Only when I began my promotional efforts of the event did I realize the trouble I was in:
"Thursday ... NEXT Thursday? Oh no ... I'm watching 'Friends.'"
"I'd love to help, but we're having a 'Friends' party with my roommates."
"OMG! You got David Schwimmer as one of the Bachelors? I am SO THERE ... hey waaaaaitaminute ..."
So with Plan A ("Lying my ass off about celebrities who are going to show up") a failure, a zero advertising budget and one week to get the word out, we had to resort to desperate measures to fill our venue with bidders.
[cue Mission: Impossible music]
If you or any of your MI teammates are killed or captured, the Secretary of State will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This tape will self-destruct in 15 seconds ...
Ah, but desperate times call for desperate measures - and what defines capital-D Desperation more perfectly than the Personals section of craigslist.org?
So Christy, being the generous friend and good sport that she is (or just easily-manipulated ... haha) created an ad with me to post in the Sausage Wasteland, better known as the Women Seeking Men section of Craigslist:
Sportbike-racing Nrrd Girl Needs Bidders ... Jabbas Need Not Apply
Within minutes, we knew we had a winner; response was tremendous - from the hit-counter we buried in the advert, that one post netted over four thousand pageviews in two days and generated over a hundred individual email replies ... enough that we could assure ourselves a decent turnout. But going through the mailbox we set up to correspond with the respondents to the ad was a stomach-churning experience that still makes me feel slightly nauseous even days after the event.
Granted, I've heard horror stories before from female friends who've posted on the WSM section, but had no concrete idea of the kajillion-strong gibbering half-literate troglodytes who tirelessly trawl WSM for their next victims ... but I got a good look last week.
At the top of the moron list has to be the self-described 'Hot European' who introduced himself thusly:
I would love to have the dinner date with you. Pick me and we'll have loads of fun. I'm 6 feet tall, athletic, handsome, great body, blond, blue eyes and fun. I'm polite and respectful. I work in investments downtown SF. I love to work out, travel, go out to bars, dine out, cook food at home etc. I'm smart and successful!!! I drive a nice car and a really cool motorcycle (Ducati). You can ride on the back with me if you want! Would love to get to know you.Here is a pic of me - I'm to the right. Got a bit shorter hair now. Can you please send me a pic of you and tell me what you are interested in and looking for etc.
So let me get this straight ... you're trying to impress a self-described motorcycle-racing, Thunderhill junkie by telling her ... you own a Ducati? And hinting that she can 'ride in the back' is supposed to be some sort of come-on to someone who OWNS THREE RACEBIKES and can probably STOMP YOUR ASS with her lap times? *Smacks you with a beanbag* Homie don't play dat!
And the mail kept pouring in - guys who trying to be cute 'If I win the bid, will you show up in my gear bag?' ... guys writing horrifyingly bad poetry ... an offer from an escort agency promising a $200,000 income if she joins the agency (!!!) ... and one genuinely funny response that still makes us laugh:
Just for that, I'm bringing a assload of money...
I'm 5'9 296 lbs...and it ain't muscle either...
When I win you, I have a great Italian place to bring
you...I can't wait for this....
There's a lesson in here - but I leave it as an excercise to the readers as to what it may be.
As for me, there is work to finish, letters to mail out, and a woman I need to call ... not necessarily in that order.
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