Tough Doodahs, That’s The Risk You Take

 

Mr Fixit came to look at the non-working oven the other day and even though he was a nice bloke and even though I batted my eyelashes at him willing him to mend said oven (prompting him to ask if I had something in my eye), it turned out he was actually Mr Couldn’t Fixit.

My oven is an ex-oven - it has ceased to be. Permanently. This now means one of two things; 1) Christmas dinner really will be from the local kebab shop (note to self: NEVER joke about things like this again, it could will become reality) or, 2) buy a new oven.

As with most things in (my) life, there’s a story behind the dead oven.

When we moved here, the double oven in the kitchen worked, but it was on its way out. So Significant Other, being Significant Other, sat himself in front of the computer, logged onto eBay, searched and kept a watch on several ovens (with me hovering in the background doing some serious eye rolling, muttering about warranties and guarantees and being totally ignored).

If you eBay, you’ll know that many people start their auction items at 99p in an effort to attract more bids. If you don’t eBay, you’ve just learnt something (ooh, get me! I have imparted knowledge). A few of the ovens he watched had a start price of 99p, and over a few days they increased in price.

Except for one.

Yes, you’ve guessed it. He was the only bidder and won the oven for 99p.

Ninety-nine pence.

Less than one pound.

For a double oven.

I kid you not.

When we drove to the other side of London to collect it, he wondered whether he ought to offer more money, as he was ever so slightly embarrassed at the thought of handing over a pound coin instead of a bundle of notes.

Me, being the hard woman that I occasionally am, pointed out the person selling the oven knew the risk they were taking at starting their auction at such a low price and if they’d wanted more, they should have made the start price higher. In other words, tough shit.

We got to the house, rang the doorbell and the woman who answered looked like she’d been sucking particularly sharp lemons - she was not happy, and looked at us like we’d crawled out from under a rock. Well I’m sorry, but a) it wasn’t our fault she didn’t get more bids and therefore a higher final price, b) tough shit, and most importantly, c) tough shit.

While Significant Other was talking to her, I could tell he was itching to offer her more money. So I trod on his foot. He shut up.

We loaded the oven into the car and Significant Other gave her a pound coin.

She gave him a penny change.

Seriously.

Significant Other was deeply embarrassed and tried to find a way to say he didn’t want it; “Keep the change.” “No, no that’s okay.” “No. Really.” “Don’t worry about it.” All failed. She insisted on giving him the penny change. We managed to give the woman a coherent goodbye then drove away, but had to park around the corner as we were both laughing so much at buying an oven and getting change from a pound.

The 99p oven was fitted in the kitchen and worked like a charm up until several months ago.

So, in the grand scheme of things, the fact that I now have to fork out for a new oven due to the 99p one having cooked its last, is no great shakes. I think we got our money’s worth.

The new one won’t be bought from eBay though.

I want a bloody warranty.