Gary, Creepy Craigslist Guy
As I said last time, Tery is out of town which means gobs of mediocre horror movies, and I plan to pass the savings on to you. But first, I had another thrilling Craigslist adventure tonight.
I wanted a doohickey to stream Netflix other than my Wii, which I'm constantly moving upstairs and downstairs depending if I'm watching movies or playing games. I found just the thing for only $25 on CL, an RCA Streaming Media Player, "call Gary."
Gary sounded nice enough (they always do), slightly slurry speech which sounded more like a physical problem than alcohol induced. He gave me directions to where he was living in a motel. Oh, Craigslist, you never disappoint!
I had my usual trepidation driving there, always the concern of an axe murderer or rapist. A motel sounded like a public enough location, however, I'm sure it's no coincidence a fair share of mediocre horror movies take place in one.
I found it, right off the highway in an area utterly deserted except for a truck stop across the street. WAY across the street. Gary's room was at the very dark, seemingly abandoned end (motel equivalent of "last house on the left"), right next to what smelled like the septic tank.
I was immediately reassured when he opened the door; he was older, maybe 70's (or very unhealthy late 60's), skinny, hardly no teeth left, with a gray mohawk that made him look like a scrawny old rooster. He wore a button-down shirt that was regrettably completely unbuttoned. I was just glad he had pants on.
My next impression was of his decor -- the room was hot as an oven thanks to an enormous space heater in addition to the room's unit. It also reeked of cigarette smoke, which surprised me not at all. The bed was free of sheets or blankets, but covered in gadgets. I'm not sure if that's just his thing or he was planning to suggestive sell more things to me.
I had barely walked inside when he asked me to name the singer currently playing on his laptop. It was honkytonk or something so I didn't stand a chance. The answer was Eddie James (?)(edit: Etta James, Tery informs me), someone who just put out a new album and then died this week.
I awkwardly expressed my sympathy for this person I'd never heard of. He started messing around on the computer, explaining he was trying to find the whole album to play me. Oh, god, why? I politely said, "Thanks, but I really just want the thing I came for." He didn't take offense. I was just happy he didn't want to kill me.
He pulled it free of the pile of other doohickeys, then tried to sell me an HDMI cable. Thought so. I politely declined and gave him his cash.
Then he told me way more than I needed to know about suffering from uncontrollable diarrhea for 6 months now, how he's lost 8 pounds in the last month, how "it don't look good." It sounded like he was going to be with Eddie James soon himself.
Again, I politely feigned sympathy (well, "feigned" sounds heartless, but what was I supposed to do for him? Although, you know, obvious lifelong smokers have to work a lot harder for my genuine concern. Either way, none of this was warned about in his ad) and beat as hasty retreat as I could without appearing like I was doing so. (Not without a parting "hope you feel better" cuz my daddy raised me right.)
On the drive home I fretted about whether or not the device worked, then realized if it didn't, it didn't: No way could I bring it back to the practically homeless, probably terminally ill man who was so grateful to have laundry money.
Good news is it does. And is actually a pretty cool little thing, that streams Netflix, YouTube and Pandora. Not too shabby for less than $30. And Gary got some clean laundry (or a carton of smokes) out of it.
I wanted a doohickey to stream Netflix other than my Wii, which I'm constantly moving upstairs and downstairs depending if I'm watching movies or playing games. I found just the thing for only $25 on CL, an RCA Streaming Media Player, "call Gary."
Gary sounded nice enough (they always do), slightly slurry speech which sounded more like a physical problem than alcohol induced. He gave me directions to where he was living in a motel. Oh, Craigslist, you never disappoint!
I had my usual trepidation driving there, always the concern of an axe murderer or rapist. A motel sounded like a public enough location, however, I'm sure it's no coincidence a fair share of mediocre horror movies take place in one.
I found it, right off the highway in an area utterly deserted except for a truck stop across the street. WAY across the street. Gary's room was at the very dark, seemingly abandoned end (motel equivalent of "last house on the left"), right next to what smelled like the septic tank.
I was immediately reassured when he opened the door; he was older, maybe 70's (or very unhealthy late 60's), skinny, hardly no teeth left, with a gray mohawk that made him look like a scrawny old rooster. He wore a button-down shirt that was regrettably completely unbuttoned. I was just glad he had pants on.
My next impression was of his decor -- the room was hot as an oven thanks to an enormous space heater in addition to the room's unit. It also reeked of cigarette smoke, which surprised me not at all. The bed was free of sheets or blankets, but covered in gadgets. I'm not sure if that's just his thing or he was planning to suggestive sell more things to me.
I had barely walked inside when he asked me to name the singer currently playing on his laptop. It was honkytonk or something so I didn't stand a chance. The answer was Eddie James (?)(edit: Etta James, Tery informs me), someone who just put out a new album and then died this week.
I awkwardly expressed my sympathy for this person I'd never heard of. He started messing around on the computer, explaining he was trying to find the whole album to play me. Oh, god, why? I politely said, "Thanks, but I really just want the thing I came for." He didn't take offense. I was just happy he didn't want to kill me.
He pulled it free of the pile of other doohickeys, then tried to sell me an HDMI cable. Thought so. I politely declined and gave him his cash.
Then he told me way more than I needed to know about suffering from uncontrollable diarrhea for 6 months now, how he's lost 8 pounds in the last month, how "it don't look good." It sounded like he was going to be with Eddie James soon himself.
Again, I politely feigned sympathy (well, "feigned" sounds heartless, but what was I supposed to do for him? Although, you know, obvious lifelong smokers have to work a lot harder for my genuine concern. Either way, none of this was warned about in his ad) and beat as hasty retreat as I could without appearing like I was doing so. (Not without a parting "hope you feel better" cuz my daddy raised me right.)
On the drive home I fretted about whether or not the device worked, then realized if it didn't, it didn't: No way could I bring it back to the practically homeless, probably terminally ill man who was so grateful to have laundry money.
Good news is it does. And is actually a pretty cool little thing, that streams Netflix, YouTube and Pandora. Not too shabby for less than $30. And Gary got some clean laundry (or a carton of smokes) out of it.