Shortly after buying the Cross House, I lucked out on acquiring a very large George III-style dining table by Baker. The rooms in the house are huge, and normal-scaled furniture looks silly. After picking up the table, I placed it in the dining room; it was perfect.

Shortly thereafter, I found a pair of George III-style crystal chandeliers on eBay, listed separately by the seller. These seemed ideal for the dining room and parlor. Importantly, the scale was impressive. The sale was Pick Up Only, which was fine with me as I’d had very bad luck buying chandeliers online and having them shipped. It is really upsetting opening a box of shattered glass.

I bid on one chandelier and won the auction. Immediately, I let the buyer know that I was also interested in the matching fixture but wanted to see the first one in person before committing to the second one. The seller, graciously, removed the second listing.

The drive to Minneapolis was pleasant and I arrived at the high-rise condo tower of the seller. He met me in the underground garage and directed my car to an area marked DROP-OFF ONLY with bright red lines on the pavement. After introductions, the seller surprised me by pushing over a cart laden with boxes. “Here’s your chandelier!”

I was stunned. I had presumed that the chandelier would be hanging in his apartment and that I would be able to confirm that it did, indeed, match the online image.

Looking at the many boxes, my heart sank. I opened one box. It was stuffed with with hundreds of pieces all individually wrapped.

How was it possible to know that all these boxes actually contained my chandelier?

Had I not just driven nine hours I would have walked away from the deal and filed a claim with eBay. But I had just driven nine hours. And had a nine-hour drive home.

I was nearly paralyzed with concern, while the seller talked non-stop: “Oh! It’s all there! Every piece! I wrapped each piece myself! It’s all there! No need to worry! It’s all there! All of it! No need to worry!”

The more he insisted that all-was-well the more uneasy I became.

I asked if there was a restroom. I didn’t need it but wanted some space and some time to think.

We took the elevator to his penthouse. Several other people had stepped into the elevator with us. The seller, Bob, cheerily greeted each person. None greeted him back and one person glared at him.

Odd, I thought. What an unfriendly building.

 

Alone in the powder room I splashed water on my face and then stared at the mirror. What to do? What to do? I then realized that even if I left with all the boxes, and then later discovered that the chandelier was Not As Described, I could still file a claim.

I left the small room and found Bob in the foyer. We returned to the elevators. On the way down the elevator stopped several times and other people stepped in. Bob again greeted everybody cheerily. None responded in kind. Then the elevator stopped again. A person started to step in, saw Bob, and stepped back. The doors closed and the person vanished. The three other people in the elevator all looked at Bob, who seemed unaware of what had just happened. “Nice weather we’ve been having!”

 

We transferred all the boxes into my car while Bob maintained a non-stop patter assuring me that all the parts were there and all undamaged. “I wrapped each piece myself!”

He then asked: “Do you still want the second chandelier?”

My heart seized. Did I? Well, I did. But I was SO uncomfortable already that my only instinct was to flee flee flee. For some reason, too, I felt dirty and all I could think of was getting in my car parked above the bright red lines, flooring the gas, finding the first nice motel, and taking a long hot shower. Then I would need, no, require a drink.

“Do you still want the second chandelier?”

I just stared back. And stared.

“I’ll give you half off!”

I just stared.

“Come on! It’s upstairs! You should at least look at it.”

Bob then kinda tugged me towards the elevators. We stepped in. At the lobby level the car stopped and two others stepped in. Yet again, Bob’s cheery politeness was met with stone-faced silence.

What is going on with this building?

 

We again entered his penthouse which had an impressive view of the city. It was all white-on-white and with a gilded decor clearly channeling Zsa Zsa Gabor. However, this attempt at luxury was wholly defeated by…filth. The white wall-to-wall was stunningly dirty. There were long brown lines where people walked. There were circles of brown, too, like gravy had been repeatedly spilled. There were countless small drops of brown.

So, too, with the white-on-white damask on the sofa and chairs. All was horribly stained.

I looked around. It was so surreal. A penthouse apartment. A spectacular view from the balcony. A high ceiling. A gilded decor obliviously trying to impress. And all this was cancelled out by utter filth.

My yearning for a shower, and drink, intensified.

 

“Here’s the other chandelier” Bob said, waving his hand around. I focused and realized that the sofa, the chairs, the entire surface of the dining table, and much of the dirty wall-to-wall was covered with crystal pieces. There were crystal bowls, crystals arms, and crystal prisms. Everywhere.

I felt light-headed. My hand reached out to a wall.

A dirty once-white wall.

 

The one ray of hope was that this second chandelier was at least visible. I could look at the picture I had printed out, count all the various components, and see if everything matched up.

One piece proved missing right away: a large bowl at the very top. Bob responded: “Oh! Yes! That! It broke so I ordered a new one. It’s actually gonna arrive in a day or so. I can then ship it to you!”

Ninety minutes later I gave up. No matter how many pieces I counted, and no matter how many times I looked at the picture, I could not seemingly match the pieces, exactly, with the image. Maybe all the pieces, save the large bowl, were there. Maybe not. The only way to make sure, I belatedly knew, was to reassemble the chandelier.

At my house.

 

Twice during all this I stated: “I should move my car.”

Bob responded: “No. It’s fine. If there was a problem they would call me on the house phone.”

This seemed reasonable. But why then was my unease mounting exponentially?

 

My brain finally just snapped. I had to escape. I had to take a shower. And at this point I needed a drink more than oxygen.

A thought had percolated that leaving with both chandeliers would, I hoped, assure that I might end up with at least one complete chandelier. If the first one proved to have missing parts, I could cannibalize from its twin, right?

At my request, Bob relisted the second chandelier but only after I had him include that the large bowl was to shipped out later.

I then hit Buy It Now.

And felt sick.

After piling all the pieces onto the cart, I left the gilded filth.

 

Arriving back to the basement garage the first thing I saw was the attendant glaring at me. Glaring. He was holding the phone.

“I’m calling a tow service and having your car taken away!”

Huh? What? FUCK!!!!!!!!

I left the cart and approached the livid attendant. In a flash, all that I had seen during the past almost two hours came into focus.

Bob was a piece of shit. And the whole building knew it.

His gilded apartment reflected his true nature. It tried to impress yet all people could see was shit.

 

In a rush I blurted out: “I just met Bob. I purchased one of his items on eBay. I drove nine hours to come and get it. I kept asking him if I should move my car. But he kept saying it was OK. I don’t know him. I’m not friends with him. And…he seems…like a creep. PLEASE don’t punish me because Bob is a creep!”

Time seemed to stand still. Then the attendant slowly put the phone down.

Forty minutes later I was standing in a hot shower. Shortly thereafter my veins were filled with alcohol.

 

Arriving home late in the afternoon the next day I felt compelled to reassemble the first chandelier.

“Oh! It’s all there! Every piece! I wrapped each piece myself! It’s all there! No need to worry! It’s all there! All of it! No need to worry!”

I was not even the tiniest bit surprised when this proved untrue.

 

My hunch though did prove correct. Neither chandelier was complete but by cannibalizing the second chandelier I did end up with one complete chandelier.

And it was gorgeous.

 

I wrote Bob and politely explained about all the missing parts.

He denied everything. “It’s all there! Every piece! I wrapped each piece myself! It’s all there!”

 

I filed a Not As Described claim with eBay for the first chandelier, including a meticulous inventory of the numerous missing components.

The next day my claim was denied. I was stunned. Stunned!

I called eBay and was told that the seller had called, expressed profound concern, and said that the missing parts had been sent to me UPS. He even included a tracking number. The eBay person cheerily stated: “So, as the missing parts are on their way to you, we closed the claim!”

What????????

I explained about the second purchase and how its missing bowl was to be shipped to me.

“There was a second chandelier?”

Yep. I had eBay look at the listing and read the part about the bowl.

“Oh. Oh. So you think that is what the seller shipped you via UPS?”

Yep.

 

After the box arrived, it did, indeed, contain one large crystal bowl. There were no other pieces.

I called eBay back with this news.

“We are so sorry but once a claim is denied it cannot be reopened.”

I was now being haunted by gilded filth.

 

I called eBay several more times and finally was put in touch with the man who denied the claim, Ted.

It was instantly clear that Ted did not like being challenged. He also liked Bob. “He was really concerned. I just cannot believe that he lied to me.”

The implication was clear.

I was the liar.

 

There was only one option left. I wrote to the president of eBay. Included in the letter were URL links to the results of my Google search regarding Bob’s full name.

On page one of search results were numerous cases of fraud filed against Bob and a detailed link about the years-long fight between Bob and his condo tower. It seems that Bob had not paid his condo fees in a very long time. The condo had filed suit against Bob; Bob filed a countersuit alleging a long list of grievances.

I sided with the condo.

 

One day my phone rang. It was Ted.

It seems that the president’s office had forwarded my letter to him.

And Ted was not happy.

 

Ted and I talked for forty minutes. He would not budge. His main point was that I should have assured that the chandelier was fully intact before I Ieft Minneapolis.

I had kept asking: “How? How could I possible know that the zillion pieces wrapped up in boxes represented a complete chandelier?”

“You should have unwrapped each piece and then compared them to the image.”

“What? What? You expected me to unwrap a zillion crystal pieces in a parking garage?”

“Yes.”

I felt as if my brain would explode.

 

Then I had an idea.

“Ted, do you have an image of the chandelier in front of you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! Good! Can I ask that you count the arms. How many are there?”

Ted tried. And tried again. And then again.

“Ummmm….I can’t really tell. I can see the arms in front but not in back. Maybe ten arms? Twelve? Fourteen?”

I smiled. But Ted could not see this. “OK. And can you count how many crystals are hanging on the chandelier?”

Ted, tried. And tried again. And then again.

“Ummmm….I can’t really tell. I get to about fifty and then everything gets blurry.”

There were hundreds of crystals.

My smile was now very wide. But Ted was unable to see this, too.

Gently, I replied: “You are experiencing the same problem I had when in Minneapolis. No matter how much I looked at the image I could not ascertain how many pieces were supposed to be included. So even if I did as you suggested, unwrapping and counting every piece, this would not have told me anything.”

There was a long pause. “Can I put you on hold?”

Sure I replied.

Ted came back on the line. He apologized for the delay and said he ran all this past his supervisory group. He explained that they looked at the seller’s history, and mine. Then they…Ted paused…wanted to know why Ted was torturing me. They finished with: “GIVE HIM A FULL REFUND! NOW!”

The floor under me vanished.

Minutes later I received an email confirming a “courtesy” refund from eBay. They could not do a normal Buyer Protection refund because Ted…had closed my claim.

 

I left scathing negative feedback on Bob’s eBay account.

A few hours later the feedback just vanished.

I called eBay.

It developed that Bob had called them! He was very gracious and very concerned and very upset! He also did not think eBay should allow negative feedback when a claim had been denied.

I gasped. And explained to eBay all that and happened.

It didn’t matter. Once feedback is removed it could not be put back.

 

I assembled the complete chandelier in the dining room of the Cross House. It was glorious.

The second chandelier? I put its many parts in a box.

And life went on.

 

A month later I was stunned to receive a negative rating on eBay. A buyer had purchased the least expensive fixture I had and then claimed it was not vintage!

A few days later a scary thought popped into my head.

I called eBay. “I know I am going to sound really crazy but recently I had this incredibly bad experience with an eBay seller, and I kinda have the feeling that he is somehow behind my negative feedback. Can I tell you a long story?

The eBay person laughed. Then she replied: “Sure!”

I had no idea who this person was but did know one thing: I loved her.

After telling the long sorry tale I said: “Is my buyer somehow connected to Bob? I mean, did the two work in tandem? If so, and this is the BIG question, is Bob stupid enough to have left a paper trail? I mean, did he actually orchestrate the plan via eBay’s message system?”

The eBay person laughed again. “Well, that would be incredibly stupid…but let me check. Will you please hold?”

A few minutes later she returned. “I have removed the negative.”

I gapsed. And gasped again! And blurted out: “I love you!”

Then I asked: “What did you discover?”

“I am not at liberty to explain. Let’s just say though that you are not a crazy conspiracy theorist.”

 

A year passed. A potential buyer contacted me. They wanted a pair of very large chandeliers I had listed but they needed a third large chandelier. It did not need to match.

I was not about to lose a good sale so I sent pictures of the huge, glittering chandelier in the dining room of the Cross House.

“We love it! We’ll take that, too!”

I sold the chandelier for well over what I had paid of it. A payment which had been refunded.

That felt good. Damn good.

 

The second chandelier was still in its box.

Over and over and over I tried to figure out just how many parts it needed but always gave up. It was just too confusing.

Over and over and over I would scan the internet for another chandelier for the dining room. I missed the bling. Nothing however was really right. George III-style chandeliers are not common and the large scale even less common. I looked at other styles but none complemented the George III-style table.

Two years passed.

A few months ago I knew: Enough! Just fix the damn chandelier!

My thought was just to hang it as is and then bit by bit order missing parts, attach said parts, and then order more parts now revealed as missing and so on. My thought was that eventually I should be able to get the damn thing all back together again, right? It’s a chandelier not a space ship to the moon!

After much ado, including ordering parts which proved not to fit, today I am immensely pleased to announce that the chandelier is at long last finished.

 

 

My every cell is suffused with victory. And joy.

Somehow, a sordid tale has been cleansed.

A beautiful object, misrepresented by an evil person, has been made whole again.

A wrong has been righted.

In addition, I feel proud. Proud that I persisted in getting the chandelier back together again, lighted, and sparkling.

For a long while today, I sat in a chair, gobsmacked at the glittering extravagance before me.

My smile was very wide. My own eyes sparkled. My heart seemed about to burst my chest.