Lady, This Not Joking Price

Posted by She Said

Anyone who knows me knows that I hate paying retail. For anything. I’m a sleuth at finding second-hand bargains in Reno. 50-ish pounds of Legos and Bionicles for $29. (Jason, I know this still really grosses you out! If you were here, you could run them through the ozoninator.) Like new Doc Martens for $2. A huge, beautifully framed mirror in my dining room for $40. And the list goes on. Hell, half my house is decorated with my finds. Greg will sport a new shirt at work, and coworkers, knowing his wife is a garage saling junkie, will come up and say, “There is no way that is a garage sale shirt!” Why yes, yes it is.

Through my many years of hunting for deals, I have acquired mad bargaining skills. I have a wicked ability to get things cheap. It’s a total rush for me. But, with all of my experience, all of my garage saling, and all of my asking for things at a dirt cheap price, nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, could have prepared me for my experience today at the Silk Market in Beijing.

I was so excited about this trip; I was ready to give my negotiating skills a go in this gigantic mega-mart, filled with rows upon rows, and floor upon floor, of individual stalls selling everything from China silk and “traditional” Chinese clothes to, ahem, real “Calvin Klein” and Gortex. In fact, I must have been really focused on getting to the market, because it was Greg and not me who spotted the Starbucks right off of the subway.

After fueling up with my Caramel Macchiato, we met some of Greg’s coworkers in front of the market, and we started in, my head about to pop with anticipation. And by the time we finished walking down the first aisle, this is what I learned:

Knowing Kung Fu before going would be helpful. That way when the lady in the booth grabs your hand and won’t let you go, you could do a gentle but firm chop to her arm to let you go. If she still persists, this is the perfect time to practice your Vulcan nerve pinch.

The first price they give you is insanely high, so much so that it was impossible for me not to laugh. Well, snort and laugh, actually. I can’t tell you how many times I was assured, “Lady, this not joking price!” Oh, they SO did not realize who they were dealing with.

If you must take your children, teach them how to make a killer poker face. Why? Because if the seller knows your kids want something, you can forget getting a good price. Uh, and your kids will get what they want.

Always calculate your exit strategy when entering one of the 10’ x 10’ booths. The seller will block your way if you try to leave. It’s like being in a really bad high school dance – you know, in perfect unison step left, step right, step left, step right, step left.

The calculator is used as the super-secret negotiating prop so as to not inform others of the “best” price you are getting. Do not, as if your life depended on it, do NOT hold the calculator. The seller will use this as a way to keep you in the booth by not taking it back from you when you refuse to buy. Try as you might to get them to take the calculator from you with their “joking” price still displayed, they won’t. And none of the booths have shelves. If you find yourself with the instrument of torture, be prepared to drop it and run.

Become a female before you go. You will get a better price.

As cruel as it sounds, when the seller tells you to buy that piece of children’s clothing because you love your child, tell them your kids aren’t worth it.

Wear protective gear and be prepared to walk away when you will not go any higher on a price. Sometimes they will tackle you in the aisle and agree, begrudgingly, to your “final” price.

If your clothing items have words on them, check the spelling carefully. Just for the humor of it, I really wanted to buy the shirt with a little girl and the word “angle” above her. I was told it was “angel”, and I even though I insisted on getting a lower price because it was spelled wrong, they wouldn’t do it for me.

Again, if you find yourself going with your children, sellers will grab them and bring them into their booths. To prepare for this, either:

• teach them Kung Fu so they can send some gentle but firm chops to their knees to get away, or
• put them on a leash.

Be wary of your children’s leashes, the sellers can use them to not only drag your child into their booth but you as well.

And that was just the first aisle. I did mention there were like 4 or 5 floors, yes?

Fun for the Family? I Think Not.

I have written before about how I have what appears to be a lifetime subscription to a magazine that claims to be chalk full of fun family ideas. Only, every time I look through the magazine, I’m more perplexed that people actually DO the things detailed in it. Make your own toy bin? No thanks. Make crafty little form letters to fill out for your kids’ teachers? Um, I’m more of an email person myself.

Apparently the makers of this magazine put out colorful books full of all sorts of recipes and crafts “the whole family will love.” I only discovered they had these other publications when one of the moms at Braedyn’s new school pulled out one of the hardcover books, set it down in front of me, and exclaimed, “ I LOVE their magazine!” Wow. I am just *not* that mom. When the kids ask to do crafts, that means I put out a bin of various craft odds and ends – maybe some pipe cleaners, some buttons, markers, colored paper, scissors, stickers, and glue – and say “go for it!”

What can I say? The magazine bugs me, and this month’s edition is no different. It just doesn’t seem practical to me. The only time I look through it is while sitting on the pot in the bathroom. I get 30 seconds of peace (usually) and I use that time to flip through whatever magazines I have put in the magazine rack. Today, the fun makers mag intrigued me, so I decided to flip during my 30 seconds of “pee”ace. It claimed to have creative ways to save money on school clothes.

You know what their creative idea was? It’s to cut, glue, and sew new clothes out of their old clothes. An example of which, the little girl is wearing on her arm in the picture. Again, I am *so* not that mom. If I had written the article, it would have said:

Want to save money on school clothes? Go garage saling!

Seriously, I have picked up incredible clothing that is like new or new for *PENNIES*! A quarter here, 50 cents there, and you have a new outfit. And you save yourself all the headache that comes with the glue fumes, unless you are into that.

Hang On, We’re Almost at 50!

No, no, I’m not talking about age here. Well, I guess in a way I am.

Greg has a way of wearing me down when it comes to getting new stuff. It generally takes me a while to warm up to the idea of purchasing something like an iPhone, or a shed for the yard, or new tires on the car. Greg likes to tell the story about how I really didn’t think we needed to get a DVR when they first came out, but he kept talking about it, sending me emails, researching the product, hinting at it, and playing the recording of how great it would be while I slept to stir the subconscious consumer beast within.

And it works. I love our DVR. (So does my bladder.) And my iPhone. And the shed for the yard. OK, the new tires aren’t very exciting but they do provide quite the peace of mind.

To date, he has gotten several new laptops, a motorcycle, and the DVR this way. I am certain he will soon be getting his own iPhone since he has been bombarding me with hints (subtle and not so subtle) so that I cave or go crazy, or both. It’s not that I don’t want him or us to have nice or new things. It’s not that at all. I just prefer to get things at a much discounted rate at garage sales. Waiting to see an iPhone on a card table in front of someone’s house on a Saturday morning may take too long for Greg though. Go figure. *Shrug.*

His latest burning desire, well, besides me (wink, wink, nudge, nudge), is being presented to me over and over and over and over again with a slightly different angle this time. THIS time it’s all about Greg feeling old. He has declared himself in the throws of a mid-life crisis. And what would soften this self-imposed blow? Thankfully, it is not a Corvette and an 18 year-old (although we ALL know how he likes them young. JUST KIDDING!). No, he has no desire for the sports car or a fling. Thank FSM. Instead, the ONLY thing that will successfully ease the pain of this transition is a VW bus. That’s right. The man wants to turn himself into a hippy. Thankfully, he wants the family along for the groovy ride.

So over the last few months, during the depths of despair of his self-professed mid-life crisis, Greg has thoroughly researched what years are better than others, which engines have a little more umph, which ones had an A/C option, and which ones can have an after-market three-point harness installed to match today’s seat belt standards. Over these last few months, he has sent me many (and by many, I mean TONS) of pictures of buses for sale. You see, he is wearing me down.

Then last week, he firmly planted me on Team Mid-Life Crisis. He’s flung me, albeit gently, into pro-bus mode. How did he triumph, you ask? He took me to look at one. You see, there is a soft spot in my heart for these little gems. My mother and I traveled from El Paso up into Canada and back down the coast over a two month period in one of these things when I was growing up. Not only did we take on the open road, singing 100 Bottles of Bear on the Wall, we did this trip twice, once when I was about 8 and again at 15. As a child I used to love sprawling out in the back while my mom drove us to our next destination. (Of course, my kids will be firmly planted in their 5-point harness cages car seats.) Camping and crabbing on the sand dunes of Dillon Beach was by far the best time we had in our little bus. It really does bring back great memories.

So we’re actively making plans for a purchase (and subsequent sale of our current mommy-mobile). Now I am just trying get my lead foot to understand that “giving her all she’s got” means, we’re almost at 50 mph!

Oh, and I am also practicing my Spicoli-sounding version of, “Duuuuuuuuude.” I’m getting pretty good. It’s actually a little uncanny.

Free Stuff ROCKS

It’s no secret that half of my house is decorated by items I picked up at garage sales. I love the thrill of the hunt, and even more, I love to not pay retail. I just don’t get how, wait… I just don’t get WHY anyone would want to pay $500 for a wallet from Coach. It is beyond me. I probably get a little bit of this from my upbringing; I mean I have a father who never bought anything new. Ever. (He also never gets rid of anything, but that is a post in and of itself.) When I was growing up, if we had a refrigerator that was going kaput, my dad would get another used one, usually free from some place or another, and use it until it went kaput. Our second-hand TV would sometimes go fuzzy, but no worries, I was taught where to hit it with a hammer to get it working again.

Thankfully I’m not THAT bad. Really, I’m not.

A couple of weekends ago I hit the mother load of garage sales. It was just around the corner, and I literally had to make two trips with my car filled to the brim back to the house with all of my new loot. I got so much great stuff, my head was spinning. I picked up six beautiful, lined curtains for my front room that couldn’t have been more perfect for the colors of our walls. I got three ceramic, blue outdoor flower pots, new kids craft materials, an amazing wall clock with exposed gears, three nicely crafted shelves, two dog beds, several decorative wall hangings, and many more things that I don’t want to bore you with if I haven’t already. And the ticket price for all of this? $18.50. Seriously. It was so great that a little later when I was out with the whole family, we drove back by. Greg and the kids got out and started poking around, and the folks having the garage sale started handing us stuff to take for free, including two kid dirt bike helmets. And here, you can see how those are used at our house:

Yeah, digging in the dirt for ants has to be much better wearing that helmet. Free stuff rocks.