Shopping and Shenanigans

Loggia del Mercato Nuovo

Passing fabulous leather stalls on the way to find a cute restaurant, I’m embarrassed to admit, I stalled a lot, touching and trying on purses,  leather jackets and fur lined gloves.  All perfect accessories for life in the desert.  What was I thinking?

Before I left the States, friends gave me a business card of a leather store in the San Lorenzo neighborhood. Being geographically challenged, I was surprised to locate the building and hoped to celebrate my achievement with a leather present.

The owner had convinced my friends to buy one of his leather jackets.  My friend repeated his sales pitch to me with a quasi-authentic Italian accent, “Do you know how you can spot the difference between real leather and vinyl?”

My friend was clueless, like me.

“Real leather doesn’t burn.  Watch.  I’ll show you.”  Immediately he took out a lighter and tried to ignite the piece of leather. 

That was it!  They were sold and he made a sale.

When I walked into the store, the handsome, smarmy owner behaved like he was the man.  He was full of jokes and stories and chattered away.  Because he was married to an American woman, his English and slang expressions were fabulous and charming.  And truly, he could have convinced me to buy the Brooklyn Bridge if the exchange rate hadn’t been so harsh.   He was a smooth talker and had a line that could cross the continent ten times.

 I mentioned that my friends suggested I visit his store.  He looked at me with a suspicious eye.

Continuing, I said, “They were impressed when you tried to burn your inventory.”

“Ah!  Yes, yes!  What were their names?”

I told him.  “Oh, sure I remember.  They had two daughters.”

“Actually a son and a daughter.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.  Oh, they were so nice.  Come, I show you the same.” 

And with that, he took matches out of his pant pocket and put the flames all over a leather jacket.

“Impressive, no?”

Now it was down to business:  “Look at this coat.  We just got it in.”  He took a long pole and removed it from a hook in the ceiling.

It looked like it had seen better days.  “No, I don’t want a beige coat. It will show too much dirt.”

Not taking no for an answer, he kept taking down jackets that weren’t  my size, and putting them on me. 

The sleeve length was three inches above my wrist and the shoulders were hanging below mine. 

“Well, it doesn’t really fit,” I said gently, trying to be polite.

“It fits fine,” he said adjusting the shoulders, pulling in the waist.

“Hmmm, no I don’t think so.”

“Okay, How about this one?  It’s the most beautiful jacket here.  Feel.  It’s lambskin.”

It felt dry and looked like a bathrobe on me. But, he was trying so hard.  He made me feel like I had to buy something.  Anything. 

“Well, you like?”

Not wanting to hurt his feelings or show that I didn’t appreciate the fire demonstration, I told him the exchange rate made all the jackets a little unaffordable.  It seemed like a reasonable excuse.

Immediately, he disagreed.  “It’s not expensive.  What was your rate?”

“1.55”

“It’s not 1.55.  Where did you exchange the money?” 

“New York.”

“Where?”

“Chase.”

“Oh, well, that was your first mistake.”  He mentioned another bank and told me the exchange rate was only 1.20, so I really could afford to take home two or three jackets.

“That would be true, if I hadn’t already exchanged my money.  But since I did…1.55 is the rate I got which makes the beautiful jacket one and a half times the cost.”

He looked at me with sad, warm brown eyes.  All I could think of at that moment was that he should convert to Judaism.  The guilt that emanated from his soulful eyes stabbed me in the heart. There was no easy way to way to turn him down.

After thanking him for his time~several times~I told him I was hungry and would think about it over lunch.  I made a quick get-away, raced down the street and found the most unusual restaurant.