Why haggling in op shops should be banned

Working in the op shop recently, I was reminded of the famous haggling scene in Monty Python’s Life of Brian. Brian buys a false beard for 20 shekels (it’s a long story) but the merchant, played by Eric Idle, insists he follow haggling protocol. When Brian halves his offer, Eric’s appeased: “That’s more like it. Ten?! Are you trying to insult me?! Me, with a poor dying grandmother?! Ten?!”

Like the Idle character, I love a good haggle – as long as both parties are up for it and know the rules. It’s one of the rare times in life when we’re actively engaged in a bit of improv theatre. It can be fun and satisfying. But there are conditions. You’ve got to know where to haggle and how to do it – nicely. Op shops should be haggle-free zones (with rare exceptions).

Incredibly, many people insist on negotiating in op shops. Incredible not just because there are signs asking them not to, and that prices, at least in our shop, are already very low – Pierre Cardin dresses for 15 bucks and all that. But amazing because hagglers know this isn’t the Grand Bazaar of Turkey. It’s a charity store and wouldn’t that make you want to act warm and fuzzy, just a little bit?

Beauty blogger Anna Denson from Glam concurs: “Unless you’re incredibly bold, you probably wouldn’t haggle at a big-name merchandiser. So why are you holding thrift stores to a different standard? Imagine demanding the cashier at H&M give you 10 per cent off a jacket just because, or begging for discounts at Target because you aren’t sure if an item will fit your needs. Cringy, right?”

Right. And this was drummed home the other day when we had our very own cringy haggle event. A customer asked to see a tray of watches from the display. She picked them up one by one, studied them at length and plopped them back face down higgledy-piggledy on the tray (rude, right?). They’ve been tested by a jeweller volunteer, given new batteries, and priced at $9.

The customer fancied the watch with the blue face. Then started “the process”. “Why does this say 10.30 when the rest say 11 o’clock?” We had no idea. She took a snap of the back of the watch and Googled it. “It’s a knock-off!” she shouted. “I’ll pay $5 max.”

Charity often begins – and ends – at home. Credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto

What should the volunteer do? Point to the sign on the wall that asks customers not to bargain? Tell her the price is $9 and “we shall not be moved”? Advise that the watch was, in fact, donated by Princess Di and the price should really be $95? Inform her that a lower price might have been accepted had she not been such a pain?

The correct answer is all of the above. But still she howled. She wanted to see the manager. The manager looked concerned, flustered, sympathetic – and accepted her offer. But next time she must pay full price.

I know things are tight out there and that a leg of lamb is now the price of a one-bedroom flat, but here are three adults arguing over $4, the price of a babyccino!

Clearly, this isn’t about cost. It’s about principle – and that’s why we’re all feeling like grumpy koalas. The customer wanted to get that feel-good feel that she’s succeeded in being a blue-faced watch wearer for next to nothing. The volunteer wanted to give the blue-faced watch wearer a lesson in manners.

I’m beginning to think that op shops are seen by some as glorified garage sales where it’s dog-eat-dog and everyone happily goes in for the kill. Our last garage sale, where we advertised some sad old chandeliers (complete with missing prisms), was bloodier than King Charles’ hunt in autumn.

But hagglers of the world unite. And they’re always armed with a favourite strategy. We volunteers have to be on our toes. For example, a customer complains that the cushion they want to buy is very old (then please don’t buy it), there’s a hole in this cardigan (let me get out the magnifying glass), will this mark come out in the wash? (I would say, um, yes definitely), the zip on this jacket is stiff (try Castrol chainsaw oil) …

Perhaps the most bizarre bargaining tool is when customers let us know that they regularly donate to the shop: “I’ve donated all my wire coat hangers to this establishment”. As a volunteer, you must not melt under the harsh glare of entitlement. “That’s kind,” you must say, adding: “Yes, people around here are very generous”. (Don’t budge an inch.)

And this is the happy truth. The generosity of the local community hugely compensates for any mean spirits we bump up against. It’s what keeps our op shops alive – not just in top-shelf donations but in exquisite gestures. Like the guy who appears at the door every month with a $20 donation, the customer who waves away their change, the woman who leaves cinnamon teacake and a thank-you note for the volunteers.

A final tip – next time you’re in an op shop and you’re lucky enough to discover a forgotten Picasso or a Ming vase, for heaven’s sake, pay the marked price and run for the hills. You can’t haggle with that.

Jo Stubbings is a freelance writer.