So, Frank was selling a car.
I probably would have bought the car, but someone beat me to it.
My brother, who was helping me in the search, was furious; we'd paid a bridge toll to come out, would pay another to return, and the bottom line was he knew we missed a gem.
I'm accustomed to this moment. I tried blaming myself, according to family custom, but couldn't think of much; this was a shit happens outcome.
Except ...
... the next morning my brother went ballistic; the buyer was flipping the car for seven hundred dollars with a cheap brokerage advert. Frank, at least, had been honest about the car's condition. I don't mean, like, fisticuffs at the bike rack, but my brother was hollering at me to go fight for that car, and Frank, to be honest, is a windblown reed. No, really, there are a couple xkcd episodes about this, and he's one of these. The buyer didn't have to bully him, or anything; this was an easy score, just give him the damn money. A perfect buy.
I bought a car, today; the lost Toyota isn't a big deal; I just need to attend the tires and brakes on the Ford, which I knew when I offered, and the socially awkward but not unconfident—there is, assuredly, a story there, but I don't know it—young man who sold it to me easily accepted the nine percent reduction offer.
My brother, much calmer, remembered Frank. I might want to drop Frank a line, anyway, because the turnaround was fast enough to suggest the flipper might be skipping out on title transfer. And he's got a point: If the broker doesn't rotate the title, Frank carries the broker's liability.
I was never going to go pitch a fit at Frank. Seriously, someone gave him an offer that he accepted, and that's how this market works.
But I could have sent him an email about liability in the time it took me to write this post, and I haven't, and I knew I wasn't sending the communique when I started the inquiry.
And that's just it. My brother has a point, and Frank is the sort to get just mowed if anything goes wrong.
Part of me just doesn't care, and that's the decision that has prevailed. Nor do I intend to change it, but still.
It's an abstract ethical question: Why is it right or wrong?
I can speculate probabilities in a pseudoactuarial argument, but the truth is I don't really know what the odds are that this is the evil broker and this is the time something goes wrong.
I can even speculate that I would only be stressing Frank out by re-establishing contact, if I need a pretense for excusing myself.
It's even an improbable candidate for wondering what to do if it ever comes up again.
And if you ever want to see neurosis, this post is an example: If I don't care, then why take the time to isolate and present the episode for consideration? Then again, that's why people say this part is beside the point.
Nonetheless, the question remains, and it is not a case of being my neighbor's keeper or not, but, rather, to what degree we carry that obligation, and what it means.
I probably would have bought the car, but someone beat me to it.
My brother, who was helping me in the search, was furious; we'd paid a bridge toll to come out, would pay another to return, and the bottom line was he knew we missed a gem.
I'm accustomed to this moment. I tried blaming myself, according to family custom, but couldn't think of much; this was a shit happens outcome.
Except ...
... the next morning my brother went ballistic; the buyer was flipping the car for seven hundred dollars with a cheap brokerage advert. Frank, at least, had been honest about the car's condition. I don't mean, like, fisticuffs at the bike rack, but my brother was hollering at me to go fight for that car, and Frank, to be honest, is a windblown reed. No, really, there are a couple xkcd episodes about this, and he's one of these. The buyer didn't have to bully him, or anything; this was an easy score, just give him the damn money. A perfect buy.
I bought a car, today; the lost Toyota isn't a big deal; I just need to attend the tires and brakes on the Ford, which I knew when I offered, and the socially awkward but not unconfident—there is, assuredly, a story there, but I don't know it—young man who sold it to me easily accepted the nine percent reduction offer.
My brother, much calmer, remembered Frank. I might want to drop Frank a line, anyway, because the turnaround was fast enough to suggest the flipper might be skipping out on title transfer. And he's got a point: If the broker doesn't rotate the title, Frank carries the broker's liability.
I was never going to go pitch a fit at Frank. Seriously, someone gave him an offer that he accepted, and that's how this market works.
But I could have sent him an email about liability in the time it took me to write this post, and I haven't, and I knew I wasn't sending the communique when I started the inquiry.
And that's just it. My brother has a point, and Frank is the sort to get just mowed if anything goes wrong.
Part of me just doesn't care, and that's the decision that has prevailed. Nor do I intend to change it, but still.
It's an abstract ethical question: Why is it right or wrong?
I can speculate probabilities in a pseudoactuarial argument, but the truth is I don't really know what the odds are that this is the evil broker and this is the time something goes wrong.
I can even speculate that I would only be stressing Frank out by re-establishing contact, if I need a pretense for excusing myself.
It's even an improbable candidate for wondering what to do if it ever comes up again.
And if you ever want to see neurosis, this post is an example: If I don't care, then why take the time to isolate and present the episode for consideration? Then again, that's why people say this part is beside the point.
Nonetheless, the question remains, and it is not a case of being my neighbor's keeper or not, but, rather, to what degree we carry that obligation, and what it means.