Profit & Loss

Macit Quote of the Day: If these people pay taxes, I do not think so, not a lot.

One of the early lessons I learned in Turkey was that price negotiation was a main component in the purchasing of products.  Unlike the US, where prices are defined and abided by, it’s essentially an expectation that you haggle over the most mundane things in Turkey.

            Let’s get this out of the way, I’m not a good negotiator by any means.  I fold and get flustered under the slightest provocation.  I would be willing to spend extra money if the seller would end the transaction immediately.  However, there is one point of sale that I am actually oroud of because the salesman was a Grade A d-bag (sorry Susan if you’re reading this).  Even better, there’s video evidence of the guy pushing products literally into my face and me stoically resisting.

            First, some context.  There are, in Istanbul, a series of ice cream salesman (seriously, this story is about haggling over ice cream prices) who give you some ice cream with flair—think Jennifer Aniston in Office Space flair.  These guys do a little performance and you end up with ice cream.  Sounds awesome right!  Wrong.  Dead wrong.  These, so called, ice cream men are actually aggressively pushing their product onto the consumer—my mouth.  I literally looked over at the ice cream and suddenly ice cream cones were flying in my face.  After the performance, I was pushed into the store and asked for money.  At this point, I was feeling very put-off by what should have been a happy occasion, the receiving of a delicious frozen treat.  The ‘strongman’ demanding money wanted roughly 5 Turkish lira for one scoop of ice cream on a cone.  For perspective, I bought a 2 scoop on a cone for 4.50 T.l in the heart of Sultanahmet, the tourism capital of the city, where prices are ridiculous.  I argued that the price was unfair.  We hemmed and hawed for about 30 seconds when the expert negotiator, Jenny, rolled onto the scene and told me to put the cone down and walk away.  I followed her sage advice and made like a tree and left.

            At this point I’m all worked up.  The adrenaline was pumping, but cooler heads seemed to have prevailed.  “Muscles” however, hadn't had enough.  This jabroni comes running down the street and grabbed my arm demanding money.  I would like to point out at this juncture that my roomie Brent had scurried off and did not have my back.  So it was me and Jenny versus “Muscles”.  If you recall, I’m worked up.  I must have had my best ‘get off me bra’ face on because my steely gaze stopped him dead in his tracks.  The following day I went to a regular ice cream purveyor and ate the best pistachio ice cream I've ever tasted.

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