Is he trying to kill himself? Is he moving away? These are the questions you might ask yourself if you ever looked at my eBay seller's account queue. The answer is neither.
The burdened queues really are the result of an obsession with hip gadgetry combined with confinement to a college budget. My yearnings for new toys, or the perfect one, has led me to liquidate everything I don't want or, in some cases, can get by without, to purchase something someone else doesn't want. It sounds kind of sick when you put it that way, doesn't it?
Welcome to the world of eBay addiction.
It's kind of hard to tell who is an eBay addict and who isn't. The true addicts, like myself, don't own much. We've already sold off most of our stuff. But, in a Jeff Foxworthy fashion, here are the tale signs:
• If you sold something on eBay that you bought from eBay, you might be an eBay addict.
• If you keep a large white poster board handy for taking digital pictures of your belongings, you might be an eBay addict.
• If you've gained a sick knowledge of how to properly light an object for display using only a 60-watt lamp, you might be an eBay addict.
When you hang out with these people, they always need to use the Internet. They might disguise their addiction by just asking to "check their e-mail." But don't be fooled. You can tell what they really are up to by paying attention to how they use a Web browser's refresh button to check auction updates. If they click it like a furious boyfriend with speed dial trying to reach an angry girlfriend who hung up on him, they might be an eBay addict.
The bad thing about eBay is it's like gambling. You forget about the ever-diminishing returns of your sales and what you should and shouldn't auction. To you, Christmas gift plus birthday present equals used Apple PowerBook.
As USA Today once put it in a article about online addiction, "Take the thrill of gambling, the excitement of computer games, the enjoyment of collecting, and the desire to get a good deal and sprinkle it with a little of the old hunter-gatherer instinct. Suddenly, you've got several million people hooked on the online auctions."
The true poison of eBay, and what particularly makes it worse than other online auctions, is the sheer volume of things you can find on it. There is a personally fitted addiction for everyone that's just a click away. Whether you're into vintage T-shirts or exotic silver jewelry, you can find a bracket for it all. My vice, if you haven't guessed, is electronic devices.
Sometimes, I'll just be sitting in my room doing nothing in particular, when I'll spot an object that suddenly becomes "eBayable." It's a strange sensation. You start to idolize the value of worthless objects. "Oh, that 'Investing for Dummies' book I never read. It's filled with so much great knowledge. I bet it'd fetch $20." Get the philosophical joke? I've arrived to the point that I set alarms on my cell phone for 15 minutes before my auctions end.
Even more than the balance of my bank account, what I find I lose the most of is time. Whenever I walk in a store, I see the virtual items of eBay superimposed next to what I'm seeking to buy. The "I can get that cheaper on eBay" mentality sets in. Sadly, it afflicts even common items I shouldn't bargain hunt for. "Hmmm, these Meijer blank CDs are priced OK. I bet I could find it cheaper online." Often times, I'm right, but at what cost?
I go home and spend copious amounts of time searching the usual haunts: eBay, craigslist.org, allMSU.com's classifieds, Amazon, PriceWatch, Newegg and other bottom-price Web sites. Add in time waiting for auctions to end and items to be shipped and, in the end, I only save a few bucks while wasting enough time to read a book. It's a simple business philosophy of trading time for money. The time I'm spending is negating any of the money I'm saving.
I'm not blaming eBay for my problems. The site is a legitimate resource for someone trying to save money or find unique items. I might be using my troubles to make a cute satire for you, but the seriousness of auction addiction, or even online addiction, is a real concern. Sometimes I force myself to close my laptop, stick it out of view and return to the world of the living. But, in my natural lust to have more stuff at a great price, the call of an imaginary eBay teller always finds me.
Although I think it might be in vain, I'll keep searching for a permanent solution. Until then, anyone have an idea how I can sell my digital camera?
Joseph Montes is the State News opinion writer. Reach him at montesjo@msu.edu.
