How I fell in love with a trailer and got scammed on Facebook marketplace

The woman's father had died and left a household full of quality goods a young Downer woman - supposedly the daughter - didn't want or need.

They were her "dead dad's belongings".

"Just want them gone," the woman stated in her Facebook marketplace advertisement.

And at the sight of a near-new, high-sided, tandem-axle, galvanised tipper trailer, I hesitated and my heart leapt.

Gosh, could this possibly be true? A trailer like this for just $1000?

I mean: that's super cheap for a good quality tandem axle trailer. It's well under half-price.

So maybe, just maybe, the vendor honestly has no need for it and just wants the cash.

After all, a trailer has little or no sentimental value. It's just a thing with wheels.

So it was almost plausible. Almost.

Please let it plausible.

My inner 10 years working with the police protested vehemently and silently with: "NO, you complete moron, it's a scam, don't fall for it!

"Who calls herself Sandra Linda, anyway? Doesn't that confected name alone ring every alarm bell?"

Well, yes, Mr Pragmatist, but hear me out: included in the "want everything gone" ad was a big-screen TV, a couch, a ride-on mower and some whitegoods, all at bargain prices.

This other random gear looked much like that which most dear departed dads might have had, and a daughter would most likely to smartly move on.

So it kinda made sense.

So maybe, just maybe, this was real.

Stupidly, the wheels of consumer desire began to turn a little faster.

Trailer torment was now fully in motion; common sense losing the battle against a rising craving for a galvanised thing with four wheels.

A dive into the Facebook profile yielded nothing useful or historical. That, in itself, should have set more alarm bells ringing.

I exchanged messages with the woman to sound "her" out.

Could we come and see the goods right now and bring a cash deposit to secure it? Oh no, she replied, she was out of town and wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

Now the alarm bells were gonging madly but stupidly, we pressed on, falling ever deeper into the rabbit hole of dual-wheeled, tipper trailer desire.

"I don't know much about trailers but it is a very nice one, hardly used," she said, teasingly.

Were there any more photos, what was the registration status of this trailer?

"No, and sorry, no idea."

Warning. Gong. Gong.

"There is a lot of interest so if you want it, you will need to transfer $100 to secure it."

Gong. Gong. Gong.

Long story short, we fell for it. Transferred $50. Ten minutes later, the FB profile and posts vanished like smoke. A bank stop on our cash failed. Contact lost.

Out of curiosity, we drove past the Downer address provided. The only trailer there was an old, sad one filled with autumn leaves, not the posh twin-wheeled, galvanised one I'd secretly yearned for.

All that was left was a grudging admiration for a well-conceived, cleverly constructed ruse.

And a determination to never fall for it again.

Well, at least until the next trailer bargain appears.