Secondhand deals and questionable decisions

Normally, I would never go to a stranger’s house alone. I watch enough true crime to know that’s how you end up the subject of a documentary called The Ring Camera That Knew Too Much. But the house was in a 55-plus community like the one where my parents retired. I assumed the person answering the door would be a sweet grandmother, smelling faintly of mothballs and candy that has been sitting in a glass bowl since the Nixon administration.

However, Linda — the woman with whom I had been negotiating on Facebook Marketplace — did not answer the door. Instead, I came face-to-chest with a man who looked like he had been bench-pressing a sectional while waiting for me to arrive. I stood there clutching $35 and praying I wasn’t about to be sold for parts.

I had stupidly envisioned a downsizing retiree.

I got a retired WWE wrestler.

Spoiler alert: I survived, all organs intact. Hulk Hogan Adjacent was kind and carried four chairs to my car using roughly three percent of his strength.

Facebook Marketplace is like an online yard sale organized by entrepreneurial crows with Venmo accounts. Shopping there is my version of crossing into the dark web to acquire things I “need” for suspiciously low prices through dealings just questionable enough to keep life on edge. Every transaction involves the same internal calculation: Is a birdcage from “the Ming dynasty” for $75 with no paperwork but “highly researched” worth possibly ending up on Dateline?

Apparently yes, because I keep bidding.

Honestly, half the fun of Facebook Marketplace is the entertainment value of seeing what people list.

A half-burned oven mitt from 1994 for $3. Mystery craft supplies. Something clearly constructed with a handsaw, duct tape and a dangerous amount of confidence, labeled “vintage.” And, like me, otherwise sensible adults barter for people’s stuff and arrange an exchange.

Aside from my one insane lapse in judgment, I typically insist on meeting in public places — one friend in tow, another with all the details (in case they need to notify the police). If I’m going to transact with strangers, I prefer witnesses and an urgent care nearby.

The interaction is a delicate tango where both people circle, confirm the other vaguely resembles their profile photo, and then trade money for an item through a car window in a way that absolutely does not resemble a very boring drug deal. The goal is to complete the transaction quickly enough that neither of you ends up in a van with your organs listed on Craigslist. Seven wrinkled dollars change hands and the new owner leaves with a lawn-ornament rooster the size of a Mini Cooper that will push their HOA into a frenzy.

A crow watches this exchange and wonders why they didn’t list the rooster for more.

Yet we all keep doing it. Because deep down, every one of us believes the same thing: that somewhere out there is the perfect chair, lamp or coffee table for $20.

And we are absolutely willing to risk being kidnapped to find it.

Tracy Winslow is the owner of Low Country Shrimp and Knits - the premier yarn store in the Low Country. When she isn’t researching “how many internal organs can be harvested and still survive” she is finding the perfect fibers for the southern weather and creating classes for people who swear they don’t have one creative bone in their body but still love the activity. Check out all the fun classes and events at shrimpandknits.com