Farewell, My Bitchin' Camaro

I went out and started up the Camaro this afternoon just to make sure, and it purred like a kitteh and held 185 degrees rock-steady. Sweet. Between the new muffler, new belts, hoses, water pump, coolant flush and fill, fuel pump, tire repairs, console repair, new struts in the back hatch and a lot of detailing, it was starting to look good even to me. Then I called up "John," our prospective buyer, and told him I'd just started her up and she was running great.

"That's good!" he replied. "I got my friend with me to drive it and I'm actually on my way over there to see you." And he was. He pulled up a few minutes later with the asking price in crisp bank bills. We signed the title over to him, gave him the box and remote control for the stereo (We don't be pimpin' enough to use no remote control for no car stereo, but you never know.) He was excited to get the car; I was excited to get it out of the driveway, and the money comes at a good time, too.

When he left, I thought about the simplicity of our little capitalist free-market transaction. He wanted the car more than he wanted the money--presumably, he thought it was worth more than I was asking, and he felt like he was getting the best of the deal. I wanted the money much more than the car (I've already noticed that the bills take up a lot less room than the car, and I don't have to wonder which neighborhood punk is going to key them tonight.) and would have sold for a little less than he gave me. Nobody had to subsidize the transaction. Nobody had to force us, either. Each side wanted to make a deal, so the deal was made. There are people out there who would say I took advantage of him because I sold him a car for asking price when I would have accepted less, but he was shown every known problem the car had and he still wanted it. I gather he's got a lot more garage space than I do, and I expect to see the car around town in much better shape soon.

There are also people who will say I got taken because he would have paid more. Maybe he would have, but I wanted the car gone ASAP more than I wanted a few extra dollars, so I made some repairs and left the price the same. I didn't get cheated, because I knew what I was doing and chose what was most important to me. If he fixes it up and makes a fantastic ride out of it . . . good for him! The bottom line is that a buyer and a seller found each other, decided that each wanted what the other had, and made a deal to get it in such a way that everyone walked away with a big smile on his face. That's how a free market works, and I can't figure out why it's so controversial.

And with that . . . . goodbye, Bitchin' Camaro. You will be missed . . . because you finally went away.