I do not have an eBay account.  I have never had one, because I am not allowed to have one.

In the vast marketplace that is the Internet, eBay is usually my last resort, to procure items I cannot easily acquire elsewhere.  I’ve successfully bid on one eBay item, and that was back around 2006, borrowing the eBay account of a friend (with his knowledge and permission, thank you).  It was for a complete set of the four-issue Flex Mentallo miniseries, written by Grant Morrison and with art by Frank Quitely; at the time these issues were quite rare, since they were out of print due to being tied up in a trademark infringement suit between DC Comics and, of all entities, the Charles Atlas company.  It was the very rarity of these issues that taunted me and tantalized me — was simple scarcity the only thing between me and this story?  And so I lay in wait, watching the minutes tick by before I made my move, neatly swiping the auction out from underneath the other bidders with seconds to spare.  After all, what were they doing bidding on comics that I’d already decided were mine?  Clearly, I wanted them more.  And to this day, I can still remember that rush of victory, which — if I’m honest — made the actual acquisition of said comics seem secondary in comparison.  To call it a dangerous sensation would be a gross understatement, and relying on the kindness of others to bid on my behalf helps maintain a useful barrier between myself and… well, financial ruin, most likely.

This weekend, in the course of my travels through the Internet, my thoughts turned to the eleven-issue Marvel run of Gargoyles comics.  In my youth, the Gargoyles TV series captured my imagination like nothing else.  Like Batman: The Animated Series, I loved and respected these shows because, even as a fourth grader, I recognized that these so-called “cartoons” did not patronize me.  They didn’t talk down to me.  They took me seriously, and showed me what a story could be.  Gargoyles ran the gamut of just about every mythology there is — sure, it had cyborg assassins and dystopian futures and clones upon clones, but it also dealt with Arthurian legend, Shakespeare, Anansi, pantheons from Greek and Egyptian myth, even freaking Cu Chullain.  (When was the last time your children’s Saturday morning cartoons taught them about Irish mythology.)  One episode featured the alien that inspired the moai on Easter Island.  Not to mention some of the best @#$%ing examples of time travel to be had in modern fiction.  Meet me in person and give me a caffeinated soda and I will talk at you about that episode with the Archmage until you politely excuse yourself and wriggle out of a bathroom window.

Thus, I made note of an auction for a complete run of these hard-to-find comics from 1995, starting at a mere $10 for the lot.  Clearly this seller didn’t know what they had — one of these issues can go for $20 easily, and the only other auction on eBay with a complete run offers a buy-it-now option for $125.  All this and early Amanda Conner art, to boot.  Did I need them in my life?  No, of course not.  But, well, they’d be nice to have, wouldn’t they?  And if they’re right there, after all… Which led me to asking my husband if we had any friends with an eBay account.

And so, I did what all addicts do, sooner or later: I dragged my family into it.

In conversation with my mom, she mentioned that she has an eBay account — of course she does, she said in the tone of one who wonders why they wouldn’t, in this day and age.  So we agreed that if I kept an eye on it this weekend, she’d bid for me, and I’d pay her back.  And if it didn’t work out, well, no harm done, right?

This evening, my mom and I began a video-chat with ten minutes before the auction ended.  My heart sank when I noticed that the bids had increased from two to twenty-two over the course of the day, and then to twenty-seven as I watched.  My mom signed on, ready to place her bid when I gave her the word.  My dad even joined in on the action, pulling up a chair and providing his strategy: he thought I should wait until one minute left, to give us a chance to post a counter-bid.  I wanted to play dangerously and wait until thirty seconds, if that.  We noted that we still had four long minutes to go — what else were we going to talk about to fill the time?  The tension rose as the red timer inexorably ticked away the seconds.  At fifty seconds, we made our move, which was instantly countered.  We bid again — Dad said we should let it go, Mom asking me how high I was willing to go.  As high as it takes, obviously.  She and I were both caught up in the rush.  We bid again.  Too much, of course.  But I can still justify this.  And then… it was over.  No harm done.  Clearly, the other bidder just wanted these Gargoyles comics more than I did.  No shame in that.  In this modern age, rare comics aren’t actually that hard to find if you look hard enough, and they’ll turn up again.

…and yet.  Hours later, I can’t help but look back and wonder about my strategy.  Should I have had my mom wait until ten seconds remained?  Five?  Oh, this is so damnably difficult to coordinate by proxy.  Which, of course, is entirely the point.  It’s not the kind of thing that one can approach rationally, particularly with a sickness as well-honed and refined as my own.  This doesn’t feel like defeat, exactly.  It’s certainly not going to keep me up at night.  But what is it about the canker that prompts one to keep prodding it with one’s tongue, though there’s no good that can come from dwelling upon it, much less anything like satisfaction?

To make matters worse, my mom said it was fun.  And you know what?  It was.  It unexpectedly turned into a fun family bonding activity.  Immediately afterwards, she asked me if there were anything else I wanted to bid on while we were at it.

And that is the story of why I don’t have an eBay account, because I’m not allowed to have one.