No I Don't Fucking Well Habla Espanol...

Well excuse me.

Here I am, Sunday morning, just having dealt with another prospective buyer for my old van.

A couple of questions however:

1) Did I unwittingly advertise it in Hispanic-only websites and newspapers?
2) Am I expected to sit around home for a total of seven hours starting at the time you said you would be there and never arrive, waiting for you?
3) What do ten-year old minivans with 156,000 miles on them actually look like south of the border? Are they plated with gold? Can you eat breakfast off the engine block? Do you open the doors and the holy choir of angels flies out in a blinding flash of light?
4) If I give you my phone number, and I can't answer it, and you get voicemail, have you perhaps thought about leaving a message? Or can you not understand the Inglese before it goes "Beep". Seems to me that's pretty much standard wherever the fuck you are.

See, here's the deal. The van's been on the market since May. Advertised every Thursday and Sunday, with an ongoing online ad as well. Now, yes, I have had a lot of calls. Unfortunately, the people who do arrange to come and take a look at it don't fucking well show up. I think I am running at about a 7% - 12 % success rate. And, if they do show up, they can't make up their minds over it and promise to call back "later in the week". Yeah right. My success rate on that is even lower.

An example of my frustration - this retired dude who lives down the block (not Hispanic!) bikes past my house every day. Sees the van with a "For Sale" sign on it, stops and asks me some questions. Has his own old Jeep to get rid of, unsure if he really wants/needs it etc etc etc... Takes it for a couple of test drives, likes it and then proceeds to tell me it's over-priced. Tells me what a dealer would sell it for. Stop right there. I am not a fucking sleazebag dealer. I am a private seller. Oh, and take a look at the other prices out there: the day he told me it was overpriced, I found 16 other vans 1998 or older with more miles on them than mine for more money. Tell me mine's over-priced, how fucking dare you. Then, a week or two later, after telling me he wants it, swings by on a Saturday morning while I'm mowing the lawns and tells me he bought another one. Identical, but with 60,000 less miles on it. Here's the kicker - bought it from a woman who just lost her husband and didn't need the van any more. Bought it for "what I offered you" (his words). He didn't like it when I told him that technically, by telling me what dealers buy the cars for an that mine was over-priced, that doesn't constitute an offer. I just feel sorry for the lady who sold it - should have received at least $2000.00 more than what this guy "offered".

Oh well, whatever...

I really am surprised by the number of Hispanics intersted in the van. I suppose a lot of them want the vehicle to drive back south after the summer work is over. I just get confused by them all. They are all the same. Or are they? Yes, judging by this weekend's performance they are. Last Monday a husband and wife stopped by to take a look and drive. Name was "Martin" or "Marteen". Since it got dark, they arranged to come by Wednesday during the day to take a look. I was off all day, so would have worked well. Didn't show up. Yesterday morning a fella called asking if I had the van for sale. Gave him all the details, mileage, color etc etc. He wanted to come over and look at it at 9.00am. Name? "Marteen". Same guy? Dunno, but I think so. So, I'm out in the garden cleaning stuff up, waiting for him to stop by, and this Trugreen Chemlawn truck pulls up. Totally random, out of the blue. This young senor gets out, wants to take a look at the van with his brother. He speaks better English, as I don't habla Espanol. Tomorrow at 11.00 work for you? Yeah sure I tell him. So, rest of the morning I wait around for "Marteen" to show up, never does. Fuck it, I think, I have a life to live. Dude calls at 1.57pm saying "I am at your house to look at the van but you are not there". "No" I tell him, since I expected you to arrive four fucking hours ago. Arrange to have him come and take a look this morning. 9.00am. Truck pulls up with four fellas in it. One is the guy who stopped by yesterday morning. The other is the old fella who swung by on Monday night and never showed up on Wednesday. One of the others is the mysterious "Marteen" who I thought was the old guy. The other dude just stands there leaning against his truck giving me the hairy eyeball. Confused? Yeah, so am I. Apparently "Marteen" is going to call me later this week to tell me if he's interested or not. Or his dad is or..... whoever.

What are the odds?

I am just about fucking done trying to sell this thing.

Hang on, phone's ringing, back in a mo.

On the bright side, I just had a call from another person interested. Hopefully that will pan out. And he's not from Mexico or parts south. Just South Minneapolis.

Cross your fingers!

Hmph

So, such a funny turn of events we see...

Here I am, working to ressurrect a friendship from the brink of disaster when it gets closed down on me. Not after much discussion and hashing out of positions, expectations etc, but with the following:

1) I've blocked your email
2) I've given my two weeks notice
3) Don't bother trying to contact me

Not having even been given the chance to say goodbye and good luck in your future endeavours, I bade you farewell. I could well have infringed on your personal territory, emailed, called, stopped by, but I chose not to. I can't say I really figured on your leaving, but then again, I didn't see you for like three weeks or so, then maybe you had. Or, maybe you were just being a sneaky bastard and avoiding me, turning away before being noticed, heading the other way behind big sunglasses and a fake brunette wig. I don't know.

So, mentally, I had you gone. Physically, yeah, I guess as well.

I had been steering my thinking away from the physical toward the more mental, toward the more friendly friends instead of the fuck-buddy friends. Let's face it, that was never going to work out. Not only because a) I was/am the wrong man for you; b) you are too much of a woman for me; c) I never wanted you to "fall" for me (if indeed that's what you may have considered it to be...); and d) I hate myself with a fucking vengeance now for ever thinking infidelitous thoughts.

I had thought my change of thinking may well have shown up in my last few emails, but I guess not. When I was asking how things went on your dates, I was serious. When I asked such questions regarding your feelings for prospective beaus, I was serious. Yes, I fucking well care. But I now can presume that this line of thinking did not get expressed clearly. And for that I am sorry.

So, you were gone. Hell, I haven't even watched Flight of the Conchords. Fucking tape is still sitting on my desk.

Then la-di-da-di-fucking-da who do I see waltzing into the cafeteria the other day?

You wanted to hug me and tell me how sorry you were? What was stopping you?