buyers are legitimate, preferably not covered in shamrocks, who can produce the funds, the truck and the believable story to lug this thing out of here so we can get on with our lives.
Selling the table means something else too. I started writing around the time we posted it for the first time and told myself I would be published in a year. I’ve been fortunate to have landed a couple of articles in magazines and have another three coming out in the spring/summer. Still no literary agent, I’m hoping if this table leaves here tomorrow, I might also find a sliver of good news come my way.
Perhaps in a walnut finish?
