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Blitzkrieg Bargaining

When I first arrived in China, a colleague of mine was kind enough to introduce me to shopping Chinese style. We set off for Fuchengmen shopping mall in the heart of Beijing. This mall may be a version of paradise for a zealous shopper, but for me, it was a vivid portrait of hell. Mobs of bargain-hunters cram the aisles, battling for any commodity that’s legally sold on the planet.

Unfussy stalls are everywhere, displaying makeup, clothes, mobile phone accessories, false nails, underwear of both exciting and uninspiring kinds, shoes, toys, wedding paraphernalia…the list is literally infinite. The picture is completed by screaming sales assistants, trying to lure into their 10-square-metre patches what seems to be every one of the country’s 1.3 billion consumers. Smiling shoppers drag scowling, non-shopper friends or spouses around the floor, using their arms as dog leads. I nearly changed my mind.

Then my own arm felt a jolt. Before I realized what was happening, I was being hauled in the direction of a souvenir store. The singing vendor raised her pitch a couple of levels when she noticed the pearliness of my skin. As we entered the shop, I was instructed to take careful note of the proceedings. Ignoring the blabbering saleswoman, at least for the time being, my colleague began to sort through the souvenirs, until she came across a bronze Buddhist figurine. “Duoshaoqian?” (“How much does it cost?”) was uttered, and the game was on.

Our vendor quoted a figure that sent my colleague into hysterics. She announced that the price was far too expensive, and countered with an offer one-third of the sum. The vendor’s lips twitched as she informed us that such an offer was impossible, as the product was an authentic antique, could not be sold below cost, and she had kids to feed.

She then rattled off a million other excuses that went way beyond my limited comprehension of the Chinese language. In response, my colleague questioned the item’s authenticity, citing its “Made in China” tag as evidence. To this, our vendor had no answer, but she nevertheless refused to accept the offer, which had since been reduced by half.

My colleague began to examine the product with a microbiologist’s eye, prophesizing that it would disintegrate within a week. I glanced at my watch, and was horrified to see that more than 20 minutes had passed. Still more conversation was exchanged, more holes were picked, more offers were laughed at, until finally, my friend placed the “antique” back on the shelf and announced that if her bid was not acceptable, then she did not want to buy it.

At this point I almost cried out in despair. For the first ten minutes, the conflict was mildly amusing. Then it became tedious and maddening. When it seemed after almost half an hour that no purchase was about to take place, I was very far from impressed. With my colleague smiling, and me frowning, we left the store together. Our vendor suddenly sprinted from the shop, shouting, “OK, OK, I’ll accept your price.” My colleague sent a knowing wink in my direction, and said, “That’s how you do it.” Lesson learned?

We wandered off to a shop that sold Chinese clocks. I wondered whether I could really stand sweating in a shop, bickering with a battle-seasoned Chinese haggler. I grabbed a piece, and, trying in vain to block the woman’s sales rant from my ears, I asked, “Duoshaoqian?” and was given a typically outrageous figure.

Then, following my colleagues advice, I slashed my offer. But the difference was mine was a knockout blow: I had offered less than one-tenth of her asking price. When it was swiftly rejected, I paid no attention to excuses and walked straight out the door. Noticing that the saleswoman had refocused on my colleague, I assumed the role of dog walker, and taking her arm, urged her to leave the shop.

“What are you doing?” my colleague complained. “Weren’t you paying attention? Have you learned nothing? Have you no patience?” But time did not allow her to spout any more criticism: the seller was quickly on our heels, declaring her surrender. This battle was brutal, and contained none of the verbal tango of the previous encounter, but it was a swift victory for the visiting side. “Neng baozhuang ma?” (Could you wrap that?), I asked, as I savoured the scent of a blitzkrieg bargain.