Call me Fred.
I’m about 80% of the way through “Moby Dick” now (technically “Moby-Dick” if you’re a Literary Fred) and so immersed am I in it that I see Dick everywhere I go. And like tempestuous Ahab pacing the deck of the Pequod upon his whalebone peg-leg, I too am tormented by my own white whale, that being a pair of Spinergys:
[It is said that a full-grown Cipollini can produce more oil than a mature sperm whale.]
It all started when I was plying the seas of Craigslist and spotted this post:
As a semi-professional blogger currently engaged in a detailed analysis of a vintage carbon-and-titanium racing bike, I figured these wheels would be useful for both scientific and novelty purposes. So, on a whim, I proffered a modest offer, and as I previously related I was soundly rebuffed:
I figured that was that, but then an anonymous benefactor offered to subsidize the purchase. So I sent another message to the seller agreeing to pay the full amount, confident that the wheels would now be mine:
Oddly, no reply was forthcoming, and as the wheels drifted further and further away, my desire for them only increased. “Perhaps they’ve already been sold,” I thought to myself, but when I searched for the post the next morning, not only was it still up, but the seller had reduced his price to $150:
Only a madman would ignore or refuse an offer for his full asking price only to reduce it by 25% the very next day, and so I figured the only logical explanation was that he had not seen my second email at all. And so, undaunted, I sent a new one:
The reply came immediately:
I did as instructed. The wheels were now tantalizingly close–so close I could imagine myself thumbing a pair of tires onto them. But out of the clear sky came a sudden squall that blew them violently out to sea:
I should point out that these screenshots comprise the entirety of his messages, and that his curt replies were at no point embellished with words such as “please” or “thank you” or any other form of polite discourse. Furthermore, the ZIP code he indicates is in the vicinity of Ithaca, NY, which is well over 200 miles away from New York City. So whilst I endeavor to give every human the benefit of the doubt, I admit I find it both puzzling and vexing that someone would act irritated and put-upon by someone else offering to give him money for something he’s listed for sale on a public forum. Furthermore, I find it doubly puzzling and vexing that despite being nowhere near New York City he’d compose the post in such a way that it shows the wheels mere steps from the subway line I ride at least twice a week:
With regard to this latter point, I figured I should bring this to his attention, if only because I didn’t want him to think I was the kind of schmuck who replies to classifieds listing in Ithaca and offers to pick up the goods in Manhattan. So I sent the following message, complete with screenshot showing the map:
And yet as I type this the post is still live, with no indication whatsoever of the seller’s location other than a map of Manhattan with a pin in it right in the vicinity of 14th Street and 7th Avenue::
Compare his comportment with that of, say, this seller, to pick one more or less at random:
Not only is he clear about his location, but he obviously understands that buying and selling requires a certain amount of communication, even if it does require one to interact with the occasional looky-loo. Yes, invariably he’ll get the odd email like, “Will this work on my fixie?,” and “I’ll give you $75, will you deliver these to Poughkeepsie?” But eventually an interested party will happen upon them, they’ll shoot a few emails back and forth, they’ll exchange money for goods, and the wheels of commerce will continue to roll straight and true.
Of course, by this point a sane person would give up the hunt. (Actually, a sane person would have given it up after his initial offer was refused–or, most sanely, never made an offer in the first place.) However, I’m a semi-professional bike blogger, not a professional sane person, and so I hereby nail my doubloon the mast and declare that if any of you dozens of readers out there happen to live in the Ithaca area and want to purchase these wheels for me I’ll happily reimburse you for the $150 and the shipping to New York City, plus a little beer money for your troubles. And naturally I’d implore you to treat the seller respectfully and not in any way disclose that you’re in cahoots with that schmuck in New York City who kept emailing him. I don’t want vindication and I don’t want to violate his privacy in any way; all I want is the wheels.
In the meantime, like Ahab pacing on a prosthetic limb made from the bone of the very species that torments him, I’ll just sit here and stare at my Spinergy clock:
I may not have any Spinergys, but I’ve got lots and lots of time.