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Age: looks like 30s
Last Seen: north Grand Rapids
Bee-otched For: being the worst CraigsList customer ever
James Corden said it best: there's an app for everything. There's an app to help you get laid (Tinder), communicate with friends (Facebook) and even one where you can get killed.
And yes, that site is CraigsList.
Yes, I use CL to sell my unwanted junk. It's even gotten me through some tough times when my ex-boss was stifling me from working a livable wage. Before last week, I only had one other customer whom I considered as an asshole, and it was a schmuck who tried to get me into selling his shit (and yes, he was given BOTD on May 8, 2012).
I've learned a lot from selling on CL. Thankfully, most people I've sold to are decent humans. I even sold a bunch of old VHS tapes to a man I thought was going to kill me since he told me to meet him by a party store on Division that had been robbed. Turned out that he was a good guy who was going to erase the tapes and replace them with old cartoons to donate to low-income families.
But now, I have a new champion in the world of CL customers.
Our story begins over a year ago with my ex-girlfriend. She wanted me to buy her beach balls and a helium tank to fulfill her weird-ass sexual desires. The helium tank I bought was $23 at Target and came with balloons. We took the crap home, but I remembered that we hardly used the tank at all. We tried to fill one of the balls to no avail and so we ended up blowing up maybe six balloons. Of course, the bitch and I broke up, so I was left with a gently used tank that I busted a shitload of money on for no good reason. Now, I wasn't going to sell the beach balls on CL (because some of them were shoved up her you-know-what). But the tank was still good, so I thought.
I decided to sell the helium tank and balloons on CL for a reasonable $10. I did get offers, but they all fell through. I was hoping to sell them when I was broke, but last week while I was working 10 hours per day and was scheduled for Saturday, I got an offer from a woman who was going to use it for her son's 10th birthday party. Normally, I'd like my customers to meet me at the gas station down the street from where I live. However, this bitch had me drive all the way to her son's doctor's office which was way up the East Beltline here in Grand Rapids. I drove 30 minutes through rush hour traffic to get there, even when I had to pull to the side because my GPS failed. Anyway, I got there and the woman, who was slightly on the chubby side got the tank and balloons. I even demonstrated to her that yes, it still worked by taking a balloon, blew it up with air and sucking it to prove that it still worked. I also gave her a receipt stating that I sold it to her as-is, simply to save my ass.
Well, things were hunky dory for a few days until this skank lovingly sent me this email:
Today is my sons 10th Birthday and your helium tank blew up 5 balloons and is empty. You Niggers.
Wow. sounds like a happy customer! So happy that she used the queen mother of all racial slurs. The big one, the n-dash-dash-dash-dash-dash word. A word I wouldn't use in the first person or else Jesse Jackson would wash my mouth out with Afro-Sheen.
References to A Christmas Story aside, look, I'm no expert on helium. If the thing had a gauge and was empty, I wouldn't sell it. I hardly used the damn thing so I thought it was still good. THIS IS WHY WHEN I SELL USED STUFF ON CRAIGSLIST, I WRITE A RECEIPT STATING THAT IT'S AS-IS. ONCE IT'S YOURS, YOU AIN'T GETTING A REFUND, PERI-FUCKING-OD.
Now, if you *kindly* complained that the item I sold was a POS, I would apologize and be humble. But since this bitch who reminds me of a typical Jerry Springer Show guest was kind enough to call me - a Caucasian - the n-word, I know whom I'm dealing with. Besides, I drove all the way through traffic after being awake since 3:30 am that day to supply her fat ass equating to wear and tear on my car, so yes, the $10 was perfect enough. I've since used the money for a two-pack of Monster, my weekly offering to my church and change for my laundry.
The moral of this story: don't fuck with Chuck.
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