Read time: 11 min.

I sold nearly fifty things on Facebook Marketplace while I was unemployed, and I’m still at it. I’ve offloaded everything from a General Foam Santa Choo-Choo to an antique grinding wheel- not to mention a 1943 Allis-Chalmers Model C tractor, a six-foot chainsaw, and a century-old chaplain’s pump organ that folded down to the size of a briefcase. I’m finally running out of things to deaccession now, which has me looking back on this ridiculous saga. Would I ever sell stuff on Marketplace again? Maybe, I guess, but only if I absolutely had to.

If you’ve never sold anything on Facebook Marketplace, here’s how it works: take some photos or a video, write a description, pick a price, and wait for a stranger to ask the ubiquitous automated question: “Is this available?” From there, what happens might involve anything from a five-minute transaction to days of desperate messages from someone who, it turns out, is no longer interested. After more than fifty listings, I’ve experienced both extremes.

Before I start my litany of complaints and praises, let me say that I’m highly rated: 4.6 out of five stars. Buyers praise my communication, pricing, item descriptions, and punctuality. Unfortunately, Marketplace has taught me that being communicative, descriptive, and punctual doesn’t necessarily mean the person on the other side of the transaction will return the favor.

I should also probably establish that I hated doing this. Part of that was just me. I’m shy, and selling on Marketplace requires arranging meetings with total strangers. The exchange of money was nice, of course, but every successful listing eventually led to the part I dreaded: somebody pulling into the driveway, me having to introduce myself, make small talk, and help load whatever object I’d just advertised to the world. Fortunately, Eliza the Dog helped keep most of the weirdos away.

One other reason I hated this process of deaccessioning things was that not everything I sold was mine. My stepdad Jerry died in April. His passing meant that there were storage units and sheds to empty and clean, which meant getting rid of a tremendous amount of stuff. Some of it was easy to regard as stuff, but it was his stuff. Logically, I knew I was making room, putting unused things back into use, and paying my grocery bill. Emotionally, though, it felt like dismantling Jerry’s life.

I still started in earnest by pulling things out, staging and photographing them, and researching what they were worth. Some early transactions were great! Others weren’t. The worst involved a 21-inch Insignia CRT television I hoped to offload in a garage sale. Old tube TVs have become surprisingly desirable among retro gamers with Super Nintendos or Sega Saturns lying around, and mine had duplicates of all the juiciest ports. A guy an hour away was intrigued, but asked for proof that mine could still display the color blue. Could I send him a video? Sure.

I dug out my Nintendo, discovered its A/V cable was missing, and spent twelve bucks on a replacement. I recorded some Donkey Kong 64 and sent it over. He was satisfied- then asked me to knock $50 off, a third of my asking price, to cover his gas. What? Just to be polite, I offered twenty bucks off, despite already being twelve dollars in the hole. Then he saw a smaller TV closer to home but asked me to hold mine anyway. I did, for several days, until I checked back in. He apologized for forgetting to tell me he’d already bought the other TV. I’ll admit that I was incensed by the lack of basic courtesy.

Fortunately, though, Marketplace didn’t always bring out the worst in people- or the worst in me, as that picky Zoomer did. My favorite transaction involved a recumbent bicycle that had sat for a few weeks without much interest. I took it around, found the seat position wasn’t for me, and a local guy messaged me. Health issues prevented his preteen from riding a conventional bicycle, but a recumbent might be perfect. He bought the old Sun Seeker EZ-Tri and, later, sent me pictures of his kid riding it with the biggest smile on his face! It felt great that Jerry’s bike was out there doing good in the world

Then there was the tractor, an experience both good and bad. I listed Jerry’s 1943 Allis-Chalmers Model C late one evening. Long after I’d gone to bed, someone asked me to measure the mower deck. Right when I woke up the next morning, another message from a different guy appeared in my inbox. He was ten minutes away, he had cash, and he had a trailer. Sold! The mechanical issues we were afraid of never manifested, and the tractor’s new owner sent me a photo of a freshly mown field the evening after we loaded it onto his trailer. It was another instance of Jerry’s things doing good. Unfortunately, the first guy ended up leaving me a bad review for selling the tractor out from under him, which I hadn’t.

More aggravating than the random bad reviews were the no-shows, especially once I started selling blow molds. I lost count of how many people sent frantic messages asking whether something was still available, arranged to meet, then simply never came. On the other hand, one woman drove an hour to buy turkeys, Santas, and pumpkin totems in a lot. She proposed a bulk price, and I accepted it. The transaction couldn’t have been more pleasant, until her online review: everything was great, she said, except my prices could have been lower- the prices she had proposed that I agreed to

I wish these were the only weird stories I had, but I’m beginning to think that Marketplace is less of an e-commerce platform than a psychosocial experiment. Another guy drove about an hour to look at some Ball jar memorabilia. He told me he was a serious collector, so I showed him a pair of ultra-rare Bacardi jars- two of only 288 ever made. He offered me about ten percent of my asking price for them, and I politely declined.

After he got home, he messaged me again. He’d spoken with some other “experts,” he said, and they told him Ball had never made the exact jars I had just shown him! I’m still not sure how to respond to that one- apparently, the jars sitting in front of both of us, which he’d held and inspected, weren’t enough to adequately establish their own existence.

I eventually sold a one-of-one solid-pour acrylic Ball jelly pot to a real expert and supercollector who couldn’t have been nicer or more appreciative of the chance to own some great Ball jar history. He even knew about the Bacardi jars! Based on our interaction, I surmised that the first guy was a bit of a joke in the eyes of the experts within the collector community.

For all the flakes, lowballers, weird reviews, and amateur experts, though, Marketplace also introduced me to plenty of decency. I had a frightful old Country Clipper zero-turn mower with something mechanically wrong. I suspected it mostly needed a deck belt and some electrical work, but I didn’t have the time, money, or inclination to find out. Eventually, I sold it to a young couple from Indianapolis for about ten percent of what a working example might normally bring. Whether they fix it or part it out, they got a fantastic bargain! I even dug up the owner’s manual and sent it off. Country Clippers are expensive mowers, and I hope they get real use out of it, however they see fit.

Probably the biggest surprise from selling fifty things on Marketplace was that for every person who made me want to throw my phone across the room, there was somebody else who showed up and told me they went home happy. One guy from Minnesota(!) came for that six-foot chainsaw I mentioned. It was ironic, since you’d think Minnesota would be stuffed with them. I didn’t question him, though, as he messaged me, agreed on a price, arrived, paid, and stuffed it into his Bronco. Finally, the social contract functioned as advertised!

Not every successful sale felt like a triumph, though. The hardest was my drum set: six Pearl shells, a piccolo snare, and twelve Meinl cymbals. I’d built it exactly the way I wanted about a decade earlier, when my band was starting to headline festivals. It wasn’t the fanciest kit, but it was mine and I wanted to keep it forever. Instead, I watched a friend of a former co-worker cram those drums into his tiny crossover and drive away, which is what happens when you’re unemployed long enough. At first, you sell what you don’t need. Then you look around again. Eventually, your possessions start acquiring imaginary price tags. I’m still sad my drums acquired a real one.

All that said, the tractor went to a farmer who could really use it. The chainsaw went to a guy in Minnesota who wanted to hang it from his workshop ceiling. The grinding wheel went at a huge discount to a kid who was passionate about sharpening blades. My drums went to a guy in a band. Christmas decorations, tools, collectibles, equipment, and that bizarre old chaplain’s organ went the way of the Dodo. Piece by piece, strangers drove away with things that had belonged to Jerry and me, and all that said, it helped my family move forward and helped me survive a stretch I was desperate to end.

Now I’m working again, slowly digging myself out, and finally running short of things worth listing. I’m grateful Marketplace was there when I needed it- at least for the money, the space, and even most of the strange stories that came with it. Most of all, I like knowing that somewhere out there, a kid is riding a recumbent bike that used to sit around my house collecting dust. I still have a few blow molds left, though. Hopefully, they’ll find their next steward soon, too.

I thought I was finished writing this post until it came time to sell an old roadster that’s been in the family for nineteen years. I finally met up with a guy who’d been pestering me to sell it to him. He gave the interior a thorough once-over before inspecting the engine, a supercharged 2.3-liter four-cylinder. So far, so good! Then he asked to see inside the trunk. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out how to open it, so I did the honors. Once inside, he pointed to the latch striker, sighed, and confidently declared that the part wasn’t original. Despite his inability to open the trunk, I was clearly dealing with an expert! Muttering something about how the car would be “a project,” he decided to pass without so much as taking it for a test drive. Some people!

Facebook Marketplace has taught me that people can be generous, unreasonable, thoughtful, flaky, kind, cheap, honest, outlandish, and even incapable of acknowledging the physical existence of a Ball jar sitting in front of them. Mostly, though, it’s taught me that the things we own aren’t just stuff. They represent hobbies, plans, goals, and memories. They’re indicative of the people we miss. Selling stuff can be practical, necessary, and beneficial, but it can still hurt. Would I sell on Marketplace again? Yeah, but here’s hoping that next time it’ll be because I want to.