Cheap Cheap

One of the great joys while shopping in Thailand is the bargaining – there is a definite art to it. One must find the equilibrium between getting the best deal on an item and becoming frustrated and looking like an asshole.
In this context, an asshole is either a jerk using noobie bargaining tactics, or more commonly, someone who is expending copious amounts of time and effort for a negligible monetary return, i.e., battling it out with an old lady over a dollar difference on a twenty dollar purchase. Is a dollar difference worth sealing a deal but leaving one party with a sour taste in their mouth? Some people would answer with an unequivocal, “yes!” You are the people I do not want to go shopping with, because in the larger scope of things, that dollar means shit to you or me. Sure, it can buy you a whole meal or two there. I say, so fucking what. Who needs the meal more? Sure, sealing a sweet deal feels great – everybody likes to be a winner – but if you feel like an asshole for squeezing a street vendor for a few pennies, you most probably are.
The flip side of being an asshole is being a sucker. If you don’t bargain at all, you are a sucker, and you are seriously missing out on some fun. Looking back, I now recognize that I used to take bargaining too seriously until I learned to enjoy it. Thai people are for the most part really fucking laid back and cool. Deal with vendors who return your smile, and everything will work out fine – don’t forget a lot of vendors are assholes, too, and want nothing but (A) your money and (B) for you to get your unintelligible ass out of their sight, ASAP.
Like I said – it’s all about finding that equilibrium.
This is not a sophisticated game like buying high-quality knockoffs in Korea; no layer cakes here. This is a simple exercise in basic bargaining:
“How much for this?”
“Can you give me a good price?”
“How about ____?”
” No? What if I buy two/a dozen/____?”
“Is that the best you can do?”
“C’mon, meet me halfway!”
“Thank you!”
And that is the template for a basic bargaining approach. You will learn many others in your travels, grasshopper. But you will always return to the basics.

High Heel Theory

At the end of last year, Nam interpreted in Bangkok for a famous Yoshimoto comedienne, High Heel Momoko. They ended up hitting it off, and Momoko invited us to dinner this past weekend. This is how I, the guy who basically holds Japanese TV responsible for the heinous dumbing-down of the past few generations, found himself in a room full of famous people and their agents on Saturday night. It was thoroughly enjoyable.
Momoko and her entourage are a close-knit group and at first there was of course a lot of industry talk going on, which was interesting in the sense that people who work in television are always viewing the world around them through a virtual camera lens. “Wouldn’t this make an excellent filming location,” and, “isn’t so-and-so getting their own series this year.” That kinda stuff. Later, though, we chatted with Momoko and I did the inevitable by asking why she originally took on the High Heel moniker.
The main reason was very simple, that girls like high heels and she wanted to appeal heavily to females in the audience during her standup routines. She then went on to explain that you need two shoes to have a complete pair and manzai is also like this because there are two parts to the act (the tukkomi and the boke). Also, comedians often employ contradictions (two contrating points) to make people laugh. Her point was later illustrated when Kuro-chan, from a comedy troupe called Yasuda Dai Circus walked through the door. He’s a big fellow who looks like a mean skinhead until he opens his mouth and his tickle-me-Elmo voice bursts forth – “Kuro-chan deeeeesu!” That guy had me laughing all night, because I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that that was his real voice – of course everyone asked him if it was, but you can never tell what people will do to make it in television, right? I wanted to hold him down and tickle him to see if his voice would shift to a baritone, that’s how ridiculously high his voice is.
All in all, it was a fun dinner.