One of the great things about modern society, we're told, is that we can have anything we desire—for a price. Store shelves are lined with all sorts of goods just waiting to be bought, and in truth, the conscientious saver soon finds she is able to purchase whatever it is she wants. But behind this cornucopia of merchandise lurks a hidden question: when you're finished with the thing you're about to buy, how are you going to get rid of it?

Consider, for example, the large, heavy, 65-watt guitar amplifier that has occupied my closet for the past three years. I bought it back then for the princely sum of three hundred dollars, having been talked into the merry delusion that, despite the stresses of full-time employment and part-time education, I would resume the guitar lessons I'd had as a child. Predictably, not once in those three years did I find the motivation to actually take out my guitar or to look for a teacher. Meanwhile, the amp sat in the back of my closet, unused, serving no purpose but to take up space. It was expensive dead weight, I finally realized, and it was time for it to go.

I slid open the door to my closet, parted a sea of button-down shirts and dredged up the amp. It was still covered in the plastic shipping bag I had left it in to shield it from dust.

I started by posting a message on my employer's computer network, advertising the amplifier with a neatly-worded description and a picture. This had been an effective way to thin out my personal computer collection, and I was confident that among the programmers and analysts of our company there lurked at least one aspiring rock star. I returned to my work and waited patiently for the offer to arrive.

A day went by. Then two. Then a full week had passed, and I hadn't received a single response. Apparently programmer culture was not as rich as I had envisioned. What now?

I decided I needed to expand my network. I moved my posting onto a popular classified ads site, but still received no response. I searched the want ads and found a music student looking for a guitar amp: did he still need one? No, he wrote back; he had bought one last week.

I had solicited the entire Bay Area without any luck. How could I broaden my audience any further? An on-line auction was out, as the amplifier was much too bulky to ship. Still, maybe a more aggressive form of networking would solve the problem: if I didn't know anyone interested in buying a guitar amp, I might still know someone who did!

I started petitioning my friends, but they turned out to be no help at all. None of them played guitar. My efforts to prod their social network were met with resistance. Even attempts to interest them in taking up guitar failed. All in all, the responses were as uniform as they were disappointing:

“Nope, everyone I know who plays guitar already has an amp. Hey, why not sell it to a used music store?”

A used music store! Perfect. I knew from experience that second-hand guitar amps—even the grungy, beat-up ones—still fetched top prices; indeed, that fact had encouraged me to buy one new in the first place. Surely my mint-condition amp would be in high demand! I'd have my three hundred dollars back in no time. I called up the one second-hand shop listed in the phone book, and asked to be transferred to the guitar department.

“Hello?”

“I have a used guitar amp I'm trying to sell, and I was hoping to get a quote on it.” I could hear quiet, distracted guitar passages in the background; apparently manning the guitar department is a job which involves passing a lot of time.

“It's brand-new—never used! I bought it a while back thinking I'd get back into guitar, but that never happened. It's completely transistorized, with two separate channels…” I gave the most up-beat presentation of the amp's features as I could, a breathless monologue worthy, I felt afterwards, of Salesman of the Year. When I'd finished, I waited proudly for the result.

“About seventy-five,” the clerk breathed back, completely unaffected. The strumming continued.

Seventy-five dollars? For a brand-new, three hundred-dollar amp? It was suddenly clear to me how these stores manage to stay profitable. I thanked the man and hung up the phone.

With this last defeat, I felt I had exhausted my options. The amp had been too expensive for me to consider selling it for a fraction of its worth. It was too heavy to ship; too valuable to give away. Though I myself had once searched long and hard for a second-hand amp in good condition, even the guitar students weren't biting.

Back into the closet went the amp, neatly wrapped up in its plastic to keep it from dust.

It's unlikely that I'll ever find the time again to take guitar lessons. Still, I learned something important from this experience: the next time I feel the need to buy something, I'll also think about how I'm going to get rid of it when I decide it's no longer useful. After all, I know that my interests will grow over time, but not the size of my closet!