It all started last week when I listed some vintage coins on eBay for a friend. He collected coins in his younger years, but needed some quick cash to pay his mortgage this month. I was happy to help for a small cut of the action. My only problem was I knew squat about coins and hoped to avoid being bombarded with picky questions about conditions of the coins from people who will think nothing of sifting through 500 Hefty bags full of loose change with the hopes of finding a 1916 D Mercury dime. No such luck. I was shelled with so many questions I thought I was taking my SAT again.
I'm usually great with answering people's questions, especially when I'm trying to sell them something. But I've learned in 18 months as an eBay seller that trying to answer questions from a crazed collector is akin to answering questions from the FBI under a hot light about a crime you did not commit. They always think you're hiding something, like Jimmy Hoffa's body, and will stop at nothing to try to get the "truth" out of you.
The collectors ask what condition a coin is in on a 10-point scale. You can't pull an 8 out of your ass and bullshit your way by any of them. They have some sort of dewey decimal system set up for coins that tells them exactly how many minor flaws George Washington's cheek has, how long the coin was in someone's pocket, if it was ever inside a coin purse, and if it was ever used in a vending machine. I don't know how they track this, but THEY KNOW. They'll ask if it has wear (there's only about a billion interpretations of that), if it's still shiny, if it has the minter's initials on it (some of which are the size of a gnat's nutsack and only visible with aid of the Hubble space telescope). Too many questions like that will make you want to let a stamp collector lick you to death.
If I was a coin collector at least I could come up with some entertaining questions to keep things interesting. I'd ask, "On that 1969 penny, does Lincoln's head look like before or after he was assassinated?" or "Is Liberty sitting like a lady on that coin or is she all spread eagle like a Supertramp?"
Unfortunately, I'm just a freak magnet and get only boring questions and assholey accusations. I had never seen or even corresponded with The Coin Mummy before, but to make a long story short, he accused me of being a counterfeiter out of the blue in his first email. He seemed convinced I had minted the 176 pennies, 1 dime and 50 silver dollars in my basement before listing them on eBay. Apparently, I was a damn good dirty money maker as I made the coins look 30 to 105 years old in my minting process. Apparently, I had figured out how to mint coins during one of my two short stints behind bars where I was a star license-plate pressman.
I knew nothing about The Coin Mummy other than his obsession with "COIN! COIN!" He was apparently the self-proclaimed pharaoh of eBay coin auctions. I have no doubt this prick has 10,000 slaves building him a mini-pyramid tomb somewhere so he can be buried with his coin collection when he dies.
I wrote The Coin Mummy back and told him not to get his bandages in a bind. I assured him that I was not a master counterfeiter, although sometimes I wished I was so I could pay off my thousands of dollars of debt. This joke made The Coin Mummy's curse worse. He became even more obsessed with my coin auctions and began to take on the persona of one of the idiotic hick sheriffs featured on the Scooby-Doo cartoons. He warned me my coins had better be real or the authorities would come find me, even though he wasn't bidding on anything I had for sale and had less proof than non-alcoholic champagne.
At this point, I snapped and sent a reply, which included the following:
I'm not sure who elected you "coin chief of police," but now that my coin auctions are over you can officially withdraw your stakeout of my auctions, Kojak. Clearly the individuals who bid and won my auctions were not concerned with the way my ads were written so I don't see why you should be, Roscoe. I will say it again... MY business is NOT YOUR business, Mannix. The transactions I have with others are just that. Transactions with others. Any issues we have will be taken care of between us. Your duty is done, Adam-12.
I wish I had your kind of free time to monitor everyone else on eBay, but I have a life. You may want to seek medication or professional help for your apparent psychotic internet stalking problem. At the very least, I think it's time for you to turn in your "coin chief of police" badge, Barney Fife. Trust me, it is not serving you well and I'm not going to be hearing "Book 'em, Danno" any time soon. It's time to move on to your next case, Baretta.
Case closed,
LectyToo
I'm hoping that shuts The Coin Mummy up. He hasn't emailed back, probably because I sent my message in English and not Hieroglyphics. I started to put this ugly incident behind me until yesterday.
That's when - while driving on Marshall Avenue in St. Paul just a few blocks from my home - I actually saw the Mystery Machine parked. I didn't see Fred, Daphne, Shaggy or Scooby, but I think I did see some ugly bitch in an orange sweater, knee-high stockings and a mini skirt crawling around on the sidewalk with her eyes all squinty as if looking for her displaced glasses.
The van looked authentic, much like my coins up for auction. The gang was probably either trying to solve the mystery of my coins or possibly looking for The Coin Mummy himself. I'm not sure if some washed-up guest star was with them like Don Knotts or Phyllis Diller. No clue why they'd be in St. Paul and not Monster Island. Maybe they got lost because Freddy wouldn't pull over and ask for directions. I assume they were somewhere nearby trying to lure their chicken-shit Great Dane out of hiding with Scooby snacks to continue their mission.
Not wanting to deal with these meddling kids, I fled the scene. I had contemplated putting some other old collectibles up for auction on eBay. But after these recent Scooby-Doo flashbacks, I'm a little gun-shy.
There's no way I'm going to sell any Spanish doubloons from ancient shipwrecks. Surely, Captain Cutler would come after me in his glowing haunted deep sea diver suit.
Selling any old gold nuggets is out too, as the old Miner 49er would surely flip.
Any tropical island artifacts would be off-limits due to the curse of the Tiki Witch Doctor. Out of this world items like UFO photos or moon rocks would drive the Space Kook crazy.
I couldn't even attempt to peddle a battery charger for fear the 10,000-Volt Ghost would be shocked and give me an even more hair-raising experience than The Coin Mummy.
I admit it. The Coin Mummy has made me so paranoid I haven't listed anything on eBay this week - the first time that has happened in a couple of months. In reality, The Coin Mummy is probably just some crooked jerk wearing a mask (maybe even two masks). Still, I'd prefer his identity remain unrevealed.
With my luck, he would probably end up being that little prick Scrappy Doo. If I get an email that starts off, "Tah-Tah-Tah-Tah-Ta-Ta, Puppy Power!" and closes with "Let me at 'em" or "Splat," I'll know for sure and really be scared.
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