Feb 18, 2008

Do I Look Like William Shatner?

Because this is an art gallery, not some Priceline Pawn Shop, Pal.

Well, that's almost what I said.

A young Joisey man and his father came into the art gallery last Friday, my FIRST DAY, and started with the "negotiating" of our set prices. The guy warned me about his old man, and how I wouldn't want to deal with him. Yeah, yeah. Oh, the posing, the pushing, the pleasant insults! To the point where they insisted I call my boss because a measly 10% off wouldn't do it. She laughed at their "proposal" (yea, boss!) calling it an insult. I told them, they shook my hand and walked away. "I can't believe you'd send a customer away."

A few minutes later the younger one returned to say, "I'll see you Monday, see what you can do." Yeah, right. They are pawn shop dealers from Jersey down here for the 500 race, and were woiking hard to live up to the reputation of being tough guys.

Well, buh-bye. Say "Hi" to Hairboy when you get back home.

So, the son comes back in today at 5:00 p.m., my SECOND DAY at my new job, with the gallery full of folks. Heh. He's MINE now! But now, his posse of friends is with him, and so they begin. It was pretty bad, all the things they accused me of, of ploys and lies, which merely told me how they operate in their own business. Damn if I didn't hold his stare and dare him to call me a liar outright. Which I'm sure in his own warped world only convinced him of my duplicity.

He asked his friends about the art, they ragged on the price, didn't think it was worth that, blah, blah, give me a farookin' break but they were so over-the-top obvious in their game.

He started in, I'd had enough and I let him have it:

He: Joan, c'mon, how can you turn me away?
Me: This is not a national franchise of Thomas Kincaid galleries, this is a stand-alone gallery and the prices are very reasonable. You may not like the price, but if you don't buy it here, you can't own it, or hang it on your wall, or enjoy seeing your guests' reactions to this lovely work. It's here, it's now, at this price, and if you don't buy it, you can never have it.
Game. Set. Match. He gave me his credit card, and then proceeded to change the deal as I was ringing it up. That's when he really got the abuse he was craving. He backed down, I rang it up, and then he turned to his gang and said, "Man, you guys thought my old man was tough!"

Not a bad badge of honor for a sweet Southern Belle to wear. Heh.

Messing with Joisey punks from South Amboy could have only been more fun if Erica were with me. In fact, I handled the situation by trying to imagine, WWED?

Update: okay, now I know what Erica would do! Check the comments. Heh.

10 comments:

Erica said...

You should have done what I always do in the direction of New Jersey and its seriously need to get bent inhabitants: turn around, drop trow, and fart due west.

I wish I was with you too. Oh, the fun we’d-a had.

And since when, by the way, do guys from Jersey like art? Oh, such judicious intellectuals! They probably all have portraits of nekkid boobies and sculptures of the Venus of Willendorf hanging up over their dooshbag lacquered minibars at home.

Like Phil Hartman/Frank Sinatra (who put the Hobo in Hoboken) said, "I have CHUNKS of guys like you in my STOOL!"

(Oh, hi Hairboy! What brings you this way?)

Jim - PRS said...

Sounds like the guy was a graduate of the Lodi Charm School (or he was a Brooklyn dooshbag posing as a Jersey guy, or a immigrant from Brooklyn -- we have lots of them).

LeeAnn said...

I would dearly love to see Erica in a cage match with the son... Not that it would have been fair, of course, with her having the advantage of being... well, being her.
But good on you, Ms Joan, for teaching them how it's done in the real world.
:)

Erica said...

A cage match...this gives me a GREAT idear for a skeery Photoshop, which I shall try to remember to do when I get home this evening.

Anonymous said...

No amboy duke knows a thing about art. Unless you're selling velvet Elvis and velour Frank. ;~)

Irrelephant said...

Oh ma gawd. Honey chile sistah woman, I'm proud of you, proud as peaches in summertime that you faced down that Yahnkee.

*handing you a mint julep*

Too much? *blink blink*

Teresa said...

Holy cow! I bow in your general direction - that was GREAT work! Oh to be a fly on the wall to see the full frontal smack down.

I love the WWED - exactly the way to think when dealing with recalcitrant Joisy boys. *grin*

Rosie said...

People have got nerve, I tell you. The WWED is a good thing. I had two complete strangers try to invite themselves to stay at my home for a few days--this weekend--by email today. Said they found me through my blog, yet they had never commented or anything. The nerve.

Thanks for stopping by, Joan--glad you liked the story.

Joan of Argghh! said...

Dear merciful heavens, Rosie! Your readers must not know that you're armed and dangerous, huh? Honey, your writing is some of the best in the blogosphere. It's my privilege to drop by there.

-Joan

Jean said...

This victory is no surprise... no surprise at all. Wonder if daddy slapped junior when he got home (cuse I'm sure junior is still living with daddy)...kudos!