Facebook Marketplace is a mental asylum, and I am convinced I am a masochist for opening that godforsaken app.
You list an item with twenty clear photos, the exact dimensions and the price written three separate times, only for some absolute turnip named Jed to hit you with the automated "Is this available?" within four seconds.
You say yes and he immediately vanishes into the shadow realm, never to be heard from again.
Then you get the lowballers offering you a $5 and half a packet of Tim Tams, or the absolute serial killers who arrange a pickup time, make you sit by your front window for three hours like a dog waiting for its owner and then message you saying "sorry mate kids got sick" six hours after they were supposed to arrive.
I honestly don't know why I keep doing this to myself.
I am paying for my own psychological torture in real-time just to make fifty bucks off a box of junk I should have just chucked on the kerb.
Ah well, we live and we learn.
Dane.