When I finished my teaching internship and graduated from Southern Illinois University, I was reassigned from temporary duty at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, Washington, to Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland. I was assigned to Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland, to attend the Ordnance Officer Advanced Course. Before I left to attend that school, I sold my Fiat Spider 2000. I had a magic number in mind that I had to get in order to sell that car. And the first person (sucker) to offer me that number would receive the prize. The prize in this case, of course, was the Fiat. I didn’t consider it a prize. I considered that piece of shit exactly what it was. A piece of shit. Or, more specifically, a haunted piece of shit. But hey, what the buyer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him (or her). I had to be an equal opportunity seller. Notice that I said that I was going to sell to the first “sucker” that came along. That’s because in the immortal words of my favorite cartoon character Bugs Bunny, there’s always gotta be at least one Gull-e-bull sucker. I was banking on that fact. Sure enough. I only had to wait three days after I put an ad in the paper. Two people came out and looked at the car, but they weren’t really interested in it. However, that third guy started chomping on the hook as soon as he had a look at the car. His first question to me was, “Why are you trying to sell the car?” That seemed like a legitimate question, so I replied, “Look around pal. I have three cars and a van. My wife needs a car and I’m keeping my van. We’re keeping the silver Pontiac for my wife. So, I need to get rid of two cars. Cuz the Army is shipping me out.” “Oh. You’re selling the car because you’re leaving.” “Ding. Ding. Ding. Exactly.” “Well, why wouldn’t you keep this one? The Army would put it into storage for you. Wouldn’t they?” “Well, they probably would, but I think you can only store one car at government expense. That would be my wife’s car. I’m going to store my van at my parents’ house. As a general rule, ragtops don’t do well when stored outside.” “I see. But didn’t you have to give a lot of money for this car when you bought it?” “Oh no. I inherited that car. As a result, I don’t have any sentimental value attached to it.” “I see.” “However, that being said, I’m not a fool. I’m not going to just give the car away. That’s why the ad said make an offer. You make an offer. And if I like it, I will accept.” “May I take it out for a drive?” “Sure. Let me just get the keys.” When we got in the car, he asked me if there were any limitations on where he could go. I said, there weren’t any, within reason, as long as he took care of the gas. So, he drove the car until he was satisfied. Then, we returned to my house. He said, “About the price, how much do you want?” I replied, “I haven’t heard an offer.” “Well, what is fair?” “I think you already know the answer to that question. I also think you know how much this car will bring on trade. You’ve seen the condition. You’ve driven it. You’ve seen how many miles it’s got on it. And I’ve shown you the maintenance records.” “I’ll have to think about it and get back to you.” “That’s fine. Remember this, I have a number in mind. And the first person that offers me the magic number takes home the car.” The guy left, but he called me about an hour later. His first question was, “Do you still have the car?” After I replied, “Yes.” He said, “I want to buy the car.” He named a price, and his price was well above my magic number. I accepted and said, “Bring me the agreed amount in cash in bills no larger than hundreds, and no smaller than 50s in order to accept delivery. He asked why it had to be cash. I simply replied, “In God we trust. All others cash. No exceptions.” Since the car was haunted, I wrote a clause in the bill of sale that stated, “All sales final. No exceptions.” The car had a bad habit of dying whenever it felt like it and turning back on whenever it was convenient. Usually, whenever it was convenient meant whenever it was convenient for the car, not for the driver. The stereo amplifier lost one bank or channel on the amplifier whenever it felt like it. And the channel would re-engage whenever it felt like it. The problem always affected the right side of the stereo system. I think it was a cold solder joint in an IC chip. And whenever I hit a bump on the road, that cold solder joint would either let loose or reconnect and cause the channel to disconnect or re-engage. Yeah, I suppose I could have told the buyer about these little deficiencies. But hey, the car was used. He was buying it as is. Let the buyer beware. You don’t get a brand-new car when you buy it used. You get what you pay for. A used car. Do used cars have issues? Yes, they do. Do you know about all of these issues when you buy the car? Probably not. But hey. That’s the way the cookie crumbles. So, after the sale, imagine my consternation and pain when the buyer called me a few days later and started complaining about an issue with the radio. He asked, “Were you aware of a problem with the radio?” I replied, “No. What did you do? Did you break it? It was working fine when we took it out and test drove it. And I didn’t drive it after that. You must’ve done something to it.” I was trying to sound really concerned and broken up about the radio. But deep inside, my level of concern could be measured in nano-give-a- shits. For those of you that have forgotten, nano-give-a- shits are so small that they are smaller than a pimple on a gnat’s ass. And let me tell you. That’s pretty damn small. Anyway, he swore up and down that he didn’t do anything to it. So, I reminded him that he had signed a statement on the bill of sale, stating that all sales were final. Then, I hung up. About two weeks later, he called again saying that the car had lost power and he couldn’t get it started. He asked me if I’d ever run into that problem. Of course, I had run into that problem before. The goddamn car was haunted. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. I asked him if he checked the battery. He said he hadn’t but that he would call me back. When he called me back, he said the car was running. I said, “Are you sure the car lost power before?” He said he was. So, I told him to just take it into a dealer and have it checked out. Like I said, the car was haunted. I had effectively transferred my haunted headache Fiat Spider 2000 and my exercises in futility to the buyer when I sold that car.
by 
by 