Or Best Offer: Part II

What could go wrong?

When Eric saw the GPS online, advertised for a reasonable price and within easy driving distance, it seemed like a sign. He figured that if it ended up being damaged or unusable he could still put it in the car as a gag. At the very least, it would serve to annoy Gina. That alone was worth the purchase price.

Technology made the entire process simple: Eric reached out to the seller through messaging. After a few exchanges they politely negotiated over the price. An agreement was reached and a time and date were duly set up. They would meet later that afternoon to close the sale. Eric pushed his chair away from the computer and spun around in a slow circle. He had the sensation of a task having been completed.

The rainy weather continued on his drive to the seller’s home, just on the other side of town. Eric drove with excessive care; he kept five miles under the speed limit in the rain, and never went above the speed limit under the best of circumstances. The old car rattled as he crossed the railway tracks, and the windshield wipers squeaked against the glass. It was raining just enough that Eric needed them, but every time they moved across the windshield they let out a horrible shriek. 

By the time he got to the seller’s house, his head hurt from the noise. As he parked outside the modest single story home, he realized it had never once occurred to him to turn on the radio. The rain had become heavier, and he was soaking by the time he made it to the door.

The seller answered the door only after Eric had bruised his knuckles rapping on it. He’d pulled his jacket over his head, but rain still dripped down his back. A nondescript little old man whose name Eric couldn’t quite remember greeted him without emotion. He made Eric wait outside while he got the GPS, leaving the young man shivering on the doorstep.

The old man returned to him with the GPS, still in its original box. It even had the instruction manual and an extra adapter. Only the peeled, yellowing tape on the box indicated its age. 

The seller offered to let Eric try out the device in his car to prove it worked, but Eric demurred. The torrential rain was already going to make driving home a chore, and the man’s refusal to invite him in was starting to grate on Eric’s nerves. He shoved the wrinkled bills into the seller’s cold, clammy hand and offered an insincere thanks. The old man shrugged and slammed the door in his face. Tucking his prize under his jacket, Eric raced back to his car in the rain.

Gina was not amused by the purchase. She gave him a shocked look across the table, her hazel eyes wide. Eric admired the elegant, clean lines of her makeup. 

‘You seriously went out and bought one? Where did you even find one?’ She stabbed at her boiled vegetables with more vigor than Eric thought necessary. 

‘Facebook Marketplace,’ he said. ‘It came up when I was just browsing. Weird, right?’ Gina sighed, as if Eric’s very presence proved exhausting to her. Eric looked down at his own dinner. The chicken was a flat, dry white lump. Gina liked to pretend that she could cook, when the mood struck her.

‘It’s not weird,’ she said. ‘You know how all that technology listens in on us all the time these days. Your phone probably heard you going on about them the other day and figured you were in the market.’ She took a delicate bite of a limp asparagus. ‘Are you really going to use that thing? Seriously?’ 

‘I figured I could try it out at least,’ said Eric. ‘The nostalgia factor alone will be pretty entertaining.’ He sawed at a desiccated corner of his chicken and took a reluctant bite. Gina watched, pursing her pink lips. 

‘I think it’s stupid, and a waste of money,’ she chided. ‘Just use your phone, like normal people. Or you could invest in a car that’s been built in the last decade.’

‘The car is fine,’ said Eric. ‘Don’t make this about my car again.’ Gina played with her bracelet. 

‘All I’m saying is that the GPS matches your whole hipster aesthetic. It’s a vibe.’

‘I don’t have an aesthetic,’ said Eric. ‘And I’m not a hipster.’

‘Whatever,’ said Gina, focusing on her food. ‘If you want to blow your cash on crap, who am I to say anything? You never listen to me anyway.’ Eric winced as he chewed. The chicken was sucking all the moisture out of my mouth. 

‘I think it will be fun,’ he said. ‘And if it ends up being broken or is too annoying to work, I’ll donate it somewhere.’

‘Like to a museum,’ Gina muttered. ‘Or a dumpster.’