The Bitter Press

People ask. Not many — and fewer each season, for reasons I will not be elaborating on — but some. They ask what the classifieds are, how they work, who runs them, and whether there is an appeals process. The answer to the last one is no. The answer to the others is: me. I run them. I am the process. Cash only, and not in that order.

The classifieds are, in simple terms, a marketplace of need. You have lost something. You want something. You are selling something that belonged to someone who no longer needs it, for reasons you prefer not to specify in the listing. These are all legitimate use cases. I do not ask. I print. I charge a small fee for printing, a slightly larger fee for not asking, and a flat rate for the tasteful use of the word previously loved. Standard industry practice.

Now, I am told — by Quince, who reads things he shouldn't — that the so-called workers over at factjuice.com have been running what they call a feature on classified advertising. A feature. Written by Tangelo, apparently, a fruit so thin-skinned he practically documents himself. Their angle was something about "transparency" and "community connection." I have printed that sentence and I am going to charge myself to reprint it here because that is how much I respect the rate card.

Transparency is not a feature. Transparency is what you get before you are removed from a fruit bowl. The classifieds thrive on specificity, discretion, and the understanding that what goes in the Lost column does not always belong in the Found column. This is a service. Durian uses it monthly. I will not say for what. It goes under Miscellaneous, which is the most expensive category, and he has never once complained about the invoice.

If you wish to place an ad, you know where to find me. If you do not know where to find me, that is also, in its way, an answer. The classifieds office is open. The classifieds office has always been open. The rate card is laminated. Come alone.