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slipjig3Today was the second attempt to sell ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
figmentj's asthmatic Honda CR-V, the one with nearly 180,000 miles and a dwindling will to live. The first attempt failed due to my own inertia, I'm sorry to say, as enough respondents to fill the stands at Wembley Stadium simultaneously dropped emails all over my inbox just as I was busy ignoring them, although to be fair, the fact that I was getting married might have been a bit of a distraction. Since I couldn't worm my way through all of the mostly insincere and now totally out-of-date inquiries, I deleted the lot and reposted the Craigslist ad, bracing myself for the deluge.
Not more than an hour later, there was a ring on the doorbell. "Hi," said the friendly-looking stranger outside, "are you the one selling the CR-V?"
The ad had contained no name, no address, no contact information save a forwarding email address. I backed from the screen door a bit. "Yeeeeees?"
He smiled, and it looked refreshing un-coyote-like. "I live just down the street. I recognized your driveway in the photo. If you're still selling it, I'll take it sight unseen. I've got cash." Because sometimes—just sometimes, mind you—the Universe makes it easy for you.
So, in chronological order, I opened the garage we'd been storing the poor dying beast in, pulled it out enough to clear the last of our stuff from the floorboards, haggled a mutually agreeable price, received a mess o' foldin' cash for it, handed over the title, and discovered that the battery had managed to die some time within the eight-foot reverse drive it had just completed. He went to fetch his flatbed (he was going to sell the parts anyway) and I took the money and ran.
This stands as my official accomplishment for the day, thus earning me the right to lay ass-mattressward for the duration. Which is good, because my motor functions decided they wanted to play Used CR-V Battery and crap out on me. I don't have it in me to complain.
figmentj's asthmatic Honda CR-V, the one with nearly 180,000 miles and a dwindling will to live. The first attempt failed due to my own inertia, I'm sorry to say, as enough respondents to fill the stands at Wembley Stadium simultaneously dropped emails all over my inbox just as I was busy ignoring them, although to be fair, the fact that I was getting married might have been a bit of a distraction. Since I couldn't worm my way through all of the mostly insincere and now totally out-of-date inquiries, I deleted the lot and reposted the Craigslist ad, bracing myself for the deluge.Not more than an hour later, there was a ring on the doorbell. "Hi," said the friendly-looking stranger outside, "are you the one selling the CR-V?"
The ad had contained no name, no address, no contact information save a forwarding email address. I backed from the screen door a bit. "Yeeeeees?"
He smiled, and it looked refreshing un-coyote-like. "I live just down the street. I recognized your driveway in the photo. If you're still selling it, I'll take it sight unseen. I've got cash." Because sometimes—just sometimes, mind you—the Universe makes it easy for you.
So, in chronological order, I opened the garage we'd been storing the poor dying beast in, pulled it out enough to clear the last of our stuff from the floorboards, haggled a mutually agreeable price, received a mess o' foldin' cash for it, handed over the title, and discovered that the battery had managed to die some time within the eight-foot reverse drive it had just completed. He went to fetch his flatbed (he was going to sell the parts anyway) and I took the money and ran.
This stands as my official accomplishment for the day, thus earning me the right to lay ass-mattressward for the duration. Which is good, because my motor functions decided they wanted to play Used CR-V Battery and crap out on me. I don't have it in me to complain.
