“Hello, is this still available?”
It’s fair to say my expectations were off
A few apps on my laptop go unclosed: Gmail, Calendar, Slack, Descript, and Facebook Marketplace. That last one—Marketplace—wasn’t obvious to me for some time. Though, my affliction for buying and selling gear has been intensifying for a while. Entertaining, enterprising and egregious— sifting through the shit people don’t want is oddly satisfying, I suppose.
There are, however, some idiosyncrasies within the experience that make it unique and endlessly weird.
“Hello, is this still available?”
To approach someone is to confront someone. The way we communicate on Marketplace is unlike any exchange we’d ever have in the real world. It has no rhythm. It’s as if two people from far away worlds, unaware of the other’s cultural norms, are attempting to make small talk and choppy demands. The prompted question, “Hello, is this still available?” can lead to no response equally as fast as it can lead to 32 messages that are somehow unintelligible and unnecessary. It can be crass; a grammar-less land of dead ends and miniature profile pictures. To be sure, it’s expeditiously frustrating exhilarating.
Yet, deep within the bowels of Marketplace lies an unexpected warmth and humanity. Real people do lurk behind their crusty ottomans and dusty drum sets. And some are fucking cool people.
I am an average guitar player. I started playing guitar when I was in 4th grade. I went to a little hippy school and one of my teachers who I think was named Barry lent me his ‘72 Ocean Turquoise Fender Stratocaster; a guitar a 9 year old really has no business playing or even holding. He eventually downgraded me to a copy of a Strat with a white crescent moon painted on it’s black pick-guard. More apt. But probably a vintage-enough guitar that you could get at least a grand on Marketplace today. He taught me Under the Bridge and I fell in love with playing the guitar (and guitars, in general).
My wife can not understand this disease— how I can love one guitar for a hot second and then turn around and sell it is totally beyond her. This post is not intended to explain away this phenomenon. I love them, and then I send them on their way. There are of course exceptions like her late father’s 1965 Martin D-35, which will never be rehomed. But everything else is never not for sale.
A few years back Fender came out with a Parallel Universe Sixty-Six— a mashup between a Strat and a Telecaster that has a slightly smaller Jazz Bass body with a big old headstock. Since then, “Fender Sixty-Six” has become an autocomplete prediction in the Marketplace search bar. And I can’t find one, at least not in Maine.
Oh, an important note about Marketplace is everyone’s armed with some type of trade offer. Most often the question you get when you’ve listed something for sale is, “are you willing to trade for it?” or simply, “trade??” Trades are the needle in the haystack of Marketplace. They are infrequently successful, and usually just a buyer’s lowball attempt to dupe the seller.
Until they aren’t…
Last week, I traded a ‘16 Player Series Fender Jazzmaster for my long sought after Sixty-Six. Yep, I found one. And would you believe it, it was a pleasant, respectful human exchange. All my isms and gripes went right out the window. The trade was 1 for 1; no cash: One high value guitar for one high value guitar. Fair. Even. A done deal.
It was timely too. Why? Well, if you haven’t heard Trump has started his second term as President. And as far as the American people go, we’ve picked our sides by now. I can’t imagine there are still many that are waffling in a state of indecision. You are either for Trump or against him. Our hackles are up— on both sides. We are divided. Deeply. Fox vs. the Times. Red Sox vs. Yankees. Tyson vs. Jake Paul? And many of us are apparently armed; and not just in Florida. So, local meetups are to be coordinated with caution.
My successful trade, however, was not about political allegiance. It was about guitars.
After a few days of negotiation, my counterpart and I chose a meeting spot— he’d be on-site at a job, some kind of piping project in the basement of a commercial building. He blasted out a series of texts about 10 minutes after I pulled to the parking lot explaining that they were at a critical part of the job. He’d be right out. Then, there he was. A friendly, cool guy covered is all sorts of basement grime with a guitar case in hand. Our hand-off lasted about 40 seconds. I’d secured a Sixty-Six and it was now on its way to join its new family on the wall in our basement.
Outside of the obvious win, there was a more human triumph in the mundane transference of instruments. We were simply two guitar players. No party flags were flown. I couldn’t even guess if our stances were aligned or misaligned. It didn’t matter— not at all. It doesn’t matter. And that’s the point.
In that moment, all of the blow for blow politics that so engulf our American culture seemed trivial. People—at their core—are more alike than they are dissimilar. I did not expect Marketplace to help unearth that realization so blatantly. When it’s always raining kerosene, candle light can easily become a raging forest fire. We, friends are on fire, not just in Los Angeles— in all 50 states.
I was inspired in that moment to do better. To be better. To recognize that kerosene drip for what it is: an instigator. And to give people the benefit of the doubt.
I even think I may start responding differently to, “Hello, is this still available?”
“Yes, hello. It is. And we’re all going to be OK.”
A day later, the new Jazzmaster owner sent me a voice memo of a song he’d written on his new guitar. He is good— very good. Perhaps the guitar is equally as happy as I about its new home.
It’s very fair to say my expectations were off. I was becoming agitated at the prospect of dealing with shitty people. When I found I was not face-to-face with one, it dawned on me that I was the aggressive Marketplacer, not vice versa. Other people we do not know are not by default the other. But they are, as it turns out, much better guitar players.