Cozumel Mexico, 2013: The following story comes from an
excursion off of a Carnival cruise ship during the most recent of my spring
breaks. Picture beautiful, sunny, Mexico, and then throw that image in the
garbage, as it seems that anywhere I choose to travel, it manages to rain(Even
a spot in a ten year drought, a story for another time).
My mother, brother, sister, and I were walking down a side
street that smelled a little too much like urine, and not nearly enough like
cheap empanadas. The sides were lined with signs that said: “Flea Market”, or “Best
Prices in the Flea Market”, “My prices are better than his!” Seeing these I
thought this would be a decent enough place to hone my bargaining skills, which
at a base level, are pretty minimal.
I came into the flea market with a simple goal; find a pair
of sandals, and then GTFO. We were only about five feet into the
flea-market-alley when a small man jumped out of one of the dilapidated buildings
and began to forcefully usher us inside.
“You are going to love my prices, I have exactly what you
want, how about some jewelry for your mother? I have great prices on silver!”
Already it was becoming quite clear that this was not just going to be an
excursion for sandals, but I was thankful for a respite from the muggy outside
air of the damp, iguana-laden, streets.
Unfortunately, what I found within the flea-store was one
fan, pointed directly at the young man working the register. So much for that. It is difficult to
describe the wares that surrounded me when I entered the man’s store. While
most of the shops on the main thoroughfare had some sort of theme to their
items, this one carried everything from dark wood sculptures of the alien fighting
predator, to whimsical smoking pipes in the shapes of enormous dragons or naked
women.
My sister, being a teenager, was immediately distracted by a
display case of hand-woven bracelets with words like “Mexico”, or “viva”
embroidered on them. I moved toward her
to intercept before the salesman could get there, but like some sort of hard
selling genie emerging from the smoking pipes, he popped up before I had even managed
to move.
After several minutes of complementing her taste in fine
bracelets and selling a few, we left little hassle, or at least that’s what I
thought. We had barely left the shop when another man in a colorful, red,
green, and white vest was suddenly walking beside us. If he was trying to blend
in, he made a very poor chameleon. Either way we found ourselves being ushered
into his shop.
“My silver is much cheaper than his, don’t you worry mother,
we will find you something you like here, I guarantee it.” Inside his shop was
much of the same, and after another ten sandleless minutes, I found that we
were being pulled out of the store by another shop owner.
At this point I realized that there was some sort of support
between all of these different flea market bazaars. In any case, when I was
pulled into the next man’s shop, I saw them: Sitting right next to the
radiator, hiding beneath many colorful ponchos, were a pair of plain flip-flops
with a moose on them. Even though I was delighted by my find I knew that if I
was to get a fair price I would need to hide my excitement from the shop owner.
Lucky for me, he was more intent on selling my little brother (12) one of the
many predator statues that these shops seemed to possess.
Surreptitiously I
walked over to the radiator and pretended to check out the ponchos, all the
while admiring the quality of these back-alley flip flops. Leather tops, hard
rubber soles, and the moose! It was very clear that these sandals were quality,
and probably worth some ridiculous price way out of my range…
Or at least, that’s what the shop keeper would have had me
think….
It was like he had ESP, he saw right through my clever poncho
ruse, and directly into the meat of my sandal-desiring core. “You like the
sandals eh?” I began to think these sandals had been sitting in this shop for
ages, enticing in tourists, taunting them with their foreign, beast-like beauty,
but nonetheless I played it cool.
“They’re alright, but I don’t have a lot of money.” Trying
to play up the poor college school angle doesn't exactly work when you’re on a
cruise…
“Don’t worry, we’ll find something that works. How about
$40?”
I’ve never paid forty dollars for a pair of sandals in my
life, and I wasn't about to start then. It was time for the many long years of
jedi-bargaining training my father had given me as a kid to begin paying off.
While I am nowhere near his skill level(He once spent five consecutive days
bargaining at the same store for a piece of art, and got it down to a quarter
of the price) I still thought I had some of the gift.
“I was thinking something closer to fifteen.”
The man looked as though how were about to start crying. “If
I sell you these for fifteen, tomorrow I will be shut down! I have a family to
feed, I can’t give you these prices.” He looked genuinely distraught about the
sudden price-shift. Tears were welling in his eyes, lines of anxiety crossing
his face, and then suddenly it all melted away. “However, I know the
predicament of being a college student eh? I have a son in college too. Why don’t
we say $35?”
“I can’t do that! I have to pay for textbooks! If they were
gold maybe…” Maybe a little too dramatic, but it had the desired effect. The man
clearly saw that I was not a typical tourist, willing to be bullied into high
prices for cheap, albeit exotic moose-adorned footwear.
“How about $30, and we celebrate over a shot of tequila? You’re
twenty –one right?”
I nodded to him that I was. “$20, and you give my mother the
shot of tequila.”
“$25, and I give you both a shot of tequila.”
“Deal.” Proud of my bargain I sidled up to the counter with
my mother, who, if she was hesitant about taking shots with in a back alley
flea market, was not showing it at all. Being a non-drinker under normal
circumstances, I was a little anxious, but I thought One shot of shitty tequila, what the hell.
“This is one of my
best bottles.” He was clearly lying, but I said nothing, wanting not to mess
with my chances of obtaining the moose sandals. He poured us two shots into
tiny Dixie cups, and we drank. Watery, almond, fire touched hit my throat like
a landmine, and I feared I would vomit.
The shop owner laughed at me and said: “Breathe through your
nose. You can teach that to your friends back home eh?”
In any case, I swallowed, managed not to vomit, and grabbed
my prize from the radiator. I gave him a twenty and explained I didn't have a
five, he relented, lowering his price once again and we prepared to leave. “Hey
you like the tequila? Why don’t you buy the bottle? Yours for only $30!” Even I
knew that thirty was far too expensive for a bottle of cheap tequila,
especially in Mexico.
We continued to walk as the man pleaded with us, and by the
time we had gotten to the street the bottle had dropped to ten. “Please mama,
your son break me with the shoes, show me some love!” We all laughed, and
continued on our way to the ship.
As I sit here in my moose flip-flops I can’t help but feel a
winner, and that I have at least earned a few more points in my bargaining
skill tree…
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