The kindness of strangers

Yesterday I secured a free ironing board via Craigslist. For those of you who don't know, Craigslist is a free online market place for jobs, accommodation, goods, services, small ads, local activities, in fact, you name it, it's probably there. It was created in 1995 by a man called Craig (in San Francisco actually) and is widely used, particularly in the US. There are always loads of freebies, ripe for the picking, but you have to be quick. It seems that most people leave their free stuff on a street corner (showing how little it rains here) and then post up a note to say what they have left, and then by the time you get there, by public transport anyway, it is gone. A bit like Challenge Anneka, without Dave the camera man, oh, or the helicopter, or the tight yellow jumpsuit, and my name isn't Anneka. It also isn't televised.

It actually bears very little resemblance to Challenge Anneka when you consider it for more than a split second, especially as I am thinking of Treasure Hunt, the forerunner to Challenge Anneka.

So, the ironing board. I saw the board advertised and sent a quick e-mail, not really thinking about where it was in the city and whether we could get there or not, so great was my desire to iron. The seller responded virtually immediately to say it was still available and I could collect it after 7, and gave me his address and phone number. I quickly worked out where it was, how I would get there and made arrangements to meet my back-up and ironing board carrier extraordinare. I, of course, have the ability to carry an ironing board, it was the back-up I needed. Safety in numbers when going to a strangers house is always my motto, but especially when they are going to give you something for free.

So, in another quick email to the seller, I confirmed the time I would be there. The lovely giving away an ironing board to the chronically crumpled replied thus:
"Works for me. Call me when you're at the building/corner. And I can just carry it down and do the hand off thing. Cool?"
[This has been included verbatim for British readers to enjoy as much as I did]

Of course, I don't have a phone, because this country won't give me one. They don't trust me you see. It is an ongoing issue, which I am sure will get resolved at some point, but only after my spirit has been well and truly crushed and my spleen has been vented a thousand times over. So, I replied to say, "Sorry, I'm from the UK" and don't have a phone. As an excuse, it is terrible, but it seems to work in the short term before anyone realises that it in fact makes no sense. I asked whether he had an intercom or doorbell, to which I received this reply:
"Wah. Actually, no. My building intercom won't connect to a non-land line. And I only have a cell phone. But how bout this? I'll be on the corner of xxx & xxx at 8:30. And just expect you around then?"
I have taken out the road names for the safety of the lovely man, which I guess is fairly insulting to anyone reading this, as it assumes that you have murderous or at least violent tendencies. Let's move on.

What does "wah" mean*? I read it as a small noise which conveys a mild exasperation at the fact that I just want to give away an ironing board and I have even proffered my address and mobile phone number for the taking, and here is a nuisance foreigner with all sorts of frankly ridiculous difficulties, excused away by feeble nonsense, making the exchange more complicated.

At this point, he could have just told me where to go, but no, he offered to stand waiting for a freak, near his home, holding an ironing board. That is just plain decent.

It took me just over an hour to get there, but luckily I left an hour and a half early as I didn't want to be late, to add insult to injury, and because I mistrust the public transport system. It really wasn't a long journey, and my mistrust was spot on.

At exactly half past eight as planned, a man emerged from a nearby building, carrying an ironing board. I approached him by saying his name, so he would know I wasn't just some freebie taker impostor. He shook my hand in greeting and said; "Welcome to San Francisco, have an ironing board." I laughed and thanked him very much, for surely that is hospitality at it's finest.

A new cover and a good disinfect later (for even the loveliest, most generous and accommodating of souls have germs, and cats apparently) we have ourselves an ironing board. The fact that I am as pleased as I am shows just how difficult and frustrating every other 'easy' transaction has been. Thank you lovely ironing board man for restoring my faith in the world, even if just for one evening.


* Answers on a postcard gratefully received.