Sold in Ninety Minutes

My friend Gary, a guy with lots of experience in the car business, shared his approach to auto ownership: buy reliable used cars for cash and sell them when they reach 200,000 miles. Any car should be able to go that distance, he says, but beyond that, the cost of repairs will eat you alive.

We bought this 2002 Jeep Liberty in 2004 at Sewell in Dallas. It was a 40,000-mile cream puff. We drove it day-in, day-out, including trips to California and Tennessee, and frequent excursions with a 16-foot flatbed trailer on the back. During that time frame it needed an alternator, water pump, and A/C work, but all in all it was a very good car for us. We treated it right—meaning oil changes and car washes—and it paid us back in spades.

When the odometer clicked over 212,000, we decided to heed Gary's advice and let the Liberty go. I composed a Craigslist ad (this is one of the photos) and settled on the Kelly Blue Book "fair" private party value of $2495 as an asking price, even though I think the car qualified as "good." (Click here for KBB's used car site.) I did this hoping for a quick sale. "Quick" turned out to be an understatement.

The ad went live at 5:32pm. By six o'clock, I had 20 voice messages and a dozen texts asking for details about the Jeep. I spoke with buyers in English and Spanish, gave directions to five callers, told everyone to come take a look but I couldn't promise the car would still be there when they arrived. A caller needed directions from Arlington, Texas; she had started the day in Canton (90 minutes east of Dallas). I sat down for dinner at 6:30 and stopped answering the phone, which was ringing constantly.  At 6:45 I jumped online and edited my Craigslist ad title to read, "SOLD 2002 Jeep Liberty SOLD!" This was before a single prospect had actually seen the car. Then I got this series of text messages: "Coming cash in hand lol." "Directions from loop 820?" "Passing a church." "Im here." I grabbed the keys, my folder of maintenance records, and a flashlight, and headed out to the curb where the Jeep was parked.

There were four cars parked on the grass next to the Jeep, a young woman was doing a walk-around of the car, and several people were standing around talking into cell phones. Where did all these people come from? I wondered. I handed the keys to the walk-around woman and she started the car. "Any mechanical issues?" she queried. I reiterated the "known issues" from the ad (paint chips, bubbling window tint, passenger seat recline lever missing). "Sure, but are there any mechanical issues?" I told her the oil-low light illuminates on cold mornings even when the oil level is verified full. "That's it? I'll take it." She didn't even want a test drive.

I asked her to move the Jeep down the driveway and meet me at the house so we could sign the papers. One of the onlookers held a hand over his cell phone and said, "It's sold, right? For the asking price? Ok, thanks..." He relayed this news into his phone and everyone drove away. Ten minutes later the Jeep, its 'clear blue Texas title,' and its new owner were gone, and I stood at the kitchen table leafing through a two-inch stack of twenty dollar bills fresh out of some one's ATM.

Listed and sold in ninety minutes.

This is not the first time I've unleashed the Craigslist circus—stock panels, a sailboat, trailer pens, shelving, a home gym—we've sold all sorts of things on the site. I think Craigslist represents one of the highest and best uses of the Internet: bringing willing buyers and sellers together without a lick of government interference. But when I place an ad and the phone immediately goes berserk and the item in question is inspected, paid for and gone in minutes or hours, I always have that nagging feeling that I could have gotten more. But in this case I have no seller's remorse. We loved that car, it served us well for seven years, and the buyer got a great deal.

And there's something I forgot to mention about Gary's approach to auto ownership. He gets rid of his cars at 200,000 miles—and assumes they will be worth zero. Even if the only cash he gets is from a wrecking yard ($225 a ton for scrap), it's all gravy. We got $2495 in gravy.