I recently went to the Dominican Republic for a week of adventures, including jumping and sliding down waterfalls, horseback riding in the mountains, and one especially unique trip to another hotel where we were suckered into listening to a timeshare offer, including a walk through stunning villas that were equally luxurious and nauseating in their perfection. Once again, travel reminded me how comfortably we live and how privileged we are.
Between adventures, we spent a lot of time on the beach.
Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted.
While on the beach, we were almost constantly accompanied by las camisa azules, vendors we named for their blue shirts, who tried to sell us everything from sunhats and jewelry to hair braiding and massages. Some of them were polite, asking if you wanted [insert good for sale here] and leaving quickly when you refused. However, the majority were pushy and rude and sometimes sexist, insisting a half dozen times or more that you consider buying whatever they were selling. And doing this for several days consecutively.
It was certainly distracting from the sun-induced naps and good parts of my book, but since everyone knows some of the most unpleasant parts of any job can be dealing with unpleasant people, we tried not to be any more assertive than necessary.
We almost never bought anything from any of them until I caved to buy a pair of earrings from Carlos for myself and mom (happy birthday!). We haggled back and forth, as one should to avoid being entirely ripped off, and eventually agreed upon $40 for two pairs of silver/larimar earrings. Similar to other times I have bargained with such vendors, this one seemed to not care about giving me more stuff for marginal increases in the amount of money I would pay for this stuff - okay fine, $50 for three pairs of earrings.
We had a bit of a cash flow issue since we forgot what day it was and the bank would not be open until Monday, but Carlos agreed that he would take the $40 then and $10 later. How trusting!
Upon looking at the earrings again, I decided I really only wanted the two pairs and not the third. Why had I let him talk me into the third pair for $10 more?
I pride myself on my negotiation skills in many venues of my life, but in those venues, the playing field is usually quite fair. In this case, I had been reminded of the extreme socioeconomic disparity during our trips into the city, our conversations with guides who began work at age 14 or taxi drivers who lived in rough parts of Puerto Plata, and also earlier that week at the timeshare villa. I had allowed Carlos to talk me into the third pair of earrings that I did not want at least in part due to sympathy and in part, likely, because I wanted to go back to reading my book and being left alone.
I saw Carlos before I had gone to the bank and told him I had decided I didn't really want the other earrings. To settle up, I offered to give him the third pair of earrings that he had tacked onto our deal, or give him back all of the pairs for my $40. He refused, saying that he wanted the $10 and was happy to wait for me to go to the bank. Now, I was feeling mildly annoyed. I had put a different, and in my mind, fair option on the table to settle the debt; when you buy things at a store you can return them - why not when you buy them from las camisas azules? (There are at least three "duh" reasons running through my mind as to why returning things to beach vendors is not permissible, so no need to leave them in the comments section unless you feel particularly inclined.)
Ultimately, I ended up not paying Carlos. I saw him as we were packed up and heading out, with $10 in my bag and my mind toying with whether or not to pay him. I reached the decision not to pay him, atypical for me, partially from a desire to retaliate against some of the more rude vendors and partially from the knowledge that I had already overpaid for the earrings.
We sadly trudged to the airport, through security, and milled about the duty free, deciding to bring home some Dominican foods, coffee and vanilla. Landing in Miami a short flight later, we spent near two hours getting through some incredibly long lines for customs and then security. Ben's bag was pulled aside for separate inspection, and ultimately we had to either toss the vanilla, which was over 3 oz, or go back to check the bag for an additional charge then wade through the security line a second time. Rookie mistake. We chose to ditch the vanilla and forego another round of security line in favor of dinner and a relaxed wait for our flight to Boston.
Initially it was a bit upsetting, since I had many a baked good planned for that vanilla, but had to smile when Ben pointed out that it was Carlos's revenge: the cost of the vanilla was exactly the amount I had chosen not to pay him.
Karma, you win again. You always win.
