Negotiation
"Three kuai!" "Three kuai!"
The line of tricycle drivers at the mall entrance shout out low prices in an attempt to outbid each other in volume and price. The Boy and I walk over to one, loaded down with bags of groceries.
"To Lotus Market."
"Ok. Ok. Get in!"
Uh. Uh. Nothing doing. We weren't born yesterday.
"How much?" The Boy asks.
"Six!"
"Five." The Boy points to me. "Just one. No bags."
The pedicab driver grunts in assent, waves his hand, and nods while motioning to the seat of the tricyle. I get in and wave good-bye to The Boy. A few minutes of weaving, dangerous traffic later we arrive at my destination. I get off and try to hand the driver a five.
"No. No." The tricycle driver waves his hand in denial. "Seven. Seven."
"No." I wave my hand in imitation. "We already agreed. Five. Take it or leave it."
"Two more. Two more. You owe two more."
"No. I don't. If you don't want the five, I can give it to that guy over there." I point to the tricycle driver enjoying the show and resting in his own vehicle two feet away.
"Seven. Seven."
"If you don't want it, you can throw it away. The price was five." I stick the bill in his tricycle basket and walk away.
"Hey! Hey!" I don't turn around.
"It really was seven." I hear quietly behind my back. I turn to see my driver talking with resting dude.
"Maybe she's from Xinjiang (the Uiguer region)." (In other words, not a foreigner?)
Market socialism with Chinese characteristics. Negotiations are never over.
The line of tricycle drivers at the mall entrance shout out low prices in an attempt to outbid each other in volume and price. The Boy and I walk over to one, loaded down with bags of groceries.
"To Lotus Market."
"Ok. Ok. Get in!"
Uh. Uh. Nothing doing. We weren't born yesterday.
"How much?" The Boy asks.
"Six!"
"Five." The Boy points to me. "Just one. No bags."
The pedicab driver grunts in assent, waves his hand, and nods while motioning to the seat of the tricyle. I get in and wave good-bye to The Boy. A few minutes of weaving, dangerous traffic later we arrive at my destination. I get off and try to hand the driver a five.
"No. No." The tricycle driver waves his hand in denial. "Seven. Seven."
"No." I wave my hand in imitation. "We already agreed. Five. Take it or leave it."
"Two more. Two more. You owe two more."
"No. I don't. If you don't want the five, I can give it to that guy over there." I point to the tricycle driver enjoying the show and resting in his own vehicle two feet away.
"Seven. Seven."
"If you don't want it, you can throw it away. The price was five." I stick the bill in his tricycle basket and walk away.
"Hey! Hey!" I don't turn around.
"It really was seven." I hear quietly behind my back. I turn to see my driver talking with resting dude.
"Maybe she's from Xinjiang (the Uiguer region)." (In other words, not a foreigner?)
Market socialism with Chinese characteristics. Negotiations are never over.