[one woman trifles with Craigslist, fraud & jail.. any second now]
Stop right there. This isn’t a prostitution story. Can you imagine? Ha! And if it was… well, I would certainly hope that I merited more than $400. But hey, who am I to put a value on myself. I like to think I’m more like a Mastercard moment than a Maserati: Priceless. Anyway, we’re way off topic here.
There’s three things you need to know about me before any of this makes sense:
#1. I don’t use credit cards. This is because I royally messed up my credit rating when I was a wee one (a little overzealous with the Jimmy Choo’s) and also because I don’t trust myself with them. They are never an option for me. Either because they’re maxed out, or because they’re cut up, in the garbage. Currently, I’m just trying out this new thing called responsibility. Which in a moment is going to seem null & void …
#2. I’m a spender, not a saver (& yes, I’m working on this). I’m the kind of girl that saves $25 a month, and spends the rest on red wine, McDonalds, and trips around the world (okay, or around the West Coast, whatever that particular paycheque allows. My Dad tells me that I “like to buy experiences” but that takes me back to the first paragraph of this article and I’d like to steer clear of that once and for all. Adventures is more like it. Except when I can only afford McDonalds and cheap red wine and NOT the around the world part… that’s what I like to call a minusventure. Not to be confused with a misadventure, which is really just an adventure that doesn’t end in your favor.
#3. I didn’t plan for this move. I know you know this, but I’m just driving the point home. Tuesday, bank balance of $0.50, “hey want to move back to Kamloops?” “Ok!” Wednesday, bank balance of $0.50, “we have the apartment! Quit your job, you’re moving!” “Ok!” Thursday, bank balance of $0.50, “so deposit and first month’s rent comes to $____” “Ok!”
Mom’s voice in my head saying I’m not lending you any money! Once again you make a decision without planning on it! If you had thought of this two months ago you’d have plenty of money.
Good point, Mom. Good point. Now what?
I come up with the money is what.
I’ve started this new method of thinking that has made this whole thing (so far) not one bit stressful at all. Whenever I start to think of something anxiety inducing (like, oh I don’t know, needing $400 more dollars for said rent within 2 days and not having another paycheque for 11 days) I just tell myself the following “HOORAY! Another ADVENTURE!”
No really. Try it. Boyfriend ran off with a red headed tramp? HOORAY! Another ADVENTURE! Just got fired? HOORAY! Another ADVENTURE! Burnt the birthday cake and the party starts in 3 minutes? HOORAY! Another ADVENTURE!
It works like a dream! Of course, with this comes the mandatory follow up question, which is: how can I turn this unfortunate situation into an adventure?
So, my first thought in this money making debatical was “I’m moving, might as well get rid of stuff, what can I sell that people will buy?” I thought of exactly one thing (because I’m obviously a materialistic cow and can’t get rid of anything.) A gigantic and completely gaudy Louis Vuitton suitcase that I’m too embarrassed to bring with me anywhere because I don’t own a pair of Louboutins to go with it. But then, nostalgia hit me. This bag went to Paris with me! This bag went to London with me! This bag went through LAX & back to YVR blundering around behind me like a horse buggy. I can’t get rid of it. Besides, it will be really expensive vintage one day. Also, it will be really useful for moving.
Still a materialistic cow? Check.
So then, I thought down the list of other things to sell (Craigslist style). I have a decent camera that the girlfriend I’m moving in with has a twin of. Done. Posted. $350. Fingers crossed.
Forty seven sketchy hits later I get an email from this dude, let’s call him Raul (because why not make him Spanish). He’s all, tell me about it, and so I did. And then, then, I see his email. Raul at someplacethatbuysgold dot com. Gold! Of course, how could I have forgotten! I don’t have any gold. BUT! Places that buy gold usually buy sterling silver and I have a WHACK of that from when I went through this stage where I was obsessed with Tiffany’s chains and was dating a really generous guy. Turns out, some things Tiffany’s sells do go out of style…
So I send Raul an email back.
Hey Raul -
Sure, the camera’s yours. I can’t help but notice from your email that you work for some place that buys gold. I’m moving and am unloading a bunch of stuff and would love to check old jewellery off my list. Maybe I can hit two birds with one stone?
Thanks in advance,
(Because that’s how I roll, all professional and shit.)
And Raul was all “sure, come down to my office tomorrow at 1:45. We’re located at blah blah blah” and I was like “HOORAY! An ADVENTURE!” (see, the Universe works in your favor when you stop telling it to shut up).
Raul bought my camera for my listing price, no questions asked. He also told me that the three pieces of jewellery that I have based the entire past 5 years of my worth on (Tiffany’s, Tiffany’s, Tiffany’s) were FAKE.
Pardone moi? See, adventure.
So I was all “Raul, puh-leeeease, I bought these myself at the Tiffany’s on 5th in New York” (Ok, so I fibbed. My ex’s sister bought them for me at the Tiffany’s on 5th in New York. I don’t know why I did it. Probably because I was MORTIFIED and also because that’s just what I do. When things get stressful I bend the truth. It’s why I want to write. I can lie professionally) and he was all “that’s impossible. Either way, they’re fake” and then I got out of there SOFAST because I realised I just lied and that I could be arrested for FRAUD.
I texted my ex. “Hey remember that time you gave me Tiffany’s for Christmas and it was fake? HA HA!” (that’s the exact text I sent) & he insisted that it was real because he paid for it and I was all “well your sister sure made a cool buck!” and then I sat at my computer back in the office praying that the police weren’t on my trail for trying to sell knock-offs.
I felt so bad that I emailed Raul.
Hey Raul – Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me this afternoon. I am so sorry for wasting it with this jewellery. I am absolutely mortified.
Worst. Criminal. Ever.
$50 dollars to go.
I assessed my assets. No more trying to sell things that I didn’t PHYSICALLY purchase myself. Which rules out pretty much all of my luxury items apart from shoes (NO WAY) and my Marc Jacobs purse (…s) (NO WAY). & upon this discovery I decided that I was done selling things. So I started counting pennies. Literally.
In the midst of my penny count, I got a return email from Raul:
Thanks a lot for bringing the camera down, we really needed a new one..
No big deal, hopefully you did not pay a lot for it. We do buy a lot of real Cartier and Tiffany if you are ever looking for anything.
First of all, Raul, if I ever want real Cartier or Tiffany’s I’m going to go to effing Cartier or Tiffany’s to buy it, but thank you. Second of all, obviously if I’m SELLING it, I’m not in the market to BUYit. But thank you. And third … well, thank you for not calling the police. Now I can start selling things again and stop counting pennies.
Although, seeing as I had already started, turns out thanks to my mason jar savings, I made my $400.
My adventure landed me on the edge of Friday and the start of a weekend which means that although I now had $400 dollars, I also had a weekend to feed. A big weekend.
Do any of you have an obsession with something obscure? I do. It’s Fubar. & it has rocked my world since 2004 and the first time I ever heard someone use the phrase Just Give’r. Naturally then, $60 of my hard earned $400 was spent immediately on tank tops and a get-some-balls margarita which was used to propel myself through the most self-inflicted awkward meet and greet of all time… I blame the fact that the word “dip” and “dick” sound like almost the same thing and then when telling someone they smell like one of the above you should be very careful to annunciate clearly…
A weekend of fun in the sun left me in deficit even after all my footwork. Luckily, I have friends in low places (not really, I just like the song) who are all “BAM, no big deal baby doll, I got this.” Wooooooo to loves who save the day with a few $20 bills.
Alas, everything works out when you put in the footwork, pay attention & treat it like an adventure… (& ask nicely.)
xo & yw