No-gotiating
I am a terrible negotiator. I try to have a game plan beforehand but don’t know how to figure out what would be a fair offer, or what the other party may be trying to push. Clueless. So when I was driving to the car dealership to arrange for a new lease I was picturing my salesman, Henry, and his wife, planning an extravagant vacation.
I felt at an immediate disadvantage because we were wearing masks and Henry’s was big - I couldn’t discern any facial expressions, although I imagined sneering and lip licking. I doubt he felt at a disadvantage with my mask, since my shocked, bulging eyes at his first offer were saying it all. The money down and monthly payment rivaled our first mortgage - okay, that was 45 years ago, but still...so I said, meekly, it was too high. He begrudgingly said he would go talk to his manager. We danced this dance a few times until my butt was sore and he looked tired from all the walking back and forth. He told me even though he was trying to get me the best deal, his manager couldn’t go any lower or they would be below any hopes for a tiny profit. Poor dears. Please.
So he looked at me, waiting for my response, seeing drinks with little umbrellas on a palm tree lined beach at a fancy resort. I must have taken a beat too long to respond and he took it as a balk, no go, she’s not falling for it. I was really just trying to figure out what he had offered. No subterfuge. I was about to accept when to my surprise, he got back up and told me he would make one last pitch to his manager. (Was there even a manager in the building? Or was he telling his wife to start packing?) He came back looking dejected, like he’d have to settle for a beach in Florida rather than Fiji.
His final, final, final offer was still higher than I had hoped but I couldn’t bear it any more. I agreed. I’m sure he was beaming inside that mask. There should be professionals that buffoons like me can hire to negotiate good deals. Anything they charge would be less than me getting snookered. Bon voyage, Henry!