My Friend Craig

I love Craigslist. I love that I can look around my house, pick out random items that no longer make sense, or things that will likely be too annoying to move cross country (I'm looking at you, glass-topped patio table). I snap a picture, name a price, and it's on the market. If I'm selling something that people want, like outdoor furniture, then it's off my hands that day. And if I'm selling a half-used can of VOC-free paint, well, in Seattle, that's also out the door same day. (The only thing I really couldn't
sell was my scanner-printer. I admit, it was a little clunky and often underfoot, but it was a pretty decent machine for $30! Oh well, some lucky Goodwill-goer got a deal.)

I love Craigslist's bare bones, never-changed web site. It's so functional and plain in a sea of banner ads, invasive movie trailers, and general online clutter. I hope they never give the page a facelift.

I love that when all goes well, an interested buyer shows up at my door, takes my unwanted goods, and hands me a cool $40. Usually, the exchange is with an interesting person. Sometimes the lowest common denomenator between us is the item for sale. One time while living in Queens, I sold my record player because I wanted the cash more than I wanted to listen to my six records. A young man who'd answered my ad arrived with a white dog who possessed the size and mannerisms of a horse. The dog looked around the apartment like it was thinking "This all you got?". When they left, I wondered how the guy was going to fit the dog and the record player in an NYC apartment.

I love that my stuff gets new life. Tonight a young pregnant lady arrived to buy one of Edie's three strollers (yes three, that's why it's for sale). We've treaded around town and flown cross country with it, but it's time to get a running stroller, so I had to get rid of something. Now a new mom and baby will get to enjoy it.

I love that as a buyer, you can say no. I recently looked at a BOB Revolution, which seems to be The Stroller to Have, especially if you're a runner or hiker. It's the SUV of strollers. I went to a family's home, where the husband whisked me inside with a Very Firm Handshake. He and his wife were both tall, had perfect teeth, and lovely thick hair. She was training for the Boston Marathon, and he is probably an Ironman champ. I felt so small next to them, and the BOB seemed so big close up. So big, in fact, that I could fit inside, let alone push a baby in it. The BOB fit them, not me, so I said thank you, and left.

Granted, not all Craigslist interactions are so swell. I always make sure Dave is home if I have strangers coming over. They're still strangers. And I make sure I have my phone on me if I go to a seller's house. I tell Dave, "If I'm not back in a half an hour, start getting scared."

Anyway, I need to continue looking for a jogging stroller. I'm going to hit up my friend Craig.