Dec. 3, 2009

We are way too trusting. Two months ago I looked in our local classified ads and bought a used sewing machine. The seller said it was an older machine, but she was very happy with it and was upgrading to something with more bells and whistles.

She also said it had been recently refurbished.

Like the idiot that I am, I took her at her word. We met at a convenient location and I took a look at the machine. Immediately a few horns started tooting out a warning: It wasn’t very clean.

She assured me that it might be a little dusty, but swore that it had been totally refinished very recently. The only reason I didn’t ask to see it run was because of her word, and the lack of an electrical hookup. In a fit of desperation, I bought the machine.

I’ve had it for two months and really like it — except for the fact that it breaks down every 10 stitches and the inside guts are slightly broken.

So I finally took it to a sewing machine fixer man. He took one look and set me straight: The machine is missing parts, is running on its last leg and has not been recently serviced. It’s going to cost me another $70 — that’s on top of the $20 I already paid to repair the broken piece — and the $150 I paid the traitor I bought it from.

We’re looking at $240 just to get a 20-year-old sewing machine in decent working order.

In other words: I’VE BEEN HAD.

This infuriates me. I could kick myself for trusting that girl. Keep in mind, when I purchased the machine, I had had nothing but positive second-hand buying experiences, so I had no reason to be wary. She seemed so nice, and I love nice people. I trust nice people. I buy things from nice people.

I spent two hours on a recent afternoon in a texting battle with the seller (she won’t answer her phone).

I kept repeating one simple question, “Where and when did you have the machine serviced?” Certainly if it had been recently worked on, the shop would have a record. She kept responding with something vague, like, “Uh … I think there was like, some sticker on the side. Uh, yeah. A sticker.”

I can assure you, there was no sticker.

I’d ask again, “Where? When?” She hemmed and hawed her way around the question all afternoon, trying to avoid it and me until she broke and finally claimed the repair shop had come to her house to fix the sewing machine.

Okay, please, has anyone ever heard of a sewing machine man that does house calls? ’Cause I really need his number.

I have never wanted to take someone to small claims court so badly in my life. Part of me says to suck it up, pay the money, forgive the girl and get my machine serviced. The other part of me is too ticked off to think of doing anything but sending her an endless stream of harassing text messages until she gives me my money back.

Man, I really should try to be more like Jesus.

See more at Annie's blog at regardingannie.com