lessons learned

You know all those times when I write something about an incident involving Mrs. Pincus and her eBay business and I always add a disclaimer noting that she will not sell your stuff on eBay......? Well, here's why.

A little while ago, Mrs. P acquired a children's play table from one of her many sources. She has an uncanny knack for spotting things that she knows are desirable and will sell quickly. Granted, there are a number of items in her vast inventory that were obtained during the Clinton administration that are still waiting for their chance to be "re-homed," as they say. But, for the most part, Mrs. P will acquire an item and sell it within a reasonable amount of time.

Once a particular item is sold, it has to be packed securely and shipped to its new owner. Most of the items that Mrs. P sells are small enough to fit in a standard square or rectangular box. These are things like books, toys, jewelry and small kitchen gadgets. On the occasion that an item is large and awkward and oddly-shaped — like a children's play table — well, that's when things get a little more involved.  See, Mrs. Pincus acquired this table fully assembled. She knew, when the time came, it would have to be disassembled. Because the table did not come with its original box, a new box would have to be imaginatively created from the stockpile of other boxes that Mrs. P has collected. 

But, first, the disassembly portion...

I am not what you would call a "handyman." I can draw a handyman, but I can barely change a lightbulb or hang a picture. Our household toolbox consists of six or seven screwdrivers in assorted sizes, a hex key set that I think I used once and a couple of hammers — including a small lightweight example that is painted pink. Oh, and the "toolbox" itself is actually a small plastic beach bucket. It may even have Thomas the Tank Engine emblazoned on it. Needless to say, I have no plans to add a deck on to the back of my house or change an air filter in my car by myself. So, when the task of taking apart this children's table arose, I grabbed three of my screwdrivers and excitedly set to work. (That's what we, in the trade, call "sarcasm.")

The table had somewhere between thirty and a million screws holding it together. The object was to get this big, square, three-dimensional table to be as flat as possible. That would involve unscrewing and removing each of those million screws. and stacking up the colorfully-painted slats that formed the table. The first couple of screws came out easily, giving me a false sense of accomplishment. "This will be a snap!," I thought to myself. After quickly removing four screws, the fifth one spun and spun and spun in its little screw hole. If it was capable, I'm sure it would have giggled at me and my efforts to extract it. For the next hour or so, I struggled with these tiny screws. Some came out relatively easily. Others — most of the others — took much more concentration and a fair amount of elbow grease. I kept switching from screw to embedded screw, leaving several partly extracted while I worked on one of its colleagues. Mrs. Pincus suggested borrowing an electric screwdriver from her brother. I haven't spoken to my brother-in-law in nearly ten years and I wouldn't borrow a pint of blood from him if it meant another few hours of my life. As an alternate, my wife suggested asking if my next-door neighbor had an electric screwdriver I could borrow. This is a guy with whom I exchange waves when I arrive home from work. That's hardly the type of relationship that includes the lending out of tools. I waved off both suggestions and — eventually — I got all of the screws removed. The task stretched across two weekends, but after a little sweat, a little resolve and a lot of cursing, success was mine. At least for the first part of the "let's ship this table" project. Now, the thing has to be packed up.

Mrs. P and I toted the table pieces over to her shipping and packing facility just a few blocks from our house. First, we wrapped each piece in plastic and bubble wrap. Then, we measured and stacked and rearranged and fitted those pieces into a double-thick cardboard box that was fashioned — Frankenstein-style — out of pieces of other cardboard boxes. Together, we secured the table pieces into a tight and sturdy package, all held in place with miles of clear packing tape. When we were satisfied that the whole thing was capable of making the trip to the far reaches of North Carolina and would not succumb to the angry and careless hands of the good folks within the Federal Express shipping lanes, the box was hoisted up on the office scale for a final check of weight. The digital display confirmed that our little (well, not so little) parcel was within the "safe" bracket and would not incur additional "oversize" charges. Then it was off to the nearest Fed Ex office.

A few days later, Mrs. P got an email from the happy buyer. The table had arrived safe and sound. She complimented Mrs. Pincus on the stellar packing, noting how each piece was carefully wrapped and secured inside the box. She went on to say how she and her husband were assembling the table where it would provide their young daughter with hours and hours of educational fun... or something like that.

However...

The email concluded with a slight criticism. She scolded Mrs. P for not properly wiping off visible dust and smudges on the table's surface. She noted that there was a slightly sticky residue on the one of the slats. Although it was not visible, she could feel its tackiness when she ran her finger over the particular spot. Before concluding her email, she reiterated her complaints and recommended that — in the future — items be cleaned before shipping. As Mrs. P responded in the most humble and apologetic way possible, I offered a passionate "fuck you" which did not make the final cut of Mrs. P's reply.

Once again, eBay is much more that listing an item for sale then kicking back while the money rolls in. There is a lot of work involved. A. Lot. Of. Work. So... for the last time.... no! Mrs. Pincus will not sell your stuff for you on eBay.

So, stop asking.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

get out of here with that (boom * boom * boom)

As a twenty-plus year seller on eBay (Oh for crissakes! NO! She will not sell your stuff!), Mrs. Pincus joined a Facebook group called "eBay For Beginners." She joined to offer her years of experience on the commerce website to those who are just starting out as sellers and are overwhelmed by the whole thing. The membership is mostly comprised of novice sellers, hoping to cash in on the untold riches they've been told are available on eBay. On a daily — sometimes hourly — basis, folks posts questions and scenarios that are filled with a combination of wonder and wrong information. After reading responses to these questions, Mrs. P chimes in with a clear-headed solution, based on a previous experience with the issue at hand. After twenty-seven years, she has seen it all and has become somewhat of an expert on the ins and outs of the mighty online auction and "buy-it-now" website. She has fielded questions about shipping and the head-scratching policies of the United States Postal Service. She has deciphered eBay policies that can sometimes be very confusing to new sellers. She has offered tips and tricks to make for more visible and enticing listings. She has even identified mysterious items that someone discovered while digging through Grandma's attic in hopes of finding some priceless antique that will result in a huge monetary return.

Like this one...

An anonymous member in the group (as anonymously identified by the user name "Anonymous Member) posted multiple images of a particular item. The user asked for assistance in identifying this piece. The item in question — a double ceramic cup decorated with dainty flowers and a large handle joining the two vessels — was like nothing this particular user had ever seen. They came to the good, sometimes helpful, folks in the "eBay For Beginners" group for some help.

In addition to her years of eBay experience, Mrs. Pincus has many more years of experience attending assorted Jewish religious services and practices. Immediately, upon seeing the photos, Mrs. P knew exactly what she was looking at. She explained that this was a ritual handwashing cup that is used before a meal. A blessing is recited and a bit of water is poured from the cup onto each hand to cleanse before eating. The wording on the overarching handle reads "Al Nitilat Yadayim" in Hebrew. It translates to "taking up of the hands." She went on to explain that these cups are made from a variety of materials, including copper, silver, glass even carved wood and some come with a bowl to catch the excess water. Most often they are a single cup with two handles. Mrs. Pincus commented on the uniqueness of this one, adding that, although she had never seen on quite like it, it was most definitely a ritual hand-washing cup. (Curiously, it does not have a specific name, like "sure, that's a piece of clothing, but it's called a scarf" or  "yes, that's a part of a cow's muscular system, but it's called a hamburger.")

The anonymous user thanked Mrs. Pincus for the information. But, because it's the "never satisfied" internet, a few comments under Mrs. P's clear and concise explanation, was a comment from another member of the group who offered a contradictory take on the object, as though this was a game of  The Liar's Club. This person — one Janet Roberta Mahoney — asserted that, and I quote...

"I disagree that it's for handwashing as pouring from one side spills the other. Can't tell from the photo how big it is. Is the open part connected between the 2? If so, I'd say it was a vase."

I'm going out on a limb here, but I'd say that Mrs. Pincus has been to many more Passover seders than Ms. Mahoney. I would venture to guess that Mrs. Pincus has held as many ritual hand-washing cups as Ms. Mahoney has held shillelaghs. While I wouldn't question Ms. Mahoney's knowledge of leprechauns, the Blarney Stone or St. Patrick's secrets of ridding a country of snakes, I would like to know how many times she has sat through the full reading of the Magillah, how many times she kisses the mezzuzah affixed to her door jamb before she leaves the house or  how much cholent she has eaten in her lifetime. If the original post featured a photo of a thurible, I would trust Ms. Mahoney in her assessment and explanation of that piece and its function in the rituals of the Catholic Church. But, alas, it was a photo of a hand-washing cup adorned with Hebrew writing — something with which Mrs. Pincus is intimately familiar. This is a case of staying in your lane, Ms. Mahoney, even if that lane is on the left side of the road.

I have often said that Mrs. Pincus is the nicest person I know. I don't say that just because she is my wife. I genuinely believe she is the nicest person. However, after hanging around with ol' Josh Pincus for over forty years, some of that "Josh Pincus"-ness has unfortunately rubbed off on her. Every once in a while, a "Josh Pincus"-style remark slips through when a more "Mrs. Pincus" reply would be expected. Mrs. P read Ms. Mahoney's comment and replied: "You're wrong."

Kinehora.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

special delivery

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."

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

missing you

Mrs. Pincus has an eBay business… and no! she will not sell your stuff for you. She will, however, happily take your unwanted small boxes, bubble wrap, packing material and padded envelopes. You can either drop these items off on our front porch or she will come to your location (within reason) and pick them up. 

My wife has put the word out for boxes and things on a fairly regular basis. And, on a fairly regular basis, our front porch is overflowing with all shapes and sizes of boxes and such… some that can be used in her business and some that cannot. The things that she has no use for (including newspaper, large boxes and Priority Mail boxes that have gone through the postal system once) are added to our weekly recycling bin and taken to the curb on trash collection day.

While she is grateful for the boxes that people are kind enough to save for her, I am still puzzled by the thing that people thing qualifies as “useable packing material.” Among piles of suitable boxes, we have found empty packages from baked goods with a big cellophane “window” and the bottoms of which are covered with crumbs. We’ve received product boxes from make-up – tiny boxes of flimsy cardboard that once held a tube of lipstick, not more than two inches long. What could we possibly ship in a box like that? We’ve found pieces of Kleenex and crumpled fast-food wrappers. In other words, trash. 

We have also discovered unusual items mixed among a stack of boxes. Things like bags of screws that came with a purchased item to aid in assembly. Sometimes we have found the ordered item itself. We once even found a credit card lying at the bottom of an opened Amazon box. People are very particular about obscuring their home address on a shipping label, but not so concerned with making sure they have removed the item they bought before discarding the box. 

Mrs. P takes the usable boxes to her shipping office, where it will be reused at some point in time. Sometimes, a box or envelope may sit for months – or even years – until it is deemed the perfect vehicle for a particular item’s journey through the delivery process. 

This week, Mrs. P needed to ship a small poster of some sort. She selected a sturdy cardboard mailer that a kind soul donated some time ago. She opened the mailer to secure the purchased item only to find that something was already inside. She reached in and extracted a large diploma from New York University. Shocked, she pulled a similar-sized mailer that was on the shelf, as it was received at the same time. This one contained a diploma from the University of California. The names on the address labels on both mailers had been blackened with marker but the original postmarks were still legible. They read “2018” and “2020” respectively. These envelopes were setting on a shelf for at least three years waiting to be used.

Mrs. P didn’t recognize the names on either diploma. Because the recipient’s name was crossed out, she had no idea who could have dropped this off at our house… three years ago. 

So, she took to the always ready, usually helpful social media, specifically Facebook. Logging in to a group for our immediate neighborhood, she posted the scenario. To combat those who would tell her to just contact the names on the diploma, she added that the names of the graduates may not be the ones who dropped off the envelopes. 

Not too long after her post, she was contacted by the embarrassed mother of the diploma recipients. She said those envelopes must have been gathered up with other, emptier envelopes without even checking the contents. Why weren’t the diplomas framed and hanging on a wall? Why weren’t they missed – one for three years and one for five? Didn’t one of those kids ask where their diploma was? Perhaps a prospective employer didn’t need proof of graduation. 

So many questions. 

We still want your boxes though. Who knows what we’ll find next?

 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

just dumb enough to try

My wife has been selling items on eBay for over a quarter of a century and, as I have said many times before, no! she will not sell your stuff for you. She has enough problems with unreasonable, dim-witted customers that she doesn't need to add to those ranks and receive just a percentage of the selling price for her aggravation. Get it? No? Here's some examples of what poor Mrs. Pincus deals with on a daily basis.

While Mrs. P takes great pride in her packing skills, she is still at the mercy of the simian-like handling of packages by the intrepid (or is that "inept?") United States Postal Service. While she goes to great lengths to make sure delicate and fragile items are secure and protected for shipping, things happen, especially when those things fall into the Neanderthal clutches of the unwashed cretins who are employed by the post office. Just a few days ago, a customer emailed Mrs. P explaining that their recent purchase of a ceramic bowl arrived damaged. This has happened on occasion and while it — technically — is up to the customer to pursue filing a claim and getting a refund for damaged items that carry postal insurance, Mrs. Pincus is only too happy to assist in filing such a claim. This particular customer brought up the notion of filing a claim for the broken item, asking if said claim should be filed with the United States Postal Service, the entity responsible for delivery of the item (and whose carelessness caused the breakage) or UPS, a competing delivery company who, in this case, had absolutely nothing to do with the package. Mrs. Pincus remained professional and guided the customer to the USPS claims website to get the ball rolling. It's a good thing that this customer was not dealing with Mr. Pincus, as things would have taken a decidedly different, a decidedly more sarcastic and condescending route.

The very same day, another eBay customer contacted my wife with a question regarding an item that they had just purchased. Again, they already purchased this item, and were seeking some clarification after the fact. The item in question, as you can see from the eBay auction listing, is a vintage postcard from the Jewish Museum of London depicting a synagogue lamp from the late 1600s. As the listing title clearly states, this is a postcard, originally printed in 1980. The accompanying photograph shows the front of the card, a large photo of the ancient sacred object taking up most of its 4" x 6" image space. The second photo is the reverse side of the postcard, showing the descriptive text identifying the item, its age and a few more details including where the item is currently on display. This postcard is one of several of the same vintage from the Jewish Museum of London that Mrs. Pincus acquired and is offering for sale. She has sold a number of them already. I have circled the word "postcard" on a screenshot of the item listing, to note that this is indeed a postcard that is for sale, although it is painfully obvious.

But, apparently, not to everyone.

The person who bought this postcard (for four dollars and ninety-nine cents plus seventy-five cents for shipping) asked this question regarding the purchase...

Yes, my friends, this is a legitimate question from a buyer.... after... AFTER... making the purchase. This person actually would like to know if they just purchased a seventeenth century, museum-quality, religious artifact for just under five dollars (and less than a dollar for shipping) or... OR... merely a postcard showing a photograph of this item. 

I shit you not!

Did this customer actually think they were getting a three hundred twenty-eight year old synagogue lamp from Damascus for five bucks plus six bits to get it to their front door? Mrs. Pincus stared at the inquiry for a few minutes before answering in the most professional, most diplomatic, most unemotional, most undeserving fashion possible. She replied that this was a postcard, as stated in the title and auction description. Additionally, the item was already shipped earlier in the day and would be received shortly. (Mrs. Pincus is also very conscientious when it comes to expediting shipments in a timely manner.) She anxiously awaits the possibility of a unhappy buyer and the claim of "item not as described" complaint registered with eBay.

This is why Mrs. Pincus will not sell your items on eBay. This is also why I do not answer her emails.

Wanna check out Mrs. Pincus's eBay items? Click HERE.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

forget you and forget her too

I have written about my wife's eBay business several times over the years. I am very careful to preface each post with the disclaimer — actually fact — that Mrs. Pincus will not sell your stuff on eBay. I never really elaborated on the reason behind that statement, just hoping that you (the reader and possibly any friend or relative) would just take it for face value and dispense with any further cajoling, convincing or downright begging.

Well, not that I owe anyone any sort of explanation.... here's the reason why Mrs. Pincus — in my opinion, the nicest person in the world — will not sell your stuff on eBay.

Mrs. Pincus sells a wide variety of merchandise in her eBay business. Over her years in the field of retail, she developed an uncanny sense for what will sell and she has managed to use that knack to her advantage for nearly 30 years. As buying trends change and "hot products" pop up, Mrs. P is front and center, cashing in quickly and getting out just as quickly before a fad turns sour. From Cabbage Patch Kids to Pogs to Beanie Babies, Mrs. P was there at the beginning — sneaking stealthily away before interests waned.

With a child well out of the "toy-buying" age, keeping abreast of the current trends in "flavor of the month" playthings is a little trickier. However, since it is in her best interest, Mrs. Pincus keeps a sharp eye on "what's hot" and "what's not" and what the parent of an eight-year old will buy at any price. Of course, toys aren't really limited to the wants of a child. There are plenty of adults who collect any number of toy varieties (Hell, we ourselves fell into that category for years, before we unloaded our vast Disney collection via the eBay route.) 

One of the more recent trends is something called "5 Surprise." 5 Surprise is a cute line of toys that, as far as I can tell, presents a dangerous choking hazard to any child engaged in its play. The 5 Surprise line of toys consists of miniature versions of characters that kids love, like unicorns and dinosaurs. They come packaged in a sealed spherical opaque container that is divided into five segments, each one containing a different character. The buyer can't see the selection before purchasing (in what is known as "blind packaging"), making the process of collecting more exciting... or frustrating, depending on how you look at it. In addition to kid-friendly characters, 5 Surprise also offers mini versions of popular grocery items in a line called "Mini Brands." The same premise of distribution is applied, but in this case, the spheres are filled with very detailed versions of Skippy peanut butter, Dum-Dum lollipops, Hostess cupcake boxes and a whole slew of tiny doppelgangers of your favorite products from supermarket shelves. In the assortment, there are also mini shopping baskets, shopping carts and even store shelving units on which to display your little collection. Evidentially, these little gems are pretty popular and Mrs. Pincus was able to acquire a quantity of individual pieces of 5 Surprise Mini Brands, out of their packaging. She listed them on eBay and they began selling immediately. This was good, as they are pretty simple to pack and ship. Most of them measure just a few inches in size and they certainly are not breakable. Every week, Mrs. P ships five or six of these little things along with the rest of her larger eBay item shipments.

A week or so ago, she sold a 5 Surprise mini replica of a jug of Kikkoman soy sauce. As per eBay procedure, the auction ended, the high bidder paid, included a nominal pre-determined shipping fee and Mrs. Pincus dutifully sent it off on its way. The end.... or so she thought. A short time after sending the mini Kikkoman jug to its new owner, Mrs. Pincus received an irate — borderline accusatory — email from the unhappy buyer. She stated that she was very disappointed that she had only received one item, when she was expecting five items, as the auction description stated. She was further disappointed in the size of the item. She expected it to measure three-quarters of an inch tall. Then, without waiting for Mrs. Pincus to explain or offer some compromising solution to this self-imposed dilemma, she proposed her own (somewhat threatening) arrangement. She instructed Mrs. Pincus to send the additional items — free of charge — and negative feed back would not be left for this transaction. Okay.... there is a lot going on here. First - let's take a look at the original listing for this particular item.

Let's begin with that fact that this item sold for $2.99. Obviously, we are not getting filthy rich selling these, but eBay is a volume-based business. In each one of the listings for 5 Surprise items, a line was consciously added to the description for the benefit of clarifying any questions a potential buyer would have about exactly how many items would be sent to the high bidder. The line, purposely put in bold red text, reads: "Manufacturer brand name is "5 Surprise", you will receive one item." This listing also clearly states the size of the items as two inches. Another disclaimer was added for the sake of those who, for whatever reason, would think they were buying a tiny jug of soy sauce. This line, in the same bold red text but in all capital letters, informs the buyer that this "DOES NOT CONTAIN ACTUAL PRODUCT, MINIATURE REPLICA FAKE FOOD" This, of course, is to discourage anyone from following their dream of opening an Asian-style restaurant that caters exclusively to mice.

All of our angered buyer's complaints are distinctly addressed in the original auction listing. The size, the quantity, everything. Plus, all of the correspondence was tracked and recorded through eBay's messaging system, so there is a record of the entire transaction and complaint. Oh, and eBay doesn't take too kindly to what they refer to as "feedback extortion." Feedback, for those unfamiliar, is an eBay rating system that rewards sellers who offer smooth, hassle-free transactions. Buyers have learned they can threaten to leave "negative" feedback until they get what they want. This will affect a seller's rating if enough "negatives" pile up. eBay warns about this practice and discourages it at several places on their website. Mrs. Pincus prides herself on her strong positive feedback rating and does not stand for idle threats ...especially over a $2.99 item and an unscrupulous buyer. She replied to the intimidation immediately, explaining how all details were plainly stated on the listing. She went on to make it perfectly clear that no additional items would be sent and that unjust negative feedback would be reported to eBay authorities. In a subsequent email, the buyer backed off with a far different tone than previous. She thanked my wife for the item and even offered a "God bless you" as a closing salutation.

This is just one example of an annoying transaction. They don't come up often, but when they do, they take a good chunk of time to resolve. Although most resolution is quick, some stretch out for weeks or even months. Most are not the fault of Mrs. Pincus, who is very careful about how she lists items for sale and how she packs those items for shipment (she does both single-handedly). A lot of the issues are postal-related, which, of course, Mrs. P has no control over. Even with United States Postal Service package tracking, buyers contact my wife first to find out why they haven't received their precious item in the blink of an eye. All they need to do is enter their tracking information on the USPS website and they will find out when to expect their M&Ms coloring book or their unopened pack of Dick Tracy movie trading cards. (Contrary to the behavior of panicked buyers, Mrs. Pincus does not sell life-giving elixirs nor does she operate a clearing house for transplant-ready internal organs.) Instead, hysterical high bidders frantically email my wife as their first line of defense... and when she replies to get details (because she is nice), she is invariably told: "Oh, I didn't check my mailbox today. I got it. Thanks."

Beetlejuice won't sell your stuff either. 

Mrs. Pincus sells thousands of items. That's right, thousands! When one of those items sells, she gets the entire amount of the sale — less fees from eBay. And there are a lot of fees from eBay. A lot. She does one hundred percent of the work. She is entitled to reap one hundred percent of the benefits. Now, if she were to sell an item for you, she would have to create the initial listing, take and upload several photos of the item and answer any questions that buyers may have about the item. What if it is something with which she is not familiar? She would have to contact you and you would have to answer the question immediately, because eBay buyers are not a patient bunch. They don't sleep and they sit by their computers 24 hours per day, waiting for answers to their inane questions. If your item sells, Mrs. P would have to pack it securely, take it to the post office and ship it. Then, she'd have to field any subsequent questions about delays in delivery or — eek! — complaints about the item itself once it is received by a remorseful buyer. All for a small percentage of the final selling price? How much? Ten percent? Twenty percent? If your item sells for ten bucks, then Mrs. P's indispensable efforts would net her — what? — two dollars? For doing all of the work while you sit on your butt and wait for the money to roll in? Would you do it? Yeah, I didn't think so.

So, while Mrs. Pincus is the nicest person in the world, a line has to be drawn somewhere. In this case, the line is drawn from eBay to you.

Any further questions?

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the anniversary waltz

There once was a boy
named Pierre

eBay, the famed internet auction, is celebrating its twenty-fifth anniversary in 2020. It's hard to believe 28 year-old computer programmer Pierre Omidyar sat in his apartment on Labor Day Weekend 1995 and wrote the code for an online auction, just so he could sell off a few duplicate Pez dispensers he had in his little collection. Or so he says in the company's press release. Actually, that story about eBay's humble beginnings that Pierre has been telling for a quarter-century is total bullshit. But it sure makes the internet auction powerhouse sound... um..... human?

My wife has been selling on eBay for nearly as long as there has been an eBay to sell on. (No, she won't sell your stuff.) Starting off as a supplement to running her parents' general merchandise store, Mrs. P has built her eBay business into just that — a business. She buys, lists, packs and ships merchandise in a regular routine and does it all herself. (I said 'No!,' she will not sell your stuff. Let it go!)

Way back in 2003, when my in-law's store was still operating, Mrs. P was maintaining her eBay business just a few days per week. Still, she was selling a good amount of merchandise. One day, while going through her email, answering questions from potential buyers and sending "end-of-auction" messages to customers, she received an announcement from eBay's headquarters — or so it appeared. She often received bogus emails claiming to be eBay and alerting her to some discrepancy in her account or a similar issue which needed immediate attention. This particular email congratulated her as the winner of a trip to the annual eBay Live! convention being held in Orlando, Florida. She perceived this email as no different from a number of scam offers and announcements she received on a daily basis — so she deleted it. A few days later, she received the same email again. And, again, she deleted it. A third email arrived. This one she read to me and we were treated to a good laugh before this email met the same fate as the previous two.

Then, a week or so later, instead of an email allegedly from eBay, Mrs. P received a phone call from eBay. The nice man on the phone asked my wife why she had not responded to the email about winning the trip to eBay Live! Mrs Pincus laughed and questioned his claim of truly being a representative of eBay. The man on the phone chuckled and said, "Well, I can end all of your auctions, if that'll convince you." She was convinced from the statement alone. He re-sent the email and we read it more carefully this time.

Apparently, because of Mrs. P's stellar selling record, she was awarded "Power Seller" status. All "Power Sellers" would be treated to a two-night stay at the ritzy Peabody Orlando Resort and full admission to the eBay Live! event at the Orlando Convention Center, a three-day celebration of all things eBay, including workshops, seminars and slew of other informative programs we weren't the least bit interested in. The convention also featured a trade show-like presentation floor, where hundreds of eBay associated businesses would be giving away all the logo-emblazoned tchotchkes we could carry. In addition, eBay would pick up the cost of airfare for the two of us. It sounded great, but we really weren't certain this was legit.

We received an official-looking information packet in the mail — allegedly from eBay — including several different release forms — all of which needed to be notarized. We took these forms to a local notary and then sent them back via registered mail. I said, "If this is a scam, at least we're only out the cost of a notary seal and postage."

In a few weeks, we received a bigger packet from eBay that included airline tickets, a hotel voucher and admission credentials for the convention itself. We still weren't convinced. As our departure date drew closer, we packed as though we were actually going on this trip. On the actual day printed on the so-called airplane boarding passes, we drove to the airport, proceeded to the proper gate and, eventually, boarded an Orlando-bound plane. The plane taxied and achieved an airborne state. Mrs P and I looked at each other and decided that we would finally be convinced once we checked in to the hotel.

Well, we landed in Orlando and were shuttled to the beautiful Peabody Hotel. We checked in without a hitch and soon found ourselves smack in the middle of the eBay Live! marketplace. We met and spoke with dozens of eBay representatives and collected free enamel pins to commemorate the event. We were invited to watch then-eBay CEO Meg Whitman deliver her keynote speech — a rousing motivational address that seemed to only be missing a cheerleading squad. When Ms. Whitman completed her oration, the stage was overtaken by the one-and-only Weird Al Yankovic who serenaded the faithful with an eBay parody set to the timely tune of the Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way."

The final day of the convention was capped off with an old-fashioned block party, where the inside of the Orlando Convention Center was transformed into a picket-fenced and green-lawned locale of Anytown USA. Grilled hot dogs, fresh popcorn and big, ice-filled tubs of soda were available for all conventioneers. As we strolled about the faux twilight-flecked neighborhood that the good folks at eBay meticulously created, Mrs. Pincus and I were finally convinced that this was on the level.

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taking care of business

For over 20 years, Mrs. Pincus has sold stuff on eBay, the popular online auction/marketplace. Before you ask... no, she will not sell your stuff for you. We have enough "merchandise" to sell that will last a lot longer than the time we have left on earth. However, if you like to see some of the items that are currently up for auction, please... stop reading now and click HERE. You can come back to this story anytime. But you may get outbid on that one elusive treasure to complete your collection.

Now, when most people hear that my wife sells stuff on eBay, they wrongly assume that she quickly lists thousands of items and then sits back while the money rolls in. Hardly. Listing items is a tedious, repetitious and time-consuming task. But, it doesn't end there. There are endless questions from prospective buyers. Questions that could very, very easily be answered if the buyer would only read more than the first three words of the auction title. Mrs. P is very careful to include pertinent information for each item (color, dimension in inches, sizes for clothing). Unlike some sellers on eBay, she no longer includes an extended, flowery description — opting instead to post pictures of the particular item, taken from several angles. (A picture is worth a thousand bids, as they say in the online auction game.) Nevertheless, no matter how long or short the description, Mrs. P regularly fields questions like "What color is this?" or "What size is this shirt?," despite the answer appearing in the title or the first sentence of the brief explanation of the item.

Then, there's the packing and shipping of the items once they sell. Mrs. Pincus maintains an office near our home that serves as a merchandise warehouse and packing center, stocked with boxes and padded envelopes and tape and bubble wrap. My wife is a regular face at our local post office, making trips there three times per week. So it's a job, my friend. A real live job. Just like the one you go to and complain about every day.

The other thing Mrs. P has to deal with — just like at your job — is assholes. Yep. They are everywhere. While the majority of eBay transactions come off smoothly, every so often, some jerk pops up and causes unnecessary trouble. (Just like at your job.) There are folks who make up elaborate stories about bidding on items by mistake. ("My two-year old bid on this when I wasn't looking." or "I was putting my phone in my pocket and I accidentally bid on and paid for this item.") Mrs. P treats them with courtesy and in the most professional manner, although they are all lying thorough their fucking teeth.

Then there is what is referred to as "buyer's remorse." This is when a purchased item arrives and it is not what the buyer envisioned (although each auction displays numerous pictures of the item). Or, the buyer has second thoughts about buying the item in the first place. Both of these usually evoke some sort of made-up tale of damaged packaging or a flat out lie about the item never arriving. Both of these scenarios are usually accompanied by a demand of a full refund of the purchase price. This is when "buyer's remorse" becomes "mail fraud." 

And then there are times when the unbelievable occurs.

Some time ago, Mrs. Pincus sold a small figurine of DC superhero Green Lantern to a buyer. The figure measures a few inches tall and is meant to stand on a shelf and be observed. It is not an action figure for play, as it is affixed to a base and is constructed from solid piece of molded plastic. 

A week of so after the Green Lantern was paid for and shipped, Mrs. Pincus received an email from the buyer, explaining that the figurine arrived broken. As per my wife's usual procedure for items allegedly damaged in postal transit, she politely asked for pictures of the afflicted figurine in question. At first, the buyer balked and offered the lame excuse that he did not have a camera — a situation that no longer exists in the free world. After a little email back-and-forth and a bit more coaxing, the buyer sent one picture. This picture, as a matter of fact...

Mrs. Pincus and I marveled at this photo. We felt like we were playing one of those "Spot The Differences" games from Highlights for Children magazine we loved as children. First off, this is a picture of an action figure with articulated arms and legs. The original figurine that my wife packed and shipped had non-moving appendages. The green color of the costume is different. The costume configuration is different. The sculpting of his little muscles is different. (If I may draw your attention the the figure's groin area [I beg your pardon!], you will seen the green color extends down to the figure's upper thigh. In the original figurine that my wife sold and shipped, everything from the waist down is black. The green ends at the abdomen. What I'm trying to illustrate is — this guy sent a picture of a broken Green Lantern figure he happened to have lying around. (Remember that thing about "mail fraud" I mentioned? Insert that here.) Mrs. Pincus immediately reported the entire episode to the good folks at eBay's fraud department. They took care of the rest.

We can only imagine that we ruined this guy's intricate international Green Lantern action figure Ponzi scheme, assuming he must have a stockpile of broken Green Lanterns and various disconnected arms and legs.... and my wife foiled his evil plan.... or something like that.

I guarantee this won't be the last eBay flim-flam story. It certainly wasn't the first.

***** UPDATE *****

Thanks to a head's up from a loyal reader of this blog, it appears that this motherfucker was scamming us worse than originally imagined. The picture that he sent to Mrs. Pincus to accompany his claim of the broken action figure wasn't even his picture! It was nabbed from an online article about repairing broken action figures, published a few years ago. See for yourself HERE.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

take a letter, Maria

My wife has been selling on eBay, the top online auction website, for years. Many years, as a matter of fact. In addition to regular auctions, she maintains an eBay "store" with an inventory of several thousand items. She makes trips to our local post office several times a week. Basically, she sells a lot of stuff.

For the most part, Mrs. P specializes in pop culture collectibles. That's a fairly broad term for a category that encompasses advertising memorabilia, sports team logo items, rock and roll merchandise and TV and movie related items. Various items emblazoned with logos representing Coca-Cola, McDonald's, M&Ms and other internationally-recognized companies are especially popular and particularly consistent sellers. A lot of these items in her eBay store and those offered for auction, had limited availability in their original distribution. Most were only available to company employees for a short time, either through brief distribution or from an employee-only store or catalog. Small promotional items — such as pens, t-shirts, mugs or figural likenesses of a company mascot — are highly sought-after by collectors of a particular company's memorabilia.

Last week, she sold and closed a sale for a promotional notepad from the headquarters of Pep Boys, the national chain of auto parts stores. Pep Boys, with their familiar mascots of Manny, Moe and Jack, produces a lot of promotional tchotchkes for their employees. Their aim is to boost employee morale and to maintain the company's branding. They have created and circulated key rings in the shape of cars and various automotive tools. Employees were treated to coffee mugs promoting a variety of company goodwill policies. Logoed pens and notepads were a staple throughout the company's Philadelphia-based main operations facility. (I should note that I worked in the Marketing Department of Pep Boys for four years and I managed to acquire more than my fair share of promo items.) The notepad that Mrs. P sold for $4.99 plus shipping was used to promote a specific employee initiative in the late 1990s. The top of each page displayed the smiling visages of Manny and his pals along with some sort of cheerful motivational slogan. The rest of each page was left blank to allow for the quick jot of a phone number as it sat by your desk phone at the ready. The very fact that most of these note pads were completely used or most likely trashed over the course of nearly twenty years, makes the one my wife sold a pretty rare commodity and a great find for a collector.

A few days after Mrs. P sent the Pep Boys notepad to the buyer (in a batch of a hundred or so other packaged shipments that went out that day), she received an email of a decidedly disappointed nature. The notepad had arrived and the buyer was not at all pleased. My wife prides herself on customer satisfaction and does her very best to ensure that her customers are content and that all wrongs are righted quickly. The email, angry and accusing in tone, proclaimed this as "the worst transaction in her history with eBay." The buyer dismissed her purchase as "not worth 49 cents let alone four-ninety-nine!" She demanded a refund. Calmly, my wife composed her standard "I'm sorry you are not happy with your purchase" email and inquired about her dismay. Mrs. P explained that this notepad was a limited-run, company-only item, out-of-print for nearly twenty years and then available only to employees in the main office.

A day or so later came the reply. The buyer said that she didn't really care what was printed on the individual pages, she merely needed a notepad.

My wife and I scratched our heads and tried to fully understand the "fucked-up-ness" of the situation.

This particular buyer lives in Sweetwater, Texas, the county seat of Nolan County. It boasts a population of a little over 11,000 people and sits approximately 35 miles west of Abilene, the 25th most populous city in the United States. Sweetwater is home to many independent drug stores, as well as outlets of national chains like CVS. I've been to a fair amount of drug stores in my life and I believe that most have a small section devoted to household items like light bulbs, adhesive tape and, um, notepads. In addition, right there on Interstate 20 (locally known as Georgia Avenue), there is a K-Mart (with convenient hours of operation; most evenings until 9 PM) and, less than a mile away, is a WalMart SuperCenter that is open TWENTY-FOUR-FUCKING-HOURS-A-FUCKING-DAY! You're telling me that this numbskull, in search of any ol' notepad to write a goddamn message to whatever other inbred moron to whom she needs to impart precious documented information, can't get up off her lazy, cheap beer-swillin', barbecue-munchin' ass and get on down t' th' WalMart to purchase a notepad for half-a-buck? No! Her first thought to obtain a notepad was to turn to eBay, search "notepads," and click "Buy It Now" on a listing for a notepad for four dollars and ninety-nine cents plus the cost of shipping it to her double-wide trailer. (By the way, in case she is doing some travelling, there are two more WalMart SuperCenters just up the road a piece in Abilene, as well as a Staples and an Office Depot. I'm fairly certain that they sell a variety of notepads. Many priced well below $4.99 with no collectible value whatsoever.)

Texas leads the nation in state-sanctioned executions, but obviously they are not working fast enough.

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