Personal Narrative- Bartering in Italy

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Personal Narrative- Bartering in Italy

People everywhere are yelling in a distinct accent that I have come to recognize in my week here in Italy. As I walk down one of Florence’s many markets with my father, men and women alike are shouting out descriptive adjectives for their products in butchered English. They were just a part of the medley of noises around me. Tourists are laughing and clicking away at their cameras; drivers are slamming doors to their vans after dropping off the merchandise to the vendors. There is an energy in the air. Carts are inches away from each other, packed in one after another as far as my eighth grade eye can see. Looking around I see other American tourists looking annoyed by the enthusiastic salesmen, but I am in my place, shopping. I can’t wait to start buying presents for my family and myself. We had just stopped at a bank that morning and I am eager to spend my new euros. Unbeknownst to me though are the unspoken rules of the market place: bartering.

The excitement is building up inside of me, just like Eudora Welty feels when she reads, as described in a passage from One Writer’s Beginnings. I know exactly what I am looking for; two purses for my mother and sister. Nothing to big, or to small. One is going to be black, one brown. Try as I might to keep my mind on the task at hand, it is difficult to concentrate on just purses when there are fascinating items all around me! Leather jackets, jewelry, bolt upon bolt of the most gorgeous fabrics I have ever seen, and so much more. I can’t help but walk over to the people when they call to me; I am drawn by their eagerness and obvious love for their product. They have to be really great scarves if the man holding them thinks so much of them,...

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...ly settling on fourteen euros, we purchased the purses and walked back into the current of people on the seemingly endless road of Italian goods. “I’m impressed,” I told my dad. “Sorry I almost ruined it.” My father laughs with his big hearty laugh and smiles at me; his smile is so big you can even see it past his beard. “It was your first time in the situation. Bartering is something you pick up. You learned your lesson for the day, let’s go get gelatos.”

My father became my teacher and taught me several valuable things on that trip to Italy, one of the most important being negotiating. I got numerous chances before we left to use my newly acquired skill, and did so when ever possible. I learned not only how to achieve in getting what you want, but also the importance of discriminating between the truth and the falsities that are often lurking in sales pitches.

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