Since We're Neighbors, Let's Be Scared

 Once upon a time, I signed up for Next Door. Online. It was a suggestion made to my question about how I might go about ridding my family and myself of a futon frame that had been propped up in our basement since (checks watch) the Eisenhower Administration. This was in response to my fervent wish that I not become one of those who would simply cast his unwanted belongings out into the street, in hopes that the hand-lettered "FREE" sign would be a message to the universe that I needed its help. Or at least that portion of the universe that would a) be in close enough proximity to my home that the trip would be worth it, and b) that "it" in the form of a slightly used futon frame would fill a void in their life. 

I posted the pictures and gave a brief but informative description of the furniture, making clear that there would be no charge for eliminating this albatross from my life. My son and I carried said albatross to the curb, along with the aforementioned hand-lettered sign, just to accentuate the conditions under which one might acquire such a lovely piece. 

So I waited. I watched. I monitored. I had heard that it would only be a matter of minutes. Or hours. Or days before my unwanted refuse became someone else's treasure. 

After a few days without any contact from anyone on Next Door, I began to wonder if perhaps I had made an error in my posting. I checked. Nope, there it was, under a sea of additional free stuff from all around my neighborhood. Apparently there was some competition. Who would be the lucky one to haul off my debris? Eventually, someone did. Under the cover of night. I never received a notice from anyone on Next Door. 

I did start to receive a steady stream of frightened posts from members of my community who were enduring all manner of inconvenience and strife. I was made aware of all the threats to the quiet solitude of urban living. Not the least of which was the theft of catalytic converters. Nary a day went by without some mention of how bedbugs seem to have infested the neighborhood up the hill from me, or how someone keeps ringing the doorbell pretending to be from PG&E. If I read all their cares and woes, I might not ever leave the house. 

To put a futon frame out on the curb for someone to scoop up. With or without the app.