It’s hard to believe that Craigslist began in 1995 as an e-mail distribution service among friends in San Francisco, which has since become the “go to” source for everything (and anything) from a short-term rental space – without lox (sic) – to a candle that can burn on both ends. As if one might need an object to make that manifest.
What it has also become (unbeknownst to my nonexistent friend, Craig) is a source of endless amusement that can be shared with my equally easily amused friends. I realize that the general population might not take spelling and grammar as seriously as I do, but some of the ads I read are the equivalent of a train wreck (or shoe sale) that my obviously irony-detached soul can’t pass up or possibly keep to myself.
I never imagined for a minute that a single site could bring me such perverse voyeuristic pleasure every morning. That it should (almost always) come with a hot-liquid-spewing warning is an added bonus. Where I once cringed at lazy spelling errors or generic grammatical gaffs, I now relish the possibility of discovering hastily written posts with all the requisite (and delicious) blunders that can only be attributed to tequila or the urgent need for cash (or both), and sharing it with friends whose senses of humor have never left the building or evolved beyond mine. Thank you, Denise and Lonnie.
I mean, who doesn’t need a deseyner (sic) sofa? Wouldn’t your life be incomplete without a “shover (sic) curtain”? I know mine would. I won’t even touch the black stools with a 10-foot pole, only because the same person is selling a “barely yewsed” toilet, whatever that might mean.
You see where this is going, don’t you? Neither do I.
And that’s what makes it so intoxicating.
With a simple click of a link, I can enter a world (no cover or “doovet” (sic) charge) of earnestly not Hemingway writing and drink what ails the modern American with too much stuff, not enough money and little command of the English language.
Now, about those personal ads…