1959 Candle PR3

So, I’m driving on the golf course with the kids. These are my niece’s kids from Chicago. We are driving up and down the fairways and they are having the time of their lives.

We get up to the green on number 12 and there is a foursome there putting, so I stop the cart by the green so we can watch. The kids have trouble believing the ball can actually go into the hole. Now these are good kids, and I have explained to them that they have to be quiet. So, we just sit there. We don't even whisper. Like I said, these are good kids.

Better than most of the members.

Anyway, one of the four gives me a stare. It’s a ‘what are you guys doing on my golf course’ kind of stare.

So, I wave.

And he doesn't wave back. He just keeps staring. So, I wave again.

And he doesn't wave back.

So then I yell out, “what, you don't wave?” Then he waves. But he doesn’t smile.

Then we drive off to number 13.

I don’t think much about it, but when we get back, the kids describe the incident to their parents, and it turns out it is very possible that I might have said, “what, you don't fucking wave?”

My niece gives me her ‘can you please not do that’ stare, and I intimate that the kids are hopped up on soda and don't know what they are saying.

The kids don’t seem that traumatized, and anyway, they are distracted because the mail has arrived and the courier has delivered three small boxes.

Transistors!

The kids are thrilled.

For some reason, they love opening the packages. Then, of course, popping the bubble wrap.

I mean, who doesn’t?

They then fight over who gets to put in the 9-volt battery and then who gets to take pictures and videos of the transistor.

It’s a whole thing.

They each walk around the entire house with a transistor pressed up against their ears. There’s not much to listen to on AM here in Florida. Just sports or talk radio.

Doesn’t seem to bother them.

I check my account on eBay to give the sellers all five-star reviews and notice that it says four transistors were delivered.

But we only got three.

I corral the kids from where they have dispersed to in the house and ask if there was another package.

They say no. Only three. Well, that happens.

Both eBay and Etsy will sometimes say a radio has been delivered, but it doesn't show up until the next day or the day after.

I check to see what radio didn't arrive. It’s a working 1959 Candle. In blue. A beauty! Only $65.

My niece and her family go home to Chicago the next day and I give each kid the transistor they opened the day before.

They are thrilled.

And I wasn't so crazy about those three radios anyway. I had really been waiting for the blue Candle.

A couple of days go by and other radios arrive, and although I haven’t forgotten about the Candle, I haven’t done anything about it because it has only been a couple of days.

But the seller thinks it is a couple of days too long. He sends me one of these ‘some of us make our living from eBay and we count on getting good reviews’ diatribe. He doesn't know I give 5-star reviews for every radio I receive, regardless of the shape.

Anyway, I get it. I reply that I didn’t receive it. And he says it was delivered.

I say, ‘I can see it says it was delivered but I don't have it.’

Then I say, ‘no worries. I’ll leave a review.’ I don’t care.

He says, ‘I have proof.’

All of a sudden, we’re in an episode of LA Law.

I say, ‘it’s ok.’

But he wants to get to his closing argument and he sends me a picture of a package on a doorstep.

He doesn’t say, ‘ah hah,’ but I feel it. I look at the picture.

It’s not my door.

I take a picture of my door and send it to him.

I don’t say, ‘ah hah,’ either. I just say, ‘that’s not my door.’

So, he then sends me a copy of the waybill with my address on it. I can see right away what he has done.

He has inverted the numbers.

So, I take a picture of my address and send it to him.

It takes about fifteen minutes but he then writes, ‘I’m sorry.’

In the meantime, I have gone ahead and given him 5 stars along with a review that says, ‘great radio! Great seller!’ Exclamation marks are free.

I write back and say, ‘no worries. It is just down the street. I’ll go pick it up.’

So, I hop into my cart and drive down the street looking for the address with my inverted numbers.

I knock and of course it is the guy from the 12th green. The guy who doesn't fucking wave.

For a second, I think maybe he doesn’t recognize me, but he does. So, I wave.

And he stares.

It is pretty clear we aren’t going to be lifelong friends because, hey, he collects radios too. And, ‘isn’t that Candle a beauty?’ And, ‘I opened the package by mistake,’ and we laugh and laugh and then drink the thirty-year-old scotch he has saved for an occasion.

None of that happens.

What happens is I say, “you got my package.”

And he says, “wait here.”

He comes back with a small box and says, “you have identification?” I show him my driver’s license.

He doesn't say, ‘Toronto, Great city. I once spent a wild weekend in Toronto.’

And then we laugh and laugh. No. He doesn’t say that.

He just hands me the package and says, “one more day and I was going to toss it.”

I say, “lucky for me.”

I go home and put in a 9-volt battery. It plays beautifully. I take some pics and a video.

I then FaceTime my niece in Chicago. All the kids come to the phone.

I wave.

They all wave back.

That’s good enough for me.

The End