Squirrelbait is the name I recently gave to our Mini Cooper after a vile, fluffy-tailed rodent took up residence in the engine compartment and caused $2,000 in damage to the wiring harness. Thankfully Geico covers this under something like "animal invasion."
The Mini was our final major possession, and we sold her in the most sketchy way ever yesterday. I had just posted her for sale on the web on Friday, and we got a call Saturday from an auto broker. He kept calling over the next couple of days and asking bizarrely detailed questions about the car. Despite not having had any detailed discussions about price, he told us he was 90% certain he'd have a check for us when we met him at the dealership in Pensacola on Monday. Sure enough, we pulled into the dealership, and in about 10 minutes we had a check for $1,000 under the asking price and just $5,000 less than we orginally paid for the car. The owner of the dealership just strolled around the car -- didn't drive it, didn't get in, didn't even look at it very closely -- and then he wrote us a check. Weird.
Of course now Eric and are without wheels. My mom had to come pick us up after we sold the car, and now my 19-year-old sister and my new skateboard are our main forms of transportation. It's a really helpless feeling when you've had a car consistently for 15 years, and being completely divested of our worldly possessions (or at least 95% of them) brings home that this move is really happening.
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