23/8/2018 0 Comments market place(story) “My grandmother made it” that’s what Alice would say to fetch a higher price.
They like such stories ‘It’s made from ostrich egg’ or ‘we make the string from special reeds’. An old rusted brooch she found one fortunate afternoon held together by woven leather pieces became priceless after a well thought out background story. Her grandmother had died several years before she was born and it did not seem too bad of a lie because she would have probably told her to tell the story in the first place. They were a family of street vendors, similar to European gypsies but without the elaborate customs. What they found, was mended and resold at a profit. By assessing a tourist’s backpack and accent, Alice managed to fix a price that sounded reasonable to the guests but locals would spot fake, like rotten fish disguised in a stack. Locals were not so easy to woo. “She is very talented.” “Yes. She was.” Her eyes lay low taking glimpses to see if they took the bait. “Ooh shame…how much did you say it was again dear?” the zipper of a jean fanny pack zinged open to uncover a wallet. The pet name confirmed it and this was her favorite part. A gamble of the trade. Too high and the wallet would apologetically sink back in to its fortress and she could not afford a loss today. Too low and she would agonize over how much more she could have made all week. A Kangol backpack set and thick European tones, the last move was essential. Clasping onto the neck straps, to play into distress, she let out a mild sigh of sentiment, “18 dollars only” it was risky. Not a common price by vendor standards. But her trinkets had a unique quality against the others in the market. They were handcrafted with special detailing, appearing skillfully made amongst the rest. As anticipated, the customer hesitated. Taking a step back, they stood up straight grabbing their waist. Side to side they stared at other stalls. Calculating the number of ornaments and trinkets that could be bought from elsewhere for the cost of just this one. “But for you, I will sell for 15.” Conveniently blurting out a lower price before they gravitated elsewhere. “Okay…” shuffling their pocketbook they regrettably handed over a 20 dollar note, foreseeing the chances of her not having change. “Oh, that’s a big note.” Tagging on a knot at the corner of her wrap. It held a blue plastic bag containing a roll of money in a various currencies. Her customer’s underestimation of her wealth showed in their gob smacked expression. Astonished at how wealthy a little African vendor lady is from selling only trinkets. “Here you go.” Chuffed with herself. She handed over change in Euros at the prescribed exchange rate. “Enjoy your stay.”
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