grrgoyl

Things have been kinda hectic in the medical transcription world. Every weekend for a month we've received desperate emails begging for help with gargantuan backlogs. Every weekend overtime has been approved and every weekend I've worked that overtime. Even worked two Mondays! My one day off a week. I am an overtime HUOOR.

Then we had to attend a mandatory conference call, where they unveiled their idea to put together a "S.W.A.T." team of transcriptionists who would be offered first crack at overtime work. They learned what other companies have long known -- if you want to get extra work out of your people, give them a job title that sounds exciting and a little dangerous. RGIS, my super lame inventory job, did it. The best of the best were called "Top Guns" and competed for trips to Hawaii (not as glamorous as it sounds; there's a chain of Hawaii-based stores that needed help every year and this was their sneaky way of providing it). Nowadays the fastest auditors are called "Prowlers," like the Battlestar: Galactica fighter jets, because the times are a-changing.

I have a strong suspicion that they're having a serious problem getting people to work their scheduled shifts (we get spanked on almost every call), evidenced by the constantly towering backlog we spend every weekend cleaning up, so what appeared to be a way to make us feel special was probably more likely an underhanded assurance that they would have a group of suckers to pick up the slack left by those more interested in enjoying their summer vacation. I didn't particularly care. No sooner had the call ended than I sent my email off volunteering (also inquiring if we would be issued bulletproof vests). My supervisor told me not only was I on the short list for the team (probably because I never turn down overtime), but I was also the top producer of our group (probably because I never turn down overtime).

You guessed it: I made the team (no sign of my vest yet). And I'm working OT every day this week.

It is with that fact that I justify this. I'll admit I've become sort of bored with the repetitive, endless motion of lifting weights (yes, kavieshana, another "look at me, I exercise 23 hours a day. What are you doing with your life?" post). As thrilled as I am that the gym membership has shown me more results than a lifetime of off-and-on Bowflex use (in fairness, more off than on), I thought it would be nice to have some variety.

At that particular moment, like a sign from Heaven, a commercial came on TV that I've seen twenty times and thought nothing of previously: The Wii Fit. I am forever turning to technology to solve my problems and enrich my life. Here was an opportunity to apply it to my workout as well. it was simple. I needed to buy a Wii.

Do you remember the enormous hype that surrounded the Wii's original release? How it was the hot new game that everyone had to have but no one could get their hands on? Here, Toby Turner says it better than me in his semi-original song, "Every Day (the Wii is gone)":



Let me tell you, nearly three years later, the Wii is still a pre-tty hot item. The difference is there are a lot more options if you don't mind going used (I don't). The trick is getting someone to respond to you.

I began my search where I always begin my searches, on eBay. Thousands to choose from, but about 95% of them were active auctions with tons of interest. Anything "Buy-It-Now" was almost assuredly a used item and almost equally assuredly with something missing or wrong with it. Here's how crazy it is: I started browsing the newest listings, hoping to get in on a deal before anyone else saw it. I found someone selling theirs "barely used and in excellent condition" for a BIN of $159. I bookmarked it and looked around for about ten more minutes before deciding it sounded pretty good. By that time, it had already been bought. TEN MINUTES. It was challenging not to become completely demoralized.

There was a seller in Canada selling a "newish" unit AND the Wii Fit (a $75 value on its own, I learned) for $250 plus shipping. When I sent an email asking for clarification of "newish" (technically not even a word, Canada) and whether it in fact included the console and the Fit (after I browsed a listing for the Fit all alone for $189 -- you can never be too sure with these auctions), I got what seemed to me the unnecessarily brusque and kind of snarky response, "Outlined in the product index." Canada was simply too busy to bother with my stupid little questions. Which would have been understandable back in 2006, when people were prostituting their kid sisters for a Wii. But you're not the only game in town, Canada, or even the best.

Hanging over my head was the specter of multiple auctions of approximately $200, all in vague unspecified states of used. I don't trust a seller that has ten identical listings. That means he's got them stacked in a warehouse or a storage unit and just picks whatever one is on top to ship to me. $200, which I could afford, but pigheaded me is always convinced I can do better, which is how the $159 dealio got away from me.

So I turned to Craigslist, and this is when my frustration REALLY began. Because on Craiglist it isn't as simple as settling on one to buy and clicking "buy." You have to email the seller and wait agonizingly for a response, not sure if the lack of one is because the seller is away from their computer, has received hundreds of emails and is sifting through them, or has already sold the item and is ignoring you. Oh, the uncertainty can drive you mad.

(Too many people don't bother to delete their listing after selling, and these people I say deserve to have their inbox inundated with replies. It's infuriating. Then when I was shopping once I came across an inexplicably enraged seller who wrote "DON'T ASK ME IF IT'S STILL AVAILABLE. IF THE LISTING IS UP, IT'S AVAILABLE!!!!!" You just can't win.)

The first day, not being too experienced with Craigslist, I sent out one inquiry and politely gave them 12 hours to respond. The second day I said to hell with polite and sent out about four requests. I had in fact given up on Craigslist and turned back to eBay, putting in a bid on one for $99 from a private seller that said in the very small print that it was actually more new than used, when I suddenly got a call from a Craigslist seller. "Andre" had received plenty of offers, all of which had fallen through for one reason or another. I confessed I had a bid on eBay and asked if I could get back to him in 30 minutes when I knew if I won or not. Andre was in a nightclub or somewhere very loud, and to further complicate matters couldn't receive incoming calls on his phone. He would call me back.

He also mentioned that his asking price was only $150 and that it was barely used. And of course there was the very appealing thought of having it this weekend, no waiting for shipping. I had never wished so hard to lose an auction before. And it worked! I got outbid and I immediately texted Andre (not sure if his phone had a similar ban on SMS messages) to seal the deal. He called me back and I agreed to meet him back at his apartment to pick it up before I went into work at the hospital. It was 8:00 at night.

It wasn't until I was on the highway that reality suddenly sliced through my buyer's euphoria. The directions he gave me put his apartment at the very extreme far north of Denver, in the alien wasteland of Thornton (it's not literally a wasteland, but definitely alien. I never have a reason to go to Thornton since putting my inventory days behind me). I knew nothing about this guy. He sounded nice enough on the phone, but it suddenly seemed just as likely that he was a serial killer luring people to his home, easy pickings, with the promise of a super cheap Wii. It would be the perfect plan. And stupid me didn't even think about bringing someone along as a safeguard. I was on my way to becoming the latest movie star in a snuff film, I was sure of it.

In a panic, first I ran through a short list of people who might not mind meeting me up there to watch my back. A very short list indeed, as realistically there were none. I even briefly considered giving it a miss and blowing him off. But dammit, that $150 Wii had an irresistible siren song.

I knew Tery had gone to the gym and left her phone at home, but I called anyway and left a message with the directions I had so far (which culminated in the very vague "Turn in there and I'll be looking for you" rather than an actual street address, which didn't much assuage my fears). I kept thinking of any kind of information that would be helpful in finding my murderer after I turned up missing. When I arrived at the apartment complex I texted her the address on the sign. When Andre called and apologized for running late, describing himself as driving a gray Passat, I texted that to her too. He had also mentioned previously that he was from Germany (while struggling with the term to describe his driveway) and I passed THAT along (and amended my fate to that of an international snuff film star). I'm sure when she returned home there was plenty on there to get her good and freaked out too. I mean it, I was well on my way to terrified.

The apartments looked really nice, borderline posh and classy. But then again, I consider our neighborhood nice yet there Tracey sits next door. I tried to devise a strategy: I could stay behind him, keep him in view at all times in case he tried any funny business. Which wouldn't help me if he had a friend waiting in a closet to ambush me. I would peek at his apartment from safely outside, and if anything seemed amiss I'd skedaddle -- as if serial killers routinely left their victims' entrails stuck to the walls of their front foyer. I had to face it: he had the home court advantage.

He finally turned up and was a smallish, lean, sort of attractive and bookish guy. He looked quiet and perfectly normal, but aren't those the ones you need to watch out for? He approached me in the parking lot and extended his hand warmly. As I followed him upstairs to his unit, I told him I hoped he wasn't a serial killer. He answered he thought the same of me! Disarming, for sure. His place was small but tastefully decorated, meticulously neat (not a stray metatarsal bone or spleen to be seen anywhere).

I watched as he fumbled to turn on the game so I could verify it worked properly. He explained he had played it once in Germany at a party with all his friends and had so much fun that he bought his own here in America, only to discover it wasn't quite so much fun playing alone. The demo process took what felt like forever, between having to change the remote batteries and him handling everything with delicate kid gloves (I don't think this was for my benefit, I think he just took really good care of his things. He even had the original receipt in the box. From Tarjhet!). After I insisted that I was satisfied, then came the painstaking process of carefully boxing it all up to manufacturer's specifications. I was an hour late for work. But like a gentleman he walked me down to my car again, and the deal was done!

I had a nearly new Wii in my front seat at a lower price than I ever expected. To make matters better, just then the new Muse came on the radio. Life was good.

Well, MY life was good. I thought of sad, lonely Andre's life. He worked in IT for the state, obviously doing well for himself, but it sounded like all his friends were back in the Motherland. I thought that but for Tery, that would be me (minus the tasteful decoration. I never thought much about furniture or decorating before meeting Tery, unless you count dorm posters). Kind of depressing, but I wasn't going to offer my hand in friendship. Not to someone who lives all the way the hell up in Thornton.

Also from now on I think I'll stick to eBay. Or at least conduct my transactions during the daytime.

I've had my first experience with Craigslist.com, and I'm happy to report it was a positive one.

In the wake of the massive influx of DVDs I'm undergoing (I'm calling them "birthday presents" when they would more accurately be described as an "ill-afforded shopping spree," but that's our little secret), I noticed suddenly that our DVD rack was near full to bursting. The latest haul: Crash, The Relic and Kids in the Hall: Brain Candy. Winging their way to me as we speak: South Park Season 7 and an as yet undisclosed title from my friend JeffyJeff in England (which is the only one that can rightfully be called a "birthday present"). Since it would be unrealistic to pretend that I'm never going to buy another DVD for the rest of my life, something had to be done about the storage shortage.

Last weekend I sprang into action, dragging Tery down to Lowe's to enact my original plan for the space -- a shelving system that would not only look less like it belongs in a dorm room but would have the added benefit of future expansion possibilities without bringing in still more mismatched furniture to our living room. Such a system was installed, not without the exchange of angry, tense words (which usually characterize any attempt to get Tery away from Nascar/baseball/golf on her days off), and it looks quite breathtaking.

However we were then left with an extra DVD rack, too nice to toss in the trash but too large to sell on eBay. I remembered my friend Gerry trying to get me to buy a used computer monitor off Craigslist (advice which I ignored at the time, but it has proven useful after all). Worth a try, I decided. I composed a brief ad, posted it and went about my day. Imagine my surprise when I received a reply about four hours later from a guy claiming to already have two identical units and looking for a third to match. What were the freakin' odds?

I was at first delighted to be getting rid of it so handily, but my delight soon gave way to doubt. What WERE the odds that this guy just happened to be cruising the ads and found the exact same unit that matched his within four hours of my posting it? The odds that he might actually be some kind of sexual predator or torture killer searching for the keywords "pick-up only" seemed far, far greater. It's sad that we have to worry about such a thing, but in this day and age you hear the most gruesome stories happening as a result of someone's foolishly misplaced trust.

We began a steady email correspondence to arrange a pick-up time. I mentioned this was my first Craigslist transaction and subtly hinted at the amazing coincidence of his speedy reply. He reassured me Craigslist was funny that way sometimes. He told me he was an ex-military man who could find his way easily to my house after being overseas and described his hectic night work schedule, personal details that I felt were completely unnecessary and therefore probably all part of his act. The more he tried to soothe me, the more he sounded like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Even his screen name, "Robdaddy," seemed like a carefully calculated element of his harmless image; "Awww, he has kids, he couldn't POSSIBLY be evil." In conversation he sounded like a nice enough guy, but hell, even I can seem nice in emails.

The night before our rendezvous I only half-jokingly asked my male co-workers if any of them wanted to hang out with me until the transaction was completed. They laughed at my (half) joke. C'mon guys, I'm not asking you to replace my bathtub, just sit there and look manly and intimidating! People asked why I didn't just do it while Tery was home, and I explained that if he was going to kill me, he could just as easily kill Tery too, leaving a house full of orphaned animals. After they'd all had a jolly good laugh at my expense I said that if I didn't show up to work the following night they would know the reason why. And that they'd all be sorry when I was gone (okay, this last was actually muttered darkly to myself).

But the following morning dawned with an even more dire problem at hand. We had lost our internet connection! The modem sat practically lifeless with only one light on, despite several system reboots (my cure-all for any computer ills. Call any tech support line, I can almost guarantee this will be the first thing they tell you to try). I scheduled an emergency service call with Comcast and sat despondently on the couch to wait for them and Rob, my potential rapist/killer. Just typical of my life, I thought, that I had to spend what could be my last day on earth without internet access.

It was while trying to fill these empty hours that I became uncomfortably aware of just how internet-dependent I have become. My thoughts drifted occasionally to what I COULD be doing, all of which unfortunately required...you guessed it. "Oh yeah, I got paid Friday. I can order South Park now" -- No, you can't. "I could catch up on my friends list" -- Too bad. "I need to list some more items on eBay" -- Get over it already. And of course, the biggest annoyance of all: "I could be working and earning money" -- Knock it off. And frankly this conversation is becoming tiresome. Even after Rob came and went without incident, my modesty and pulse intact, my first thought was "I need to go back to the site and delete my ad" -- Oh for god's sake I can't believe what a LOSER you are.

Comcast came and went equally without incident (the outside connection had somehow come undone), but by that point I was too exhausted from hours of doing nothing and opted for a nap before my night job. Rather anticlimactic, but my life frequently is.



But tonight......TONIGHT! I'm going to see Silent Hill. I've invited no less than 3 friends to go with me, I'm THAT scared to see it alone. I also found used copies of the video games (chapters 2-4, chapter 1 is evidently out of print and sellers are taking full advantage of this fact), the last of my "birthday presents," the playing of which will have to wait until after the movie thanks to the work week from hell I just finished. This movie looks so scary I'm actually nervous that I'll have nightmares (which is probably silly; the only movie that has ever given me nightmares was a little shark flick in the summer of 1975), but I'm willing to risk it because when I feel scared I feel ALIVE.