Back in late August and early September, when Benjie and I were hip-deep in planning our move to New York, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Moving is always a pain, but couple that pain with trying to sell your car…you’ve just increased the level of difficulty by a factor of ten.
I never in my wildest dreams, however, imagined that four months later, I’d still be paying car payments and insurance on top of my now-nearly-doubled rent.
Yes, the Acura is still mine, and on the 10th of every month as I write out a check for many hundreds of dollars to Chase to pay for a car that sits in my parents’ driveway, I cry a little inside. (Not because I hate the car, of course – I wish I could afford to keep it and just have it garaged until I need it again – that’s how much I love its shiny silver ass.)
The Story of Why Drew Still Has a Car is a long and convoluted one, but I’ll cut through the bullshit and give you one simple reason:
People are stupid.
I had a buyer lined up way back in October. He was a 30 year-old jabroni who ended up being the biggest waste of oxygen (and my time). He agreed to buy my car after taking it for a test drive. I wrote up a bill of sale, had it notarized, and overnighted it to him. No problem, right?
Yeah. Then he became an enormous pain in my ass. First his bank needed a copy of the title to the car. Fine – I had Chase fax it. But no, that wasn’t good enough. It needed to be an original copy from the bank. So I waited two weeks (over Thanksgiving) for Chase to print out a piece of paper and mail it to me. (Two weeks. And then they mailed it to the wrong address, even though I specifically requested that they send it to New York.) They are models of efficiency, I tell you.
I literally went back and forth with this guy for over two months. Next, he decided that he wanted me to sign a piece of paper stating that I would give him the title when the car was paid off. Uh…dude, you seriously are underestimating how badly I need to get rid of this car.
Anyway, after countless games of phone tag, Jabroni just up and stopped calling. Which was fine with me, because I was sick of his bullshit.
When I was home for a weekend a few months ago, I spent an entire Saturday driving to Acura dealers in three states – RI, MA, and CT.
Guess what? None of them wanted it. One sleazetard agreed to buy it and then later recanted, saying to me, “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Decided what?” I asked suspiciously.
“Decided if I want it,” he said. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, great. When do you think you’ll know?” I snapped.
“Gimme a call on Monday,” he shrugged, and then stared up at me from behind his desk with what I can only call an insolent gaze.
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that,” I said in disgust, and then stormed out of there, slammed the door, and peeled out of his parking lot.
The Tard Squad
I posted the car on Craigslist again over the weekend, and predictably, the emails from the Tard Squad have been pouring in.
Let’s examine them, shall we?
1. Some Greek guy who emailed me five times in two days with numbered lists of questions about the car. I shit you not – he numbered his questions, and he included the instructions, “Please be specific if possible.” It was like I was taking a goddamned test; I actually felt bad when I got to:
Do you know if the CD-player in the car plays MP3 and DVD audio discs?
And I didn’t know the answer. I found myself launching Google to see if I could look up the answer, and then I thought, what the fuck am I, a used car salesman? So I just wrote, “I have no idea” and sent it back to him, feeling oddly pleased with myself for not being as anal as I could have been.
2. The guy who answered my ad, knowing damn well that the car was in RI, emailed me many, many times about it, called me twice, ran a CarFax on the car’s VIN number, called me for directions to my parents’ house, and then decided that it was simply not worth it to him to drive an hour and a half to RI because he needs a car right away and “the distance was a factor.” As if I somehow coerced him into being interested. Gaah.
3. The guy who emailed me to tell me he definitely wants to test drive it, he’s interested, and that he just needs to sell his car first. Oh, please – let me sign up for THAT one, dude.
I am so over this bullshit, and I’m advertising it again this week. I can’t wait for a fresh new crop of morons to begin emailing me.
And people wonder why I drink.