The thing about selling stuff on the Internet, with payment on collection, is that you have to meet the sort of people who buy things on the Internet.

And they appear to be, without exception, utter fucking loons.

I eventually sold my old washing machine for seventy five pounds, and the successful bidder arranged to pick it up one evening via an email written with such broken English that I could not decide if they were an immigrant or a product of the comprehensive school system.

The morning of the collection they phoned to confirm my address. It was only because I have seen that documentary Cultural Learnings of America for make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan that I recognised his accent. It took every ounce of restraint not to end the call with a rousing, “Yegshemash!”

He arrived a little earlier than expected that evening and I opened the front door of my first floor flat to a beaming five foot nothing, seven stone Borat. On his own. To collect a washing machine.

I showed him to the kitchen and briefly explained how to fit the washing machine (just about the only skill I picked up after being raised by a professional plumber).

“So. It’s all yours then.” I concluded, tapping the top of the machine.

He looked at me, and back at the machine, then back at me.

This was not going to end well, I could tell.

“Could you….help me please?”

I did not yet have my cash, so I had little choice but to help the dwarf Kazakhstani carry a washing machine down a flight of stairs. Well, I say help, but that would imply an element of lifting on his part. Washing machines are heavy. Particularly when you are bearing the weight pretty much alone.

We finally reached his ten year old Ford Escort and it became clear he had not emptied the car or made space for the washing machine. I have no idea how big he thought it would be, but it seemed the only uncluttered space was inside his glove box.

After a further ten minutes of to-ing and fro-ing and chuckle brother-esque manoeuvring we finally loaded the machine into his car and he pulled out his wallet to pay me.

Which he did in full.

With FIVE POUND NOTES.

Now, I understand that back in Kazakhstan each of those notes would probably buy a family home, but that is no excuse. Unfortunately I had no choice but to accept this form of payment.

From this point forward, all my subsequent eBay auctions will explicitly dictate a maximum of one single five pound note. And a buyer able to fight their way out of a wet paper bag.

No tags