Italian Economics

War is Hell. It always has been. It always will be. But sometimes there’s no way to avoid it, sometimes there is a common enemy too dangerous to be left unchecked. And when smart diplomacy and economic sanctions lose their punch, only military action can avert total anarchy.

The streets of Rome are a battlefield. Here only the strong and the clever survive the hail storm of bullets and warheads, while those caught unguarded don’t return to tell the tale. It’s us verses them. We are the just, the righteous, the virtuous. We represent freedom, democracy, liberty.

They are the street-vendors.

They will cheat, lie, steal without the slightest blush of conscience, anything to make an extra dollar. Nothing is out of the question. They will pawn off junk as designer-brand, weeks-old trash as a gourmet meal. They will force themselves upon you, catch you unawares. They are a force to be reckoned with.

Every street-vendor in Rome peddles the same wares. Exactly the same. That’s the only weapon you have against them so you must take advantage of it to its full capacity. I think I bargained and argued with every vendor in Rome (and one in Pompeii) trying to find the absolute lowest price for a jacket I liked. If my time is valued at $10 an hour did I end up spending more money searching for a lower price than I actually saved? Without a doubt. But nevermind that. It’s the principle that matters. And I flatly refuse to give those conniving vendors a penny more of my hard-earned bread than I have to.

You can never trust a street-vendor. After having seen the jacket all over town in blue, white, and black, I approach a vender and ask for the black version.

“They don’t make that in black, only blue and white. This one they make black.” He references a cheap hoodie.

Likely story.

I move on to the next street-vendor.

Here I find the black jacket that they apparently “don’t make” on display. I feel the fabric between my fingers and start taking it off the hanger to get a better look.

“This is Medium, right size for you.” He snatches it from my hands and holds it across my shoulders. “Yes, just right.”

“I’d just like to try it on.” He may be in a rush to sell, but I’m in no rush to buy.

“See that, fits perfect, that looks great, friend.”

Now he’s trying to rope me into thinking I’m his friend! He’s a sly one, but I know better than to trust him. “I’d just like to see what other colors you have before I decide…”

My indecision will not be tolerated. “For you, friend, black is perfect, black looks good.”

Actually I had been planning on getting black anyways so I don’t argue. “OK, how much does it cost?”

Here comes the bombshell: “25 Euro.” For those of you unfamiliar with exchange rates, 25 Euro is approximately 35.70 US dollars. A ridiculous price for this jacket.

“You know, I’ve seen other people selling them for 15.” Not exactly true, I'd bargained other vendors down to 15, but might as well be true because I knew that I could get one for that price.

“No, 15 you get print,” he references a cheap sweatshirt, “this is embroider. 25 Euro. But for you, 22.”

“No really, I’ve seen people selling for 15”

“I sell you for 22. 15 you get print. This embroider. Tell you what I do, for you, friend, I do 20 Euro.”

“It’s fine, really, I can go buy it somewhere else.”

“20 Euro good price. 15 you get print, 20, embroider. 18, I do 18 Euro, friend, special offer.”

He knows as well as I that every other street-vendor in Rome has the exact same jacket. “I’ve seen 15, really, it’s fine, I’ll go buy it somewhere else.”

Finally I manage to extricate myself from his barrage of counter offers and turn to leave.

“15.” He refuses to look me in the eye, clearly defeated.

His street-vendor friend chuckles, “He bargain you hard! Hey, you need anything, you buy from us, eh?” He offers me a box with the image of the Virgin Mary. “3 Euro, eh?”

“No thanks, it’s fine.” I pay and turn to leave as I count my change.

But his appetite to sell would not be quenched so easily. “You want tee shirt? 5 Euro, great deal!”

“No really, I just wanted the jacket—“

“4 Euro, I do 4 Euro!”

I don’t buy the tee shirt.

Good triumphs over evil.