The Bargain

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

We’re packing for Harbin today, but I have the nagging feeling that I just don’t have enough warm clothes. If I could buy fur-lined pants I would. As it is, I’ll look like the Michelin Tire guy when I put on all those layers.

So I’m going shopping. The walk to the shopping center and back is about three miles, so I’ll accomplish two objectives.

Once there, I head for New Mart, where hundreds of vendors crowd the floors with clothes, shoes and accessories. New Mart means bargaining, and I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity. I need a hat, another pair of gloves, and for Bernie, the kind of fur-fleece lined long underwear I’ve already bought for myself.

I find a hat quickly and ask the price. The young woman pulls out a calculator and shows me. I punch in a figure that gives me a forty percent discount. My reasoning is that if you don’t get a refusal on your first counteroffer you haven’t gone low enough. Being a tightwad has never bothered me. I get it from my Scotch-Irish great-grandmother, according to my mother.

She shakes her head and keys in a new figure. I come back and we volley for three more rounds before reaching an agreement. Then I see the gloves and we begin all over again. She reminds me that they are leather. She does this by pointing to the skin on her wrist. Ok, got it. Three or four more offers and counteroffers and we have a deal. Then she picks up a face warmer. I’ve told her I’m going to Harbin and she indicates I’ll need this there. I agree and forget to bargain. Whoops! I could have just lost all my gains there.

The next floor is filled with women’s clothes. Here I make a mistake. Most of the sales women here can speak a little English. They greet me with “Hello.” I respond in kind. Then before I can take another step they have an article of clothing in their hand that most declare would look beautiful on me. It’s really quite a gauntlet.

My solution: backtrack; the people I’ll pass I’ve already said no to.

I start down another section and move faster. I’m in underwear on this side…maybe…aha, there’s the furry underwear. I can get down to serious business here. However, this woman is middle-aged and does not speak English at all. I try to ask her if the gray set I’m fingering is for a man or a woman. I keep pointing to men who pass by. This must make a great impression.

At last a young girl comes over and asks, in English, if she can help. I explain to her. She translates. Yes, these are for men. I explain my husband is both tall and larger than most Chinese men. The woman behind the counter pulls out a pair labeled XXXL. Ok, in the U.S. these would be mediums, but I think they’ll do.

We begin the bargaining process, this time with the help of the young woman who translates. My counteroffer is based on just getting the pants. It’s apparently really low. My translator tells me, “She says these are the best.” I understand, but I’m thinking about what I paid in the department store for mine and the offer still seems high, but we eventually find common ground.

My last purchase is a pair of flats. If I go anywhere at all again with Sheri’s parents I’ve got to upgrade my wardrobe slightly. My choice of shoes at present is a pair of well-worn tie-up ankle boots, my old Asics with a hole in the mesh, and my gray Harbin boots.

Once I walk inside the perimeter of one of these little booths, I’ve apparently sent a signal that I am a serious customer, so I’m careful to wait until I find the shoes I’d like to try on. There’s a little girl here. I have part of my Dove bar left, and I offer a piece to her. When she says, “thank you” in perfect English everyone claps, including me.

The shoes don’t work, but the people here don’t give up. I look around some more and find others. The pair I think I like is not in my size, but never mind. Just as on the day I bought my boots, I’m given a crate to sit on while young man double times it to find a pair that fit me. He brings 37, 38, and 39. The 38 fits.

Another round of bargaining. At the end I think I’ve done reasonably well. I pull out my money to pay and find I’m 70 RMB short. I explain that I’ll go to an ATM and get more, and I start to leave only to see the owner put the shoes in a bag and hand them to me. I give her all my money. If she’d only understood English or I’d understood Chinese, she’d have gotten more. I’m not trying to cheat her, and the price is still well within the markup on the shoes. But I can’t explain how I’ll leave and come back and get them. It’s just not getting across.

All the while I’ve been sitting here, I’ve been under observation from many of the other booth owners. I’ve looked up a few times to see them craning around corners. I wonder what kind of marks I’m getting.

As I leave I reflect that I’ve improved my bargaining skills. Now I just have to work on the art of looking around without being bombarded. I’ll save that for another day.

I’ve walked back to the apartment. On the way back Bernie called me because I was later than he expected. That means he called the U.S. only to have the call come to me approximately half a mile away from where he was calling. Ka-ching.

I’m eager to show Bernie the underwear I’ve bought him. We open the nice box it came in and guess what? That price was for both the shirt and the pants. A good deal after all.