Ebay Blues

Something happened to me recently.

Well, actually, a shitload of things happened to me recently, not all of them pleasant. However, one of the more constructive things was really quite remarkable and something that I hope will shape the rest of my life.

I cut up my credit card.

Sadly, that's not quite as dramatic as it sounds, because I've done that before. Only to receive replacement cards through the post a few months later and hit the shops like a dying man in the desert grasping at a can of 7-Up. But this time I didn't just cut up the card, I actually wrote off and cancelled my account. A few days later, it disappeared from my online banking accounts and that was it. I was finally bereft. Or free, whichever way you want to look at it.

I confess, I used to be a shopaholic. It took me a very long time to admit that to myself, because it sounds like the most pathetic, most indulged, most Western thing a person can possibly say. But unfortunately it's true.

It's been about two years since I started trying to curb my habit and the measures required were pretty drastic. These included just not going to the shops, for the magnetic pull I felt to go inside and empty my purse on the counter, while clutching wildly at the pretty things like some sort of mentalist, was often overwhelming. And it didn't have to be clothes. Christ, I've craved all sorts of weird shit over the years. Once I bought a violin on a whim. Okay, I fought the urge - for about two days, anyway - but I caved in the end. And I imagine the feelings I often still get are much like any other recovering addict does; it'll be okay as long as temptation isn't put in my way, because if I start again, I might not be able to stop.

Recently, while in London for a meeting, I had an afternoon to myself and fancied going to the National Portrait Gallery. It was free, after all. But I didn't go in the end. I got back on the train and went home. I told people it was because I had uncomfortable shoes on. But the truth of the matter, as I eventually had to admit to myself with a cringe, was that I knew I would be too tempted by the gift shop. I would fall in love with a painting or an artist and end up buying a souvenir poster, novelty biro or book of the complete works of Caravaggio, despite having not a pot to piss in, as the delightful saying goes. And so the problem lingers. Like alcoholism, I'm not sure if it will ever really go away.

But although I started recognising the problem some time ago, I had made very few in-roads into my lamentable cash situation, until a few months ago. This time the whole process of dealing with my awesome debt problems was a lot more rigorous and, I really hope, terminal. I suppose I even endured an intervention of sorts and god, was it humiliating. It certainly did a good job of taking a claw hammer to my self-esteem, with the effect of making me never want to be in the red ever again.

Anyway, enough of that. The purpose of this post wasn't to expose my childish inability to budget or respect the value of money. It was to have a bitch about Ebay. Or not Ebay specifically - I find the online auction site a brilliant creation on which I have found countless bargains and earned a bit of cash. No, I just want to bitch about one wanker who ripped me off recently. To the tune of 14 whole English pounds.

Now, that probably doesn't sound like very much in the big scheme of things. That's because it isn't. But in the Gormless Idiot scheme of things (which is very, very small) it's rather a big deal, for the reasons listed above. Not only have I been lately learning the truth of the smug saying, 'look after the pennies and the pounds look after themselves,' I've also had not very many of either to spend. So when I borrowed some money to splash out on smart new threads for my new job, I had to make a little go a very long way.

It was all going so well. With £100 I got five dresses, three pairs of shoes, a haircut - not on Ebay, obviously, it hasn't started dealing in parallel dimensions just yet - and a second-hand copy of The Exorcist (alright, the last one was an irrelevant indulgence, but what the hey...uh oh, that reckless attitude is on its way back...)

But unfortunately the very last item I purchased, a rather nice wrap dress from Topshop, failed to show. When I chased the seller with a polite email inquiring when they might get around to posting it, they apologised and told me they would dispatch it that day. It has now been three weeks since I paid for the dratted thing and not a further peep out of them, so I've now had to instigate a case against them with Ebay. And boy, am I looking forward to flexing those feedback fingers.

The most annoying thing about this isn't even the money (though that is pretty annoying, especially as it was the most expensive thing I bought on there), it's the sheer crapola scale of the theft. When I paid for the dress, the seller had one positive feedback response. A few days later, some fellow pissed-off Ebayer left an abrupt slag on their feedback warning other potential customers not to touch them with a barge pole. And now the creep appears to have vanished off the face of the planet, no doubt cackling smugly to him/herself about their mammoth haul (£14 from me and about £3.70 from the other buyer, who was deprived of a pair of hair curlers).

I mean, how pathetic and petty is that? If you're going to nick money off people, at least make it worth the effort, for god's sake! Con artists just don't seem to have much ambition these days, it seems. It would almost be less annoying if it didn't seem so pointless.

Plus, I like Ebay and think it's a good resource. You can get pretty much anything on there - just a few weeks ago I managed to replace a much-loved, over-worn pair of shoes with an identical, unused pair, despite the original purchase taking place the best part of a decade ago. Boy, was that a happy day!

It's just really annoying when you get the rare pillock who ruins it; who makes you distrustful and nervous and feeling a bit stung, the way a child might be scarred for life by an early encounter with a snappy dog. It won't stop me buying on there again, but jeez, I'd like to slap that knob-end silly.

So hey, Spike-Sanders 88 - screw you!!!