HedgeWitch (32 page)

Haggling rule number five: clear your mind and focus. Before approaching the seller, remove all extraneous numbers from your mind and repeat your low-bid number nine times silently in your head. End with the HedgeWitch affirmation: “Always a blessing. Thank you.”

Okay. I'm ready. That shopping cart is calling to me. I now follow general haggling rule number six: do not haggle in front of other customers. Wait for a respite in sales. The vendor normally does not advertise that he or she is willing to make a deal.

I wait patiently, checking out a few other items, then circle back. I employ magickal haggling rule number seven: speak in a low, clear tone, and smile.

“Good morning,” I say.

She smiles.

“I'm interested in the shopping cart out front. Will you take four for it?” Notice I didn't say, “I'll give you four bucks for that cart out there” or “Bet you can do better on that price you've got listed on that cart” or “Tell ya what: I've got four bucks here that says I can walk outta here with that cart.” I've actually heard haggling like this. Here, the buyer is being a bully and tries to immediately, through language, remove the control from the vendor. Big mistake. “I'll give you…you can do better…I can walk outta here”—all these phrases suggest that the vendor is a subservient, helpless stooge, and even if they don't recognize the words, their inner selves will immediately bristle. This is definitely not the energy we want here. What we want is for the vendor to feel he or she is in control of the bargaining process. Back to the story…

She grins. “I paid more'n that for it. Nothin' wrong with it. Good tires. Even collapses. Eight.”

Haggling rule number eight: speak as you are spoken to, succinctly and politely. This builds a light rapport with folks. If you launch into your best diction and lift your chin, you've just turned off 90 percent of the population. Empathy is the key. I learned this from signing thousands of books and giving hundreds of seminars. Divas have no place at the bargaining table.

This price, although incredibly reasonable, is over my agreed limit yet under the marked price on the cart. I find myself naturally hesitating, which is actually general haggling rule number nine: silence is your best friend when the vendor gives an offer you don't like.

“Seven!” she says, naturally filling the void of my silence.

I smile again. “Sold!”

I now follow haggling rule number ten: silently thank the universe. Which takes us into haggling rule number eleven: always work in cash. Give exact cash if possible. That way, the vendor feels satisfied with the deal and has no idea about that fifty bucks lurking in your shoe for emergencies. Never pull out wads of cash and flash your good fortune—it's bad for the vendor's impression of his or her own generosity, and bad for you if someone is watching how much money you are carrying. Which also leads us into the way you're dressed. Although it sounded like I slapped on clothes for simple utility this morning, that wasn't the case at all. If you are shopping for a bargain, don't overdress (and that includes jewelry and makeup). My sweatshirt color choice is black—a power choice, and clean. My jeans are in good condition. My walking shoes match the sweatshirt. I'm not carrying a purse. You can't see my cell or my money bag. My good watch is home in its box. I don't need it—I can always get the time off my cell if I have to. I have small pearls in my ears, and unless you're into jewelry, you won't know they are real, and yet I'm not walking around with unfilled punctures in my head. My religious necklace is tucked inside my sweatshirt; it holds more power there, anyway. Displaying your religious persuasion with gaudy jewelry tells some vendors you are insecure. I have a canvas shopping bag stuffed in the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie (and we'll get to why I'm carrying this in a moment).

Grinning from ear to ear at my first haggling success, I march over to the cart and whisk away my purchase, but not before I turn and thank the seller and mention that this will be such a handy item on this day. She is a regular, so I make sure to look appropriately pleased, which wasn't hard at all. As I trundle down the path, I am elated. I have completed my first successful haggle in less than ten minutes, saving myself top retail end $73, low retail end $33 by choosing a good-condition used item. I growl delightedly to myself—I am on a roll! The vendor initially wanted $23—a savings to me here at the flea market of $16. No matter how you slice it, I got a great deal! On top of that, a woman passes by with a cart much like mine. She has taken a collapsible laundry bag and used it for a liner for her cart. What a cool idea! I'm so pleased I'm about to bust. I'll pick up my liner at the grocery store on the way home!

A little further down the path, a well-dressed woman stops me. “Where did you get that cart?” she demands. “Did you buy it here? Where? I've been looking all over for a cart like that since the market opened, and I can't find one.”

Lucky me, I think, staring at her, because as yet I've not been able to get a word in edgewise. “I found it at one of the regular vendors,” I finally sputter, motioning with my hand and pointing, “up the path. It was the only one there that I saw.”

“I walked right by there ten minutes ago,” she said, “and I didn't see any carts.” She looks at me suspiciously and leans closer, her paper cup sloshing hot coffee on the ground with her eagerness. “Where? Where did you get it? Where, up there?”

I looked at her rather helplessly. How do you give directions at a flea market? Turn right at the vendor with hundreds of junk boxes? Like…there are
tons
of those. Turn left at the hot dog stand (one of twenty along the way)?

“Oh, never
mind
,” she says, showing her exasperation at my bumbling brain by jerking her cup this way and that. Without warning, she spins on her heel and gallops off in the direction of my pointing finger, which I'd inappropriately not remembered to lower.

I shake my head, clutching my newly haggled cart protectively. Might not be a bad idea if she knocked off on that coffee. We see only what we choose to see, I muse to myself.

Now I'm doubly excited, because I'd found something that someone else wanted—she apparently walked right by it and missed it! I chide my victorious feelings on the matter. Gloating is base—not spiritual at all! Still, I nearly skip past the sweatshirts. I banter jauntily with the seller. With newfound confidence, I walk away with a sweatshirt for a buck. Current WalMart price for similar design and color? $16.22. Target? $9.99. Clearance Target, but only in limited colors? $4.00. Here, I could pick any color I wanted and still save money. Also, the drive to the market was much closer than that of the nearest Target, so I didn't have to expend any extra gas. I have also followed haggling rule number twelve: carry your own canvas shopping bag empowered with chamomile and calendula essentials to attract positive energy. This way, the vendor doesn't have to fiddle with stuffing your purchase in a nondisposable plastic bag, and you are being earth-friendly. Besides, it makes you smell nice.

Hot diggity, the dark clouds thicken overhead but I'm nearly dancing through the flea market. Two items purchased on my list, and so far I've spent only eight dollars. I make my way over to the vendor I saw last week that offered the handcrafted photo books. The Sunday before, she wanted $25. I didn't buy one, not because I thought the price was unfair, but because I'd already spent my dollars elsewhere. It just wasn't in the budget that week. As I walk up to the table, I see that she has only one left: the one I originally wanted! In perfect condition, marked for five dollars, beautifully handcrafted. No haggling here:
sold
. I sincerely thank her for her creativity and tuck the book in my canvas bag. Always a blessing!

I walk away from her table, smiling. I have now purchased all the items I wanted on my list for a grand total of $13, and for all intents and purposes, I am done shopping. However, I'm still working on my technique and haven't experienced a full variety of haggling scenarios. My research isn't finished. I pause, thinking about where I want to go next. It starts to drizzle.

My daughter calls me on my cell. Could I pick up something she had ordered from one of the inside vendors? She didn't want to bring my granddaughter out in the rain, and I didn't blame her. I enter the building and spy a table of rubber stamps (my secret passion). There is a huge selection. Some are priced and some are not. I decide to try general haggling rule number thirteen: if some items are marked, and some are not, and you like several items, make your selection that includes both priced and unpriced items, then offer half or a third of the market price of your total selection as your opening bid.

I observe that the stamps were brand-new. I've been buying stamps for several years and quickly calculate the retail price in my head, which would be thirty bucks without tax—more at a specialty shop. The vendor is an older woman with a weekly indoor stand, yet I'd never seen this large table of stamps before. “Good morning,” I say, holding out my choices. “Would you be willing to take ten dollars for these?”

She smiled a greeting (much like the first woman) and then muttered to herself, counting up the prices in her head of the marked and unmarked stamps. “Heck,” she said, “why not?”

I nearly fainted with my luck. I paid her the exact amount of cash, withdrawing only one ten from my pocket. I thanked her, made a comment about how much fun I would have using the stamps, and moved on to the next vendor to pick up my daughter's order. As this was a transaction already agreed upon by my daughter and this vendor, I didn't haggle. I paid the bill and walked over to pick up the item where she had it stored.

And fell in love with a basket. A very cool basket, just like the one I'd looked at in a department store a month ago and simply felt I couldn't afford. That basket retailed, new, at $65. I turned to the vendor, eyebrow raised. “Not mine,” she said. “It belongs to that guy over there,” and she motioned toward a gentleman that appeared to deal in Civil War memorabilia. Now, this wasn't something I'd researched, but as I like baskets, I have a general idea of their price range, what to look for condition-wise, etc. It was in perfect condition, exceptionally sturdy, and the lid fit securely. Okay, so it smelled a little musty. “Would you take ten dollars for this?” I asked, and fell, unaware, into haggling rule number fourteen: act dumb (except, of course, I was really being dumb).

“What's it marked?” he asked.

I blushed, I know I did. “I don't have my reading glasses on and I must have missed the price. I'm sorry.” Which, in my case, was totally true. Forget fine print without the spectacles.

He grinned as I handed the basket over. “Yeah, we get older, but it sure would be nice if our peepers remained the same.”

I agreed.

He flipped the basket around to check the small white sticker I'd missed, peered at me over his own glasses, and said, “Ten'll do.”

I handed over the cash. One ten from the pocket of my jeans.

He pulled a pad over and began writing. “What d'ya think I should call that basket?” he asked.

I hefted the basket and turned it around, eyeing it carefully. “It looks like a cobra basket to me,” I replied.

“Then that's what it'll be,” he said, writing the words
cobra basket
on the pad. “Happy to make the sale,” he said.

“Always a blessing,” I replied, not realizing I'd said the words aloud.

“That it surely is.”

I tucked the basket in my new shopping cart and headed out the door, glancing down at that little white sticker: $26. Being sincerely dumb, I just saved myself sixteen bucks.

Haggling rule number fifteen: affirm your good fortune. I used a HedgeWitch technique after I left the building (and well out of earshot of any vendor) and muttered with glee: “I always get a good deal.” (
Always
being the primary word). Words have incredible power if we use them correctly. However (very important rule here), a word or phrase is only special and powerful if it is special and powerful to you.

I have now reached the far end of the flea market, and my cart is loaded. I decide to go back to the car, drop off my purchases, and return to finish my haggling experiment in the upper area. Halfway back it starts to rain a bit harder. I lift my hoodie and make a beeline for the parking lot. Having sold my books at open-air festivals, I know that bad weather truly hurts sales, even if you are prepared for it. From the seller's side, rain was always disheartening—but now I'm on the buyer's side of the bargaining fence, and I know that this rain will actually be of benefit to me. I also know I haven't much time: only the hardiest vendors will remain open. The rest will pack up quickly and get the heck out of the market. It is these vendors I will target.

Beep, beep
squeals my car alarm as I lock up. The rain begins to pound the ground, and the upper area buzzes with vendors throwing items this way and that into their vehicles. Laughter, shouts, clanking, and the steady drum of rain on truck hoods and SUV roofs fills the air. I wrangle two pieces of furniture I can refinish myself and give as gifts later on in the year—one for a buck and one for five dollars. Both male sellers called these bargains “your lucky rainy day sale” as I struggled the furniture away.

It is here that haggling rule number sixteen came into play by accident: act like you ain't got no more money other than your lowest bid (or when you hit your cut-off bid number).

One of my favorite opening lines at flea markets when I want to make a purchase is: “Who's the boss?” This is a pleasant, empowering way to draw the vendor to you and makes him or her feel in charge. A smile from you is also very important—showing you're not being flip. Boss-man (once I figured out who he was) and I begin to haggle in the pouring rain over that last piece of furniture. My highest bid number was five bucks—this wasn't an antique, and I'd have to put some work into making it presentable. By now, the furniture was sopping wet and heavy as all get out, and he had a ton of stuff yet to load—all things in my favor. This being the case, I go real low. The sticker price is thirty-five bucks. “Five bucks,” I say.