I am a big fan of Craigslist.
In the last six months, I've located scarce sports tickets on the site, found a terrific, responsible pet sitter, and collapsed in snorting, helpless laughter while reading their "Best of..." compilations.
I've found it's a great place to pay about .10 on the dollar for gently-used or never-used merchandise, and of course it's a terrific recycling/reuse of natural resources.
This Christmas, I have two teenagers, two in-laws, nieces, one sister, one mother, and a husband to buy for - in addition to all the assorted neighbors, teachers, and friends. Normally I put aside $100 a month and end up plunking down the entire $1200 in gifts.
This year, I am determined to only spend $600, max, and I'm going to buy nice stuff, quality stuff, mainly from Craigslisters. The rest of my budget goes to charity.
I started out yesterday morning by surfing the site at 5:30 a.m. After several hours of emailing, phone calls, and strategizing, I committed to visiting four different people who were selling their stuff online.
I found great gifts, and paid great prices for everything, but what I found also depressed me and left me heartsick.
More....
2:30 p.m. - One set of four Breyer horses for a 7-year old niece, still in original packaging - $80 retail value, I paid $20.
The woman selling the Breyer horses had lost a custody battle for a stepdaughter, and they were "breaking her heart" sitting there in her room. I talked with her for about 20 mintues in her yard while she pointed out the elaborate treehouse and playset they'd built for the little girl, who would probably never see them. I didn't have the courage to ask why, but just quietly listening to her seemed to help. As the kids from the local middle school started straggling down her block, she kept glancing out the window.
3:30 p.m. - One framed Grateful Dead poster from a 1980's New Years Eve concert for my husband - $40
This came from a guy who said he had briefly been a roadie for Steve Vai, been married and divorced three times, and was heading up to Wyoming to manage a bar in a small oil town. Business there is booming, he said, and an old friend had called and told him that they were "practically printing money" from the oil field workers.
4:00 p.m. - One brand-new snowboarding parka, tags still attached, for my picky teen daughter - retails for $180, I paid $15
The snowboarding parka came from a 6,000 square foot house with a 4-car garage and almost no furniture as far as I could see from the entrance hall. The woman who sold it to me was hurried, abrupt, and I had a feeling there was a looming financial crash on this family's horizon.
4:45 p.m. - One antique china doll with handsewn clothes for my mom - $50
The doll was part of a collection that belonged to the seller's wife, who was in a back room suffering from lung cancer and on an oxygen tank. An empty tank sat by the front door, ready for the home oxygen service to exchange. The copays for her chemo - $150 a pop, he said, - were bankrupting them, and she couldn't climb the stairs any more to look at the dolls in their spare bedroom, anyway.
I didn't even try to bargain with a single online seller, I paid full asking price for everything. As I drove home, I listened to an NPR story that featured a brief discussion of the "credit crunch" and the financial consequences - including a possible recession.
I got home, stashed my purchases in the back of my closet, and meditated upon my day's shopping. This wasn't a trip to the local mega-mall, and it wasn't easy. It was a day spent with people who were up against the wall, financially, and all these stories together felt incredibly bleak.
"Possible recession", my ass.