The haggle--learning by watching

The Near West Side of downtown Cleveland was where I learned to haggle. Grandpa Tony would take me with him shopping for bolts of cloth for his tailor shop. He had a negotiator's command of a few words of Yiddish, at least enough to insult the merchandise as "schmattes,"(rags) when dealing with the Jewish clothing merchants in the area. And then both were loudly off and running until they grudgingly decided on a price that secretly made both of them happy.  

Beyond the bolts of cloth, this side of town was also where my Dad took me each August to outfit me for the fall semester, well into my high school years. Harry Weinraub's Men's Clothing was a place to haggle for everything from underwear to dress shirts, ("How much for three?"). The store on West 6th Street was a Cleveland high-quality-low-price landmark for 80 years. 

To be honest, being somewhat of an introvert, I was embarrassed watching my elders go at it tooth and nail with the salespersons, whether the purchase was dress pants or kielbasa and kiszka in the West Side Market stalls. In my teen years, I was curious and amused, watching the haggle unfold. 

Then, years later, when I stared traveling the world, I discovered that, in the mercados, bazaars and souks of the world, I am actually an adept. Knowing those few words of local speak also helps. "La shukran" seems to work much better than "No, thank you," or, at least it is my impression that saying it reduces the distance I am followed by a bargain that I am not interested in.