The money will run out but the conscience will last a lifetime. Up to you, but I couldn't deal with the guilt, esp. given the terribly unfortunate circumstances. And if they found out, which lets face it is quite likely through friends, relatives, or even those antiques tv programmes, it would just be another thing to add to their trauma that they really could do without.

Nah, they won't ever find out because likely they couldn't even name a record in the collection, parents usually don't pay much attention to what their children listen to.

I would just offer them something closer to what the collection is worth, out of respect for your friend. There's no shame in making some profit since you would be doing the legwork of selling it all.

Oh, and if your friend ever wakes up, you are screwed. :)

I heard a news blurb this morning that a man bought a suitcase in an auction that contained unreleased Beatle albums, manuscripts, ets. It seems the original owner (now deceased) was an original roadie for the Beatles an the suitcase was crammed full of memorobilia. If you had bought it, would you try to return it to the estate's heirs because you felt guilty? I dont think so.
Thank your Guardian angel and make the deal (especially if the collection has the Pressley Christmas album pressed in red vinyl; it's extremely rare and worth about 100,000. USD).

Of course, there is always the "flip side":

"Little Johnny woke up and I need to buy the albums back".

Since you're having a moral dilemma over this ...

See what happens if you tell mom about the value of the collection ... that there are many premium albums in there, and that she could get a lot more for them.

She may just want the albums in the hands of someone who would appreciate them.

i agree with wolf, you will probably still end up with the albums at great price but you won't have to feel guilty about it either. something along the lines of "are you sure you want me to take them, because it is a nice collection and if you were to split it up and sell them you would get more money?" it's easy, it's honest, you will still end up with the records and a warm feeling in your heart... cold, dark, rock that it may be... *did i say that out loud?* :eek:

Oh 'fer Chrissake, this is a business deal, not a confessional. Tell her you agree with her offer, and if she accepts, buy the collection. Nothing personal, just business.

I guess I would tell the Mom that the collection is worth more than she believes and make her a better offer that would still allow you to make a reasonable profit. Then I'd take 10% of that profit and donate it to some worthy cause in the kid's name. I'd then inform the parents anonymously of the donation made on their child's behalf. That way you could still make some money, you'd have done a good thing, and you'd sleep better at night. :)

..........Gosh.....this place has changed some, did someone redecorate the cellar?
Hate having no internet access.....HATE HATE HATE....I wont bore you with the details and the whyfors?....I'll just reiterate that I HATE not having access to the internet....HATE HATE HATE. It's been over a month.....indeed its been nearly two! If I hadnt offered to babysit my two adorable ( though thankfully now abed) nieces I would not now be able to tell you just how much I hate not having my internet......So here I sit on my Bro's dial up, joint in one hand and mouse in t'other

There......thats the important stuff dealt with......Now for the fluffier stuff going on in my head .... *grins* hi all. Hows it been down here where the sun never shines?

Is it normal to talk to oneself? Is it a sign of depression to be fearful of everything? Is it possible to go quietly insane , cut adrift from the realities of cyber into a strange dreamlike world of walls and trees?

Perhaps the answers lie within the twisted cardboard roach at the end of my joint......or the pistachio shell cairn on my desk.....Perhaps I should pray....or wail and weep. Or sleep. Keep myself busy and drift into another night time vigil, another morning's waking and the breaking of promises I never intended to keep. To myself.

I just lit a cigarette. Rolled by my own fair hand. My brand of death sentence, white sleek and tipped. Lit, it rips past my throat. Singeing and bringing a measure of calm. I am becalmed. Afloat. A boat drifting into a lazy summer sea. I am nothing of what I was. I am no longer me. I dont smoke. I dont do the things I do. Nothing about me is true.