Thursday, July 24, 2008


My '77 Phoenix ("Bree") has had a "for sale" sign in the back window for several weeks now. Not that I've been actively pursuing the sale; I'm still quite fond of the big blue beast. And, as such, I've been waiting for the right buyer. I've passed up quite a few so far:

  • An 80 year old grandmother in an electric scooter, who wants this car because she can no longer get her leg into her Mustang. Sorry. If you cannot stand, you cannot check the transmission fluid, and you will have a junk car within a month. I couldn't sell it to her anyway, because her grandkids have contacted me and begged me not to.
  • A guy who wanted something small and fuel-efficient. Uh... no.
  • A guy who offered me $100, with plans to run it in the demolition derby at the Kosciusko County Fair. I'm too fond of the beast for that. No sale.
  • A guy who offered $100 because he's out of work, and has to drive his son (who's also out of work) to job interviews to that his son can make child support payments on his son. Somehow, I didn't think this would be someone that would take care of the car.
  • A solid (if lowball) offer from a shop.... 40 miles away. They don't want to come up and see it, though.

Last night, though, I met my ideal buyer. He rolled up in a blinged-out BMW, and I had the weird experience of hearing someone outside at the same time I'm tlaking to them on the phone. I walked out to talk to him in person. He asked what I wanted for it. I told him. "That's IT?" Well, if you want to pay me more, I won't complain, of course... This is a guy that has restored cars before. A guy that, after it took 5 minutes to start the engine with a can of carb cleaner, split his face into a broad grin and said, "Perfect!" ...this is a guy that's going to take care of Bree. I like him.

Projected sale date? Next Friday.

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