It’s hard to put a definitive measure on my decision-making capacity at the time, given I was somewhere in that treacherous space between gently sozzled and completely hammered. It was 1:47am, and I’d only just got back from an overwhelmingly extravagant client dinner.
Most importantly though, the auction for which I’d been waiting all week was ending imminently. I got out the laptop, sat on my bed and watched the minutes tick down. As it entered the final 30 seconds I checked once more the current top bid: it was $9600. And it was mine.
Awaiting a flurry of elite level snipers, I panicked, and upped my maximum bid to $13,500. Surely this was a $15k car? It had to be. Just look at it. The snipers were surely readying their aim, preparing that hail of deadly bids to rain down in the final 10 seconds.
I blearily wiped my eyes. My brow. Shuffled uncomfortably as the auction timer went red and the seconds went to single digits. I closed my eyes as the page finally reloaded, the auction over.
I built up the drunken courage to peer through my fingers at the result. The winning bid: Still $9600. Still mine.
Holy shit. I’d just bought a DeLorean.
