Bargaining is difficult for most Westerners, or anyone who hasn't grown up in a haggling culture, and even though I've lived here for two years, I still haven't really gotten that much better at bargaining. For big ticket items, like last year when we had to buy a fridge and stove and washing machine, I just walked right into to Koctas and said, yup, get me that one marked at 600 TL. No muss, no fuss.
But shoes, oh, I can do shoes.
A friend of mine (Hi, Chole!) bought a pair of those newfangled Birkenstocks that everybody seems to be wearing these days, and I was absolutely smitten with them. I knew she had bought them for 140 TL, and I was determined to do the same here in Izmir. A couple days ago I went to a shop where I had seen them in the window.
The price tag on the sandals read 199 TL and I scoffed. "But it's on sale for 160 TL," the salesman, a youngish man with a warm smile, said.
I told him about my friend's purchase in Istanbul and how she had paid 140 TL for them. "But they won't have black anymore," he said, nodding wisely. Perhaps, I said.
"Tell you what," he said. "150 TL if you pay in cash."
I stared at him a second. But...didn't he hear what I just said?, I thought. 140. That's what she bought them for. He stared at me, still smiling.
But I didn't feel like playing the game just yet. Huh, I said. Okay, well, thanks! And Jeff and I walked out the door.
But I was hooked.
The next day I went back, 140 TL in my pocket, determined to only spend that much, no matter how much bargaining I had to do.
"You are back," he said with a smile.
"Yes, I would like to try those on in a 40," I said. Jeff says that often times when I am shopping, I am very direct and confident, like most Westerners, an attitude that comes across to many salesmen as defiant and rude, especially coming from a woman.
"Let me check to see if I have them," he said. A moment later, the salesman returned with a rueful smile I know only too well.
"We don't have a 40, but I do have these (the display pair) in a 39," he said. "I think they will be fine."
I peered at them. I don't know, I thought. Lo and behold, they fit! The salesman grinned, satisfied that he had been right. "See? I knew they would fit," he said matter-of-factly.
I walked around the store a bit. Fine, I said, lovely. They were, indeed, very comfortable, but I knew we still hadn't talked about the price. I could feel a knot forming in my stomach already. The salesman, however, seemed almost giddy.
"How much are they if I pay in cash?" I asked, knowing full well that he would tell me what he told me the day before: 150 TL.
The man bowed his head toward me. "150 TL," he whispered. I leaned in closer. Why the hell is he whispering, I thought.
I pretended to peer at the box and try to read the German on it, all the while wondering how I get him down to 140 TL. Seriously, it's not that big a difference. What's wrong with 140 anyway? How come they're for sale in Istanbul for 140 and 150 here in Izmir? No fair, I thought.
I shrugged at the salesman. "Really, I only want to pay 140," I said sheepishly, almost apologetically.
"Offff, but that is almost a loss for me," he said, waving one hand, palm up, in the air.
I stared. Had I understood him correctly? A loss?!? Are you KIDDING me? I looked at the box again, pretending to think hard. Shit. Now what? What's the next step here? Without thinking, I looked up.
"But these were on display right? How many people tried them on?" I asked, thinking that maybe he'd cut me a deal since they had already been tried on before.
He stammered and sputtered. "What? They're brand new. Okay, maybe 2, maybe 3, people tried them on. They're new. Brand new."
I eyed him suspiciously. I pretended to inspect the box. What to do? What to do?
He smiled at me and shook his head, as if to say, What do you think?
I sighed and looked apologetic but I made my voice firm. "I can only pay 140," I said, with a conviction that I didn't know I had.
"Okay," he whispered, looking at the floor.
I had to physically stop myself from grinning ear to ear and doing a happy dance. Instead, I pretended that by this point I didn't really even want the shoes anymore. I paid in cash, the salesman counting out the two 50s and two 20s slowly, as if he hoped there were more. He pocketed the cash -- he did not put it in the cash register -- and looked at me with a glum expression on his face. He blinked slowly and nodded his head slightly, as much as a thank you as I was going to get.
At this point, I felt the teensiest pang of guilt strike my heart. Maybe he really did make a loss at 140? What if it's more expensive to ship the shoes to Izmir than to Istanbul? My god, maybe I have really cheated him?
But all my guilt was put to rest as I exited the store.
"Next time bring your husband!" the salesman shouted.
When I turned around to acknowledge the remark, he was grinning.