copyright 2012, Susan DeLay
Every good story should start on a dark and stormy night. The kind that’s begging for a grisly crime. It was the perfect night for my friend September to purchase an accordion for her son. The fact that her son has no idea how to polka and does not own a monkey is irrelevant.
Because accordions can retail for more than $3,000, September turned to Craig’s List to find a used one. In case you’ve never heard of Craig’s List, it’s an online site where sellers and buyers can do business—like a garage sale, only bigger. Craig’s List has also made the news because murderers have been known to place ads seeking victims, although they word it slightly more discreetly. The reason it appeals to the criminally insane is transactions are conducted in person. You hand over the cash and they hand over the goods. It’s a lot like a drug deal, only legal. Mostly.
On Craig’s List, September found Mario, a guy with an accordion for sale. Since they lived 50 miles apart, they decided to meet halfway in a Wendy’s parking lot. At the appointed time, after sundown but before the witching hour, September arrived at Wendy’s. And she waited. And waited.
Certain that no self-respecting accordion owner would stand her up, she headed inside in search of a guy with an accordion. Wendy’s was a happenin’ place that night, but the patrons seemed more concerned with their burgers and fries than musical instruments.
Undaunted, September wondered if Mario stowed his accordion in the trunk and was enjoying a baconator cheeseburger while he waited. Common sense would say she should pull out her cell phone and call him, but it’s hard to make a call when you’ve left your phone safely at home. There was only one solution—start polling. She approached every man in the restaurant. “Are you the guy with the accordion?” There were a lot of curious looks, many of them looking for a hidden camera. I’m just glad she wasn’t wearing four-inch heels and fishnet hose.
Finally one kind soul offered her his phone, so she called and learned Mario had been at a different Wendy’s. When she didn’t show, he gave up and headed home. September made a quick call to her husband to explain where she was so he could start worrying about his wife who was traipsing around without a cell phone in an unsavory neighborhood and looking for a used accordion.
Now on a mission to buy an accordion, September climbed into her soccer-mom minivan and went to an even less desirable neighborhood to find Mario. At the door, she was met by a woman who spoke very little English, but uttered something about Mario being in the basement, then slammed the door.
Another woman called out to her from the street and offered to help. September relayed the whole story, which by this point had become rather complicated. Wonder of wonders, Mario was her brother, so she directed September to the back of the house. Oddly enough, this is the point in the story where most people start getting concerned for September’s safety. (For the record, my concern started way back at Wendy’s.)
Climbing down a rickety set of wooden stairs to the basement, September met Mario—a 19-year-old who had decided the accordion wasn’t for him. Not willing to fork over her hard-earned money without a test drive, September persuaded him to play something accordion-like.
That’s how on a cold, dreary night in December, people who live in houses with triple dead bolted doors and iron-barred windows, heard strains of Happy Birthday to You played on an accordion by a high school dropout who lived in his mother’s basement.
An hour or so later, September and her unique and unusual gift were home facing a very worried husband who found her cell phone in the pantry next to the peanut butter. She couldn’t understand his concern. What was the big deal? She just forgot her cell. Again.
But the next day, looking at the wide-eyed faces of her co-workers who were aghast at the thought of another Craig’s List victim, September realized: A) She was very lucky. B) Her son better love his gift. And C) Perhaps she owed her husband an apology.
The only thing that could have made the story better was if it had been raining.
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