Mrs. P has been selling stuff on eBay for years. (For the last time, NO! - she will not sell your stuff for you!) Over the years, she has dealt with unusual customers and unusual requests. One item — a vintage children's rocking horse on a metal frame — was clearly marked on the list page as "LOCAL PICKUP ONLY." After the auction ended, the high bidder inquired about shipping, identifying himself as residing in Ohio. I realize that Ohio is closer to Pennsylvania that say Zimbabwe, but that does not qualify for "local pickup," even in the most relative of senses. After some fevered emailing, the high bidder consented to driving to our home in suburban Philadelphia to pick up their purchase.
Another buyer bought an item — this time it was a wicker baby carriage from the early 20th century — and inquired about shipping. Once again, they interpreted "local pickup" to their own needs. This buyer lived in the area of the Chesapeake Bay. After some email back-and-forth, my wife (the nicest person in the world, as we have previously established) made the offer to deliver the item herself, if the buyer could wait a week when my wife would be visiting family in Northern Virginia.
I guess, by now, you understand that Mrs. P sells items that fall into the "nonessential" category. Although, based on some of the desperately needy buyers, you'd think she operates a blood bank or a vital organ repository. Poor Mrs. P has been harangued by over-eager buyers negotiating quick delivery for a 30-year-old coloring book as though it were a pint of AB negative blood.
This past week, a potential buyer ("potential" at this point in the story) contacted Mrs. P regarding a particular item in her eBay stock.
TUESDAY 1:20 PM
Mrs. Pincus was contacted by a fellow who is interested in purchasing a pair of wooden crutches. He explained in his email that he needs — needs — these crutches for the weekend. (Let me point out that nobody needs a pair of wooden crutches. The Red Cross does not accept donations of wooden crutches, as they are difficult to disinfect. Lightweight aluminum crutches are the standard now and have been for some time.) Mrs. P acknowledged that several options for delivery could be made, however, because of the unusual size of the item and the immediate need (there's that word again), the cost could run towards the high side. She did not receive any further correspondence from the potential buyer.
WEDNESDAY 11:18 AM
Mrs. Pincus takes it upon herself to contact the potential buyer, offering another option for delivery. The potential buyer lives in New Jersey. North Central New Jersey to be more specific. She offered to meet in a convenient location, as she would be going to an appointment in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, which is actually no where near this guy's location... but, Mrs. P is nice and likes to be as accommodating as possible to make a sale. She received no response.
THURSDAY 9:02 AM
Mr. "I Need Wooden Crutches" sent an email, reiterating his intent to purchase. Although he had not made the actual purchase yet, he listed a number of delivery options including overnight express via the US Postal Service and hiring an Uber driver to pick the crutches up. (This is a service I was not aware Uber offered. To be honest, I have never availed myself of any of Uber's services.) Once again, Mrs. P suggested the "meeting halfway" option, to which he — once again — did not acknowledge,
THURSDAY 12:22 PM
Still no purchase.
THURSDAY 2:10 PM
Still no purchase.
THURSDAY 5:30 PM
The first word in over seven hours arrived. The potential buyer had decided to use the services of Uber to deliver his not-yet-purchased crutches to his location. He requested our address, which Mrs. P wisely will not reveal until a purchase had been made and confirmed.
THURSDAY 8:03 PM
Success! The crutches were purchased! Mrs. P sent our home address to the buyer and he confirmed that an Uber drive will be at our house at approximately 10:30 PM. Some of us (namely me) have to go to work the next day. Usually by 9 o'clock at night, Mrs. Pincus is waking me up on the sofa to go to bed. At this time, Mrs. P began readying the crutches for pick-up. She removed the rubber tips and put them in a small plastic bag. Then, she put the crutches themselves into a large trash bag as far as they would go, tying the bag securely. Then we waited.
THURSDAY 10:24 PM
As I sat dozing on the living room sofa, Mrs. Pincus checked a message on her phone. An automated text message informed her that the Uber driver was just minutes away.
THURSDAY 10:31 PM
A car pulled up in front of our house. Mrs. P woke me up and I ran out to the vehicle, gripping the knotted trash bag with the crutches in one hand. The driver of the car lowered her window and I asked if I should just put the bag in the back seat. The driver smiled and nodded, answering, "Sure" before the driver's window went back up. I opened the back door of the car and was immediately hit with the heavy overpowering aroma of cigarette smoke. I held back a cough, placed the bundled crutches on the seat and slammed the door shut. The car drove off into the darkness of our street.
"I wonder where the crutches are headed now," Mrs. Pincus asked aloud. "I wonder if they are going right to the buyer or if he is picking them up at another location."
"You got paid, right?," I asked.
"Yes.," my wife replied.
"My wondering has ended."