My 1993 Nissan Sentra SE-R Part 2 – Seller’s Hell

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In our last installment (Sorry that it’s been two years. Life happens.), I’d mentioned that I was breaking off the steamy short-term affair I was having with an all-original B13 SE-R.  My kids were at or coming up on driving age, and I was soon looking at four cars in the driveway with no room for one more. So it was time to sell my beloved SE-R, a mission that turned out way harder than it should have been.

For those who don’t want to go back and read the post, I had finally achieved my dream of buying a classic car after nearly forty years of driving and a lifetime as an automotive enthusiast.  This car was owned by a serial SE-R purchaser – his third – who’d acquired it two years before from the son of the original owner and had it shipped from California to his home in Chicago as a father-son COVID project.  It wasn’t “restored” so much as “refreshed”, which is why I still use the term all original even though I know it’s a stretch.  I flew to Chicago, drove it back to my home in Connecticut, joined a car club, and enjoyed the 7,500 RPM redline as well as the completely analog driving experience for about a year and a half.  Then, as much as I wanted to, I just couldn’t justify keeping the Sentra.

In my completely inexperienced estimation, I thought that a rust-free California ur-SE-R in rust-prone Connecticut would be an easy sell, netting me the money I’d spent for the car plus the little that I’d put into it.  I’ve had the good fortune to only have to privately sell a car twice in my life.  The first time was my first car, in which all I had to do was list the car and my father handled the sale while I was at school.  The second time, I just unloaded the thing at CarMax.  The other cars were either donated or given to family members in need.

The process began promising.  I’d taken what I thought were good photos of the car and created listings on Craigslist and Facebook Marketplace.  I purchased the car for $8,000 (down from the $8,500 asking price). With inflation and the work I’d put into the car, I calculated that $9,500 was a fair asking price, hoping to get at least $9,000.

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I didn’t want any surprises at the sale. So, the listings included the history of the car, everything that had been fixed or added, and the few items that needed to be addressed.  On Facebook, the response was overwhelmingly positive, with one person commenting that this should be the standard by which all car listings should be measured.  Unfortunately, none of these positive responses resulted in any offer above $5,000.  After a few weeks, I paid for an eBay listing as well.

The most common inquiry was the “Is this car still available?” email, where the person doesn’t respond after you confirm that the car is still available.  I think people just like to hit that button for fun.  My favorite was “I have [insert lowball offer here]”.  I would respond with “Good luck finding a car that you can drive cross-country trouble free for that money.”  I actually wanted to just say, “Good for you” but I needed to get that extra jab in there.

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It turns out that when a car has 175,000 miles, it doesn’t matter what condition it’s in. It’s not worth more than $5,000.  I guess my Sentra love really worked against me here, but I was sure the car was worth more than that regardless of what I paid.

After I lowered the price to $8,500, I received an inquiry from someone I’ll call Florida Man (with everything that the term implies).  We exchanged a few emails, then set up a phone call.  He has his own Nissan car and parts business down in Miami and is apparently well known in Nissan circles.  He was quite surprised that I hadn’t heard of him.  He was interested in the car, and we’d agreed on $8,000.  He’d planned to fly up in a few weeks to complete the purchase.  I asked for a deposit, but he told me that I didn’t need one because I should trust him.  Everyone else trusted him, and I should as well.  I told him the listings stay active without a deposit.  He wasn’t thrilled but accepted it.

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That’s when things got weird.

About a week later, I heard back from one of the early speculators, whom I’ll call New York man, and he wanted to come up that day to look at the car.  My feeling is that if he’s coming all the way up here just to look at the car, which is a 2 ½-hour drive without traffic, he was likely going to make an offer.  I texted Florida man to give him one last opportunity to leave a deposit.  I didn’t hear back, so I let New York man know he could come up.  As I expected, he did like the car and, coincidentally, had done some Nissan parts business with Florida Man.  Since Florida Man was giving me some strange vibes, I’d agreed to sell the car to New York man for $7,500.

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About an hour after I got home, I got a text from Florida Man.  It was a picture of a late 90s 200SX SE-R, the successor to my car.  This was followed by another text stating that this was the car he was going to buy instead of mine.  He repeated how I should have trusted him, and that people who don’t trust other people are usually not very trustworthy themselves (completely ignoring the argument that those same people may have been screwed over by someone who said, “Trust me”).  I wished him good luck with his purchase and was happy to be done with him.

On the day New York man was supposed to pick up the car, I received a panicked phone call from him telling me that since the car has no title, as Connecticut does not title cars 20 years old or older, he would not be able to register the car in New York.  I found this hard to believe as classic cars move between Connecticut and New York all the time.  He said he called the DMV twice and received the same answer.  He apparently was informed that he’d have to trailer the car to Albany from his home in the Bronx and have a full inspection done and, even then, there was no guarantee that he’d be able to register the car.  I told him I’d call the NY DMV then call him back since I knew questions sometimes need to be phrased in a certain way to get the best results.  I called the DMV and asked, “I live in Connecticut and am selling my classic car to a New York resident.  Connecticut doesn’t issue titles to classic cars, so what does he need to provide to register the car?”  The helpful DMV employee said he just needs the car’s current registration and a filled-in CT Bill-of-Sale form, and he shouldn’t have a problem.

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I called him back and told him what I learned, thinking the issue was resolved.  Now he was even more panicked because of the conflicting answers.  Needless to say, he chose not to purchase the car.

About an hour or two later, I received a text from Florida Man telling me that he’d heard that my buyer had backed out and that I would have a very hard time selling the car outside of Connecticut due to the lack of a title.  However, he has “a particular set of skills” that would enable him to get the car registered, so he will allow me to sell him the car, but would only give me $7,000, not the originally agreed upon $8,000.

Did you ever get the feeling you were being played?  I deleted the text and blocked his number.

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Since my son was about to graduate high school and would need my Sonic, which I promised to give him for his awesome academic track record, I planned to press the Sentra into service as my daily driver.  If everyone else thinks the car is only worth about $5,000, I was going to get at least another $3,000 in value out of it.

That’s when I received an inquiry from an interested party from, thankfully, Connecticut.  He was only in his early 20s, but both he and his older brother had owned a series of B13 SE-Rs, and he was looking for another one.  We’d agreed on $7,300 and planned to meet in a neutral location to complete the deal.

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That Saturday, as we were about to leave for the meet, my phone rang.  It was the buyer, and he informed me he was still planning to buy the car, but he would only give me $7,000 for the car.  The conversation went something like this:

“We agreed on $7,300!”

“I know, but I’m only going to give you $7,000.”

“Then you’re not getting the car.  I won’t do business with someone who can’t keep his word.”

“Well, I’m going to be there with $7,000 cash.”

“Then you’re going to be there by yourself.”

Thankfully, I had two things in my favor.  First, I could easily revert to my original plan and use the Sentra as my daily driver.  It would definitely make driving to work a lot more fun.  Second, I knew he really wanted the car.  He ultimately made the right decision, but the deal was now soured.  I had no idea what to expect when I arrived at the meeting site.

On the way down, I repeatedly tried to engage cruise control to no avail.  If not for the above conversation, I might have disclosed that to him.

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After arriving, he and his brother pointed out several issues with the car, and I countered that every one of those issues was disclosed in the listing.  After a short test drive, he handed over the full amount and, after counting it, my wife and I got the hell out of there.  When we arrived home, I immediately took down all three listings and tried to forget the whole experience.  As I’m writing this nearly two years later, you can see how successful that’s been.

Shortly after, one of the other members of my car club sold his C2 Corvette.  I asked him about his experience, and he said, “Oh, I sold it the next day at the full asking price.”  Must be nice.