I did a desperate thing. Facebook (I like to call it F***book) has local marketplace / social media bullshit. I went there.
Lord help me, but I did it.
I fuckin’ hate F***book! The interface is shitty and the information is pointless, incorrect, and ephemeral. It bitches at me about politics, dumbs down human interaction, and turned the best information communication technology in human history into a spybot floating in an ocean of emotional memes by weepy halfwits.
That said I found one (and only one) local person selling wood. There was a photo of a pile of wood on a trailer and a price. No other details. I sent a PM with my cell #, which I hated doing.
(I hate that my number is now forever F***book associated. This will almost certainly lead to push polling in 2020: “Hello, this is an important scientific survey: Do you think Trump is an asshole, a racist, or both an asshole AND a racist? If you didn’t vote for Hillary in 2016 how much do you suck? A little? A lot? Beyond belief? On a scale of 50 trillion to 100 trillion, how much do you want spent on light rail you’ll never get to use? How much free college do you want? All? Most? Almost all? Also, what do you think is the best solution to deplorable knuckleheads resisting rule by intellectually superior coastal city overlords? Execution? Extermination? Replacement? Or merely re-education and periodic beatings? Press one to make a donation to a politician who loathes you. Press two to hear this survey in Urdu. Thanks, for participating in our scientific poll.”)
But hey, winter’s coming. I did what I had to do.
I never got a call, or a text. A few days later I ventured back into F***book and found a F***book message waiting. They had wood.
OK, time for the song and dance. This is the part of the story where I try to figure out in which manner they’re going to screw me or flake out.
Them: “We have firewood for sale.”
Me: “Your ad says a $150 a cord.”
Them: “Yes, it’s firewood.”
Me: “A cord of wood is an amount in volume to 4′ x 4′ x 8′. Do you know this?”
Them: “The trailer is 2 cord. Firewood.”
Me: “Is it cut into 16″ lengths and split?”
Them: “Firewood, 16-24”.
Me: “Will you sell 2 cords, an amount of wood equivalent in volume to two stacks 4′ x 4′ x 8′ in size… of wood that’s cut 16″ long (no longer) and split?”
Them: “Firewood is $300.”
Lets face it; most human beings no longer pass the Turing test.
I decided to force the issue. “I have cash. Text me by noon or I’ll never buy firewood again.”
My phone beeped within 10 minutes.
“HAVE FIREWOOD. CAN DELIVER NOW.”
Wow, it sounded like someone was desperate. This usually means somone is behind on their alimony payments. Also, I was 100% certain they’d deliver less wood than promised and/or it would be a single uncut log, but there was no point in communicating further. I might as well ask our cat about the structure of the Federal Reserve bank.
I decided to roll the dice.
Stay tuned…