Monday, February 28, 2011

The Craig’s List Killer

Alarming title for the post, I know. Rest assured, faithful readers, that I survived my close brush with certain death. But it was a harrowing experience to say the least.

It started innocently enough with the purchase of a new sofa. But with the pending delivery of said sofa, weeks ahead of schedule, we were pressed for a solution to rid ourselves of the old sofa. And some tables, while we were at it. Enter Craig’s List.

We snapped three dozen photos, kept two, and created an ad for a leather sectional and table set. Priced to sell, apparently, because within 30 minutes I had three offers. They kept coming in, and I had more than a dozen when I went to bed. Enter the scheduling complications: people wanted to come to my house the next day, but I was leaving for Detroit first thing in the morning, and my wife had to work that day.

I know better than to advertise my home’s vacancy to strangers on the Internet (NOTE: not like you, of course, my most respectable blog readers. The key’s under the mat and you are welcome any time). I used vague language to push my availability back to Thursday.

I returned from Detroit to find over 30 new emails plus two voice mails. One person was very excited. He really liked the way the couch looked in the pictures (NOTE: that meant he liked the other merchandise in my house, too). He wanted to come over Thursday afternoon. With some friends.

What if he’s The Craig’s List Killer? I thought. I had read many headlines about The Craig’s List Killer, but never clicked through to the articles, so at this stage I used my overactive story-telling imagination to fill in the gaps. Here’s what happened next…

We agreed that he would call me at 1:30pm, I would give him directions and he would come for the couch, ca$h in hand. And a gun in the other hand. He would murder me in cold blood, take the couch, tables, and whatever else he wanted. My kids would be surprised when I wasn’t at the bus stop, but they would think I was stuck on a conference call.  They know the garage code so they would just come home and find…

Luckily he never called, and someone else came over ca$h in hand and bought the couch and tables at our asking price. I can only assume that somewhere in Columbus there was a Dexter-style kill room where a minor complication delayed the killer and saved my life.

It was a very close call.


Wednesday, February 16, 2011

I guess he takes after me...

I was at basketball practice with my nine-year old son the other day, and my wife was home with my six-year old, cuddled up on the couch watching a movie.  Very tender moment.  She hugged him tight.  "I love you," she said.

"I love you too," he said.  "Now let's get back to the movie."

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

What a Pain in the…

Funny thing happened at the airport this morning.  (NOTE: We all know airports are hotbeds for humor.)  So there I was, sitting on my seat in the plane, all settled, ready to push back from the gate and begin my journey home.  I powered down my phone and my iPod* and reached to my laptop bag to dig out the book I am reading.  I checked the back pocket, where I always keep my books when I travel.  No book.

I checked the front pocket, where I never keep my books.  No book. (NOTE: Duh. I just said I never keep them there.)  I checked inside where the laptop is.  Just a laptop and chargers/cables.  No book.  I checked the other zippered pocket in the laptop case, where I keep documents / receipts/etc.  No book.  I bent down and looked all the way under the seat in front of me, in case it had fallen out of the pocket.  Lots of smegma, but no book. 

I checked the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me.  No book.  Looked on the seat beside me.  No book.  WTF?  I must have left it on a chair at the gate.  All other passengers were on board, but the door was still open.  I got up and asked a flight attendant if I could go out and check real quick.  Since I still had my boarding pass, it was allowed. 

I ran up the jetway and to the seat I had been sitting in.  No book.  I asked the people sitting there if they had seen it.  They shook their heads.

I hurried back to the plane and went straight to the overhead bin on the other side of the plane, where my travel bag was stashed.  No book in the side pocket of my travel bag or floating around the bin.  I resigned to sit through two flights with only an iPod to entertain me.  I would have to buy a new copy of the 557-page novel I was reading.  The novel I read roughly 350 pages of.  The novel I had been looking forward to devouring for the next several hours.

I turned around to face my row.  There, on my seat, was my book.

Yes, it had been under my bony ass the whole time I was looking for it on the plane, and when I got up to check the gate I didn’t bother to look down.  I don’t blame this little mishap on the fact that I woke up at 5am this morning for my flight.  Or on my urgency to get home after cancelled flight on Tuesday and an extended stay in Atlanta. 

I blame it on the fact that airplane seats are so uncomfortable that you can’t tell if you are sitting on a f*&%ing 557-page novel.   

*Yes, I still have my iPod.  Although I am getting a new laptop (NOT a Mac) and it may get flushed (the iPod, not the new laptop) in the very near future when I try to sync.