Facebook Marketplace.
- Thread starter Jackalope
- Start date
Iowa_Buckeye
Smartest person here
Selling shit on FB Marketplace is like volunteering for a social experiment run by meth heads.
I listed a microwave for $50. Within 12 seconds my inbox looked like I was giving away crack rocks dipped in Jesus blood. First message “Is this available?” YES, Deborah. It was available 14 seconds ago when you asked, and it’s still available now that you ghosted me like my father.
Then come the bargain hunters. “Will you take $5, a coupon for Jiffy Lube, and a handful of my ex husband’s ashes?” NO, BRENDA. I don’t want your cremation starter kit. I said fifty bucks..
And why does everyone’s pickup plan sound like an FBI sting? Them “I’ll be there at 6.” Me “Cool.” 6 o’clock hits. Nothing. 7 o’clock. “Sorry, my cousin got locked up.” BITCH, what does that have to do with my microwave?
Finally, they show up in a Prius the size of a lunchbox. Six grown adults hop out like it’s Cirque du Soleil.. trying to shove a microwave, two kids, and a pit bull into the backseat. Grandma’s smoking a Virginia Slim, the baby’s chewing on my extension cord. Whole scene looked like an episode of Intervention.
At that point I don’t even want the fucking money. Just take it. Take the microwave, take my soul, take the ghost of every bad decision that led me here.
Marketplace ain’t about selling shit. It’s a psychological test to see how far you’ll go for gas money before you set your house on fire.
I listed a microwave for $50. Within 12 seconds my inbox looked like I was giving away crack rocks dipped in Jesus blood. First message “Is this available?” YES, Deborah. It was available 14 seconds ago when you asked, and it’s still available now that you ghosted me like my father.
Then come the bargain hunters. “Will you take $5, a coupon for Jiffy Lube, and a handful of my ex husband’s ashes?” NO, BRENDA. I don’t want your cremation starter kit. I said fifty bucks..
And why does everyone’s pickup plan sound like an FBI sting? Them “I’ll be there at 6.” Me “Cool.” 6 o’clock hits. Nothing. 7 o’clock. “Sorry, my cousin got locked up.” BITCH, what does that have to do with my microwave?
Finally, they show up in a Prius the size of a lunchbox. Six grown adults hop out like it’s Cirque du Soleil.. trying to shove a microwave, two kids, and a pit bull into the backseat. Grandma’s smoking a Virginia Slim, the baby’s chewing on my extension cord. Whole scene looked like an episode of Intervention.
At that point I don’t even want the fucking money. Just take it. Take the microwave, take my soul, take the ghost of every bad decision that led me here.
Marketplace ain’t about selling shit. It’s a psychological test to see how far you’ll go for gas money before you set your house on fire.
