Bargaining with the Devil

Now that the iron fist has been lifted from China, there is a whole generation of people who have turned their interests to retail therapy. I mean shopping of course and the Chinese have leapt full step into consumerism. At least those who can afford it.

Just the other day I was admiring the sneakers that one of our studio's ‘lifestyle consultants’ was wearing. They’re all white and fancy and King and I chatted about how much he paid for them. They were about $65, he said. A quick calculation told me this was the equivalent of two weeks salary. He offered to help me get a pair but for now, I have all the shoes I need.

Not that I don’t buy stuff. Today I spent about $20 on organic produce at Carrefour. Okay, while the label says organic, I have no idea what that really means. But they charge more for it. Apples were 50 cents each, about four times the normal price. But heck, organic produce in China? Plus I have a better selection here than in Fairbanks.

I needed the apples to run through the new juicer I bought. It’s actually a food processor to be accurate. It has five attachments that chop, slice, grate, blend and who knows what. It didn’t come with instructions but I had an experience buying it.

Having seen one similar at Carrefour, I took the idea and went to CenturyMart which has better deals. I saw the one I wanted and a friendly sales agent was helping describe it. Then I wanted to compare it with another model on a different shelf. Normally, you’d think a store would have a few models, all next to each other, for easy comparison. But not here. To my amazement, I learned that the sales agent worked not for the department store, but for the manufacturer. And there were about a half dozen people all doing the same thing. And they were competing for my attention. “Hey,” they’d say trying to steal me away from the competition, “come look at this one.” At one point I had four agents gathered around arguing with each other about their various products. They were laughing and simultaneously deriding each other’s stuff.

They were also interested in seeing what appealed to the foreigner so I took advantage of the audience. I asked, in sign language of course, if a certain plastic component was unbreakable. I mimicked dropping it on the floor. “No, no,” the guy said waving his hands. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” I implied. “Wanna see me juggle? Can you juggle? I can juggle these things. Here,” I said, flexing my elbows, moving my hips side to side, preparing my posture and concentration. I started feeling the weight of the components, making circular motions with my arms. “Ready?” I said, drawing laughs from the competitors. “No, no, bu shi,” he said. “Don’t do that.”

Then a second later comes this clankity-clank-clank-clank from behind. Someone was bouncing a plastic cup off the tile floor. I looked to my side. There was another saleswoman, smiling as all heads turned, demonstrating the unbreakability of her stock.

“Now were talkin’” I told the dude. “Can yours do that?” Alas, no, it wouldn’t. But unbreakability aside, the new woman’s stuff was only a grinder, not a 5-in-1.

I decided to compare this one with another model, shown by a woman who approached me earlier. I started running back and forth, asking ‘does your’s have this?’ Hell, why not give in and make it the show that it is.

With the decision narrowed to two similar models, I compared price. One was marked down 20 percent. Not to be outdone, the woman reping the 4-in-1 unit offered to discount the sticker price. “What?” I asked. “You are bargaining with me in a department store?” Sure enough. Everything around here is negotiable.

In the end, I bought the 5-in-1, hoping the grater/onion chopper will make the difference. Plus it was $2 cheaper. And for $27, I have my fingers crossed. The thing is all molded acrylic plastic and will last the rest of the year if I am lucky. And in spite all the models on display, they were really all about the same. Cheap, plastic and built to be quickly replaced.

Take, for instance, the suitcase that Amy bought while she was here. Her old reliable case was limping badly upon arrival, the bearings on one wheel were shot. She’d had the thing for two years and she’s a heavy duty business traveler, going someplace nearly every week. She decided she’d get herself a new model while here.

One night we were at the night market, a few blocks of temporary stalls, erected and taken down each night. That’s where I go to find flashlights, knockoff handbags, jade carvings and such.

Amy and I were looking for some calligraphy to take back as presents and early on, she found a guy who did stuff that she liked and she bought a couple fish, I think it was. She liked the idea of connecting, even a little, with the artist who did the work. Then further down the block, she found another artist who surprisingly did the very same art. Hmm, okay, so much for seeing what we want to see.

A few minutes later, Amy decided she might as well buy a new suitcase so she found one that was the right size and had six wheels on casters. She demonstrated breezing through turnstiles and spinning circles around this shiny new model. Upon asking, the guy wanted 250rmb. I offered 100. After more bargaining, he got to 200 and Amy peeled off the bills. She was happy. He was very happy and insisted on showing us more stuff. It was hard to get away. We should have known why.

A couple days later as Amy was leaving, she was carrying the now full suitcase out the door of the apartment when I heard a loud bouncing crash and what sounded like crying. Only it was laughter. I found her in the stairway holding a handle sans case. She was all doubled over. We just hoped the thing would get her back to Denver.

It did but a couple weeks later, I got an email titled ‘you get what you pay for.” If I recall correctly, she picked up her bag from the carousel and two wheels promptly fell off. No problem, she had four more. Then one of the telescoping handle bars broke. Well, ya can get by with just one. Then more wheels. At one point a helpful man was scurrying behind her and presented her with four wheels, his face stricken at her misfortune. All she could do was laugh as she dragged the pretty case across the marble floor, the remaining wheels littered behind her. A week later, I saw a similar model. For 69rmb. No wonder that guy was happy.

Lest you get any ideas, crap construction does not stop at consumer goods. It carries into buildings as well. Within our new studio, finished in September, the sheetrock is cracking. The ladies bathroom also has a foul smell. I noticed it the other day on one of my rare visits when no one was there. I mentioned it to Sean. He has set the way in sneaking in a pee break when the bathroom is empty. (The studio is affiliated with a women’s health spa downstairs. While men are welcome to practice yoga at our studio, we have no locker room. That is to come upon build-out of the space next door. And that will come when we meet sales goals. And that will come…I don’t know when. Alas, men change clothes in the shoe closet and those needing to pee must take the elevator to the basement and use the toilets provided to the guards and restaurant workers. Just a little convenience I’ve had to adjust to.) Now, regarding the stench, Sean tells me he was informed that during construction, workers forewent installing the P-trap that keeps sewer gasses in check. “Someone decided to save two dollars,” he said describing the Chinese brand of short-term thinking “Besides, we can just tear up the tile floor and install one later.”

This shortsightedness would be maddening if I didn’t find it funny. At least for now I find it funny as I don’t mind fixing things. Good thing, too as I took on a new role at the studio today. The heavy solid-core door to the hot studio was coming apart. Although the thing weighs about 60 pounds, workers installed it with hinge screws just 3/4-inch long. Its metal handles were mis-aligned, creating a nasty scraping sound and the dampening hardware doesn’t dampen so the door slams upon closing. The tiny screws don’t stand a chance. I noticed the problem early last week and told management. Nothing happened. By today it had gotten out of hand. The door was falling off the hinges. Now, ask yourself when the last time you saw a door coming off the hinges? It’s rare where most of us live. Yet a hot studio without a functioning door quickly becomes a merely warm studio. I complained again. Aida the office manager investigated and asked if I would fix it. Or I think that is what she said. A moment later, she returned, smiling at me and handing me an ill-fitting screwdriver and some screws an inch and a half long. Even the screws, heads and threads, were mis-shapen. I picked through to find the best ones and installed them though I am not giving this job any warrantees.

Many of you know that fixing stuff is one of my meditations. I really like concentrating my focus on a mechanical task. And there, screwing away on Valentines Day, I had an insight. In China, at least in this context, it doesn’t matter how things are built, made or done. All that matters is how something looks. Women will spend a small fortune on cosmetics to cover up a zit and men will cut every corner possible, even when building retail space. As long as it looks good on the outside, at the moment of sale, the rest is someone else’s problem.

That said, I see a self-perpetuating logic to it. In the last 20 years, China has changed so fast, people have learned that nothing lasts. Not even stuff that we might think should. Thus, the apartment I live in, built in 1997 is considered old. The kitchen is falling apart. And it is just as likely that if the building doesn’t fall apart on it’s own, the government, er, ‘the people’ will declare a better use for this space and tear it down. People who live here have seen it happen over and over. Roads are routinely rebuilt, imposing a perpetual state of construction constriction on traffic. One observer here told me thats the way business is done. The roads aren’t redone because the roads need it (though shoddy construction ensures a timely replacement) the roads are replaced because the construction companies, in cahoots with the state, need another tax-financed project. In a province far from here, protests erupted when the government confiscated property to build a road. That might have been grudgingly accepted, but the evicted landowners discovered that government officials sold the condemned land to a private developer and thus turned a huge profit while deprived the original owners of both property and fair value. According to the New York Times, the protest turned violent and police killed several people. Not that it made the news here. That went unreported. And when I asked a Chinese friend about such events, he said while he hadn’t heard about that specific event, nor would he, nor did he need to, because he had no doubt about its authenticity. Things like this happen all the time and even if specifics are omitted from the press, aware people know officials do terrible things. The government lies and conceals, officials get away with murder and wealthy business-owners get richer. See, just like in America! But rest assured, if I get an invitation to go quail hunting with China’s vice-president, I’ll not veer from the ‘party.’

Okay, now I don’t want to leave you with a downer on this Valentine’s Day, so here is a heart-warming gem I got from Sean. Valentine’s Day is known here as “Qing Ren Jie” which roughly translates to “please-person-day” or “Lover’s day.” Street vendors are selling heart-shaped balloons and people are giving chocolates and roses.

At lunch today, Sean told me he received an important clarification from his Chinese teacher regarding this holiday. A ‘qing ren’ is a lover which isn’t necessarily a husband or wife. More accurately, a qing ren is the person with whom a married person is having an affair. Thus, it would be bad form if for instance, one asked a married man who had just finished a Valentine’s Day partner yoga class with his wife, if this same woman was his ‘qing ren.’ “I’m glad to know this,” Sean said ruefully, “That explains the startled expression on that man’s face.”

Happy Qing Ren Jie!

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