Scrapping is a job for some while for others it’s a necessary part of living on the farm. I heard my husband making plans to scrap a bunch of stuff from the pole barn and my ears perked up. While he was making plans, I was too…. it’s called Facebook Marketplace.

Who doesn’t love that site? It’s got everything from pool toys to used printers. I decided to list a few things that were headed to the scrap pile just to see what I could get out of them. Little did I know there would be a price to pay.

I headed to the barn and took a bunch of photos of different items. One of the prime pieces was a zero-turn mower that had been dropped off by one of our sons. He traded it for something, but since it hadn’t moved in four years, it was fair game. I hit publish and before I went to bed I had no less than five interested parties wanting to know if the mower was still available. I woke up to 15 more inquiries and knew by the end of the day we would be rid of at least one eye sore.

Let me be clear – this was low maintenance selling. I was not going to put any effort into this, if they wanted it, fine, if they didn’t fine. I was not going to give the dirty details of the engine size, tire condition, or deck width. I posted several photos and that was all the effort I intended to expend. Nor was I going to call anyone to discuss the finer points of this piece of junk. I had magazine ads to work on, and I didn’t feel the need to babysit a bunch of tire kickers.

So, when I received a text that asked what the model number was and how many hours were on it, I ignored it. The text that wanted me to call and discuss it, nope, I’m afraid not.

“What is your lowest price?”

“I have to take my mom to Battle Creek tomorrow for a doctor’s appointment and I’m from Ohio, I wanted to stop in and see it on my way, is that okay?”

“I’m an amputee, I will need help loading it.”

The only one I responded to was the person who said, “I can be there at 5:30 p.m. with cash if you’re available. What’s your address?” Now we’re talking.

He came, handed me the cash, and said he would be back tomorrow to pick it up. It was simple and painless. No mower shaming, no scrutinizing, no dickering. He wanted to buy it, and I sold it to him.

I thought when I marked sold, my phone would stop blowing up. Little did I realize the whiny, foul-mouthed texts I would receive when the others found out this piece of steel clutter was sold.

“Thanks for answering my questions…NOT.”

“Figures, you’d sell it out from under me.”

“WTH? Why’d you do that? You knew I was coming (expletive) I hope you have a horrible life.”

“What? Why didn’t you give me a chance?”

“You never called me!”

I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Did they think I was going to tell the guy with the cash to hold on, we have to wait for the other six people to look at it first, I’ll get back to you in a week? I guess I should have held an auction sale, I probably could have made more money.

As my husband went to bed he asked me, “Was it worth all this grief?” I smiled and said, “You bet.”