Friends, the Somers genetic code contains a large section devoted to hoarding. As I write this there are several ancient computers in the basement of my brother’s house, which is the house we grew up in. Those computers are old. As in, unusuably old. You know how you can sometimes take an old computer and repurpose it as a print or media server or something? These are so old you can possibly repurpose them as planters, but that’s about it. And yet my brother will not countenance throwing them away.
They aren’t even his computers.
It’s a disease. I got a bit of a cure when Hurricane Sandy destroyed half my house; after the insurance settlement and the renovation there was just a lot less stuff in the place, and I liked it, and decided I would no longer keep things like an old hard drive cooling fan from 15 years ago or a harmonica I got as a Secret Santa gift in 1997 that very likely cost less than $10. I also decided that when I decided to replace better stuff—stuff that was actually useful and had some value—I wouldn’t stuff the old things into the closet and keep them for 20 years before finally throwing them away in disgust. I would sell them, or, barring that, I’d give them away.
Or at least try to.
Like a Sucker
Friends, the Somers genetic code also contains a large section devoted to laziness. I am so prone to laziness it makes you wonder how the Somers genetic code made it this far. So, when I decide to upgrade something or make a change that leaves me with some extra stuff, the idea of trying to sell it just makes me exhausted. This is privilege, of course, but the fact remains. I’ve sold stuff on eBay and Craigslist and such, and it’s always way more work than it’s worth. So I prefer to use a site like Freecycle to just get rid of things. This way, I don’t have to worry about handling money, or haggling, or dealing with begging choosers. I just list an item and someone comes to pick it up, and I feel good about not having thrown something useful away, and maybe helping someone out. Sure, maybe the folks taking my free shit are then turning around and selling it for yuge profits, but if so, I don’t care. I didn’t have to deal with it, so I’m happy. It’s easy.
Or should be.
As it turns out, trying to give stuff away is hard work. I’ve basically had the same three scenarios happen over and over again whenever I’ve tried to give away my still useful junk:
1. The Ghost. Someone will email me and ask if the item is still available. “It is!” I respond. Then … nothing. They are never heard from again. Sometimes they actually make arrangements to come get the thing and then are never heard from again.
2. The Project. Someone will claim the item, and we begin an extended correspondence because they can only come by to pick up the item every second Wednesday during leap years, or so it seems. I get that people have jobs and other problems, but a) they know the town I live in, so if it requires 6 buses and a parachute to get to my house they probably shouldn’t claim it, and b) this usually includes at least two postponements and at least one complete no-show.
3. The Chatterbox. These folks may or may not pick up the item I’m offering, but man they are lonely. Texts and emails quickly become novels, with lengthy chapters on whatever they’re going through at the moment. What their hernia surgery has to do with the old guitar amp I’m giving away I have no idea, but I’m gonna hear about it. And hear about it.
Of course, I’m probably being punished for my aforementioned laziness. The gods look down and see this smug asshole giving stuff away because he can’t be bothered to skim a $1 profit off of eBay, and they reach down the Stick of Karma and hit me on the head with it, and the next thing I know I’m reading a lengthy email about how the person coming to claim my left-handed smoke shifter traveled to Hoboken, Georgia by mistake.