of their merchandise, proclaiming the most competitive prices in the entire market. I knew they were novice merchants, perhaps recent refugees of the Afghan war. No seasoned merchant would be ensconced in a rickety shop, indiscriminately broadcasting to all sundry and important alike. No veteran rug merchant would partake in the famous flea market with such a paltry selection of rugs. Those who didnt possess much inventory would borrow it from their fellow merchants. Even the most inexperienced vendors would not reveal their prices, until the buyers were inexorably caught in their vice-like grip.In a virtual dreamscape, I was eyeing the object of my desire, the solitary jewel among the usual and mundane selection of oriental rugs, a truly unique piece of handcraft that would be ideal for my living room. I had recently redecorated my New York apartment with beige sofas and damask green curtains, and this rug would match it perfectly. So overwhelmingly drawn to my new infatuation, but unaffected by the elementary charms of the vendor, I stepped into the Istanbul Rug Emporium.I had devised a strategy and conjured a plan right from the beginning. I was going to leave nothing to chance to possess the object of my fancy, at a price far lower than what I had intended to spend on it. I enquired about the properties of an adjacent rug, a ghastly cotton carpet with an ornate design. Once again, the vender expounded the authenticity of the design, the quality of craftsmanship and the price. A mere thousand dollars, he said. I told them I wasnt interested, that my budget was significantly below that, but since I had already entered the shop, I could be persuaded in favor of a cheaper substitute such as the awkwardly shaped, unevenly dyed, nine-by-nine feet, wool rug (that I had desired all along).They protested vehemently: memsahib , this is not an awkward design. In fact we never have enough of this style in stock. American buyers love it....
