There’s a carnival of groceries at the heart of the town, lively, a bit chaotic, and full of fruit stands. Each one offers a variety of fruits that seem similar but are unique in their quality and price.
I was looking for a specific local bananaš, known for being budget-friendly yet deliciously sweet when ripe. I wandered from stall to stall, asking for it, but had no luck. The vendors kept steering me towards a different type of banana, claiming it was better ā but it just wasn’t what I wanted.
Finally, tucked away in a corner, I spotted my prize. A bunch of the perfect bananas hung there, looking fresh and inviting. The price wasn’t listed, so I asked the owner. He paused, giving me a quick once-over, and then quoted Ā„3 per 500g ā a steep jump from the usual Ā„1.
I could tell he was sizing me up, guessing how much I’d be willing to pay based on my untimely outfit featuring a fancy coat and set of headphones, which does not fit at all into the market vibe then. He thought he could get away with tripling the price.
But I wasn’t going to fall for that. In a loud voice, just enough for others to hear, I exclaimed, “That’s way too expensive! The stand over there is selling them for Ā„1…”
And then, the owner threw the ball back in my court, saying,
“You name the price. What do you think is fair?”
This caught me off guard. I wanted to pay as little as possible, but I also didn’t want to seem cheap. The bargain played out in those fleeting moments was actually pretty intense. To name a price that honored both my savvy and my self-respect, in such short moment I got stuck - and offered Ā„2.5 and ended up buying the bananasš.
My bid was for sure sub-optimal, worse, far from no-regret. The bananas have been hovering around my mind all day - I should have done better, the owner’s real bottom line was probably closer to Ā„1.6 š¤Æ