Can you do a little better?

I never saw them come in. But there they were, amidst a group of friends engaged in conversation with Jan around the jewelry case. I had been in the office, writing receipts for customers who were doing their best to clean us out of the fresh antiques gleaned from English dealers and shops on our Fall buying trip. We were both busily answering questions in an attempt to keep up with the myriad of inquiries posed by customers who had come in response to our announcement of a gala opening.

When I first noticed them, they were discussing a set of early wine glasses. I glanced in their direction, and our eyes met. He picked up one of the glasses, gave it a discerning inspection, and asked, "How much would these glasses cost -- to a dealer?"

I looked at the price tag on the glasses and, reducing the ticket price by a little over ten percent, responded, "They're marked $295; that would be $265 to a dealer."

"I was thinking of $200."

After considering several possible responses, I opted for civility. "Sorry," I smiled, "but $265 is our best."

There ensued a brief standoff, after which the glass was returned to its shelf. They conferred briefly, then thanked us and went out the door. Still wondering who they were and how they had happened into our shop on one of the two busiest weekends of our year, I watched as they backed out of the driveway and headed south.

An hour later, though the frenzy in our showroom made it feel like a much shorter time, the couple returned, made brief a circuit of the shop, again picked up one of the glasses, considered it, and returned it to its place. Resuming their perusal of the shop, their attention was drawn to two pair of candlesticks. When it appeared that they were starting to focus on the better of the two pair, I volunteered the trade price, $200. Attempting to show them "in use", I fetched a box of hand-dipped taper candles, removed two from it, and placed them in the candlesticks. Though I said nothing, It was my intention to give them the boxful if they decided to buy the candlesticks.

The events described above stretched over nearly two hours. What happened next consumed less than a minute or two.

Deciding that my recommendation had merit, the husband approached me, candlesticks in hand, and said, "We're trying to buy something here. Will you take $190?"

My tongue is still sore from the bite it received at this moment. After a brief pause, I accepted the offer, wrote their receipt, accepted payment, and wrapped the candlesticks.  I imagine they felt they had just negotiated a pretty good deal, because, as they left the shop, they asked to be added to our mailing list for this newsletter.

Which is why I like to imagine that they, along with you, may be reading this account, and why I would like to provide this small postscript.

The box of 12 candles which would have been included with their purchase still sits here on a shelf. To enjoy fully the rewards of ownership of their new pair of period candlesticks, they will require candles. I assume that this will necessitate a drive to another shop -- one in which the price will probably not be negotiable.

Curious, I undertook a brief web search and found that an equivalent box at the big candle factory near us costs $19.50. I hope that they will be able to do "a little better".

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