Rational Consumerism, Ethics, and Umbrellas
An essay!
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Rational Consumerism, Ethics, and Umbrellas
It’s raining outside, and I’m on the subway. It’ll take about 4 minutes for me to get to my office from the time I leave the subway station, and I forgot to wear my crappy rain shoes, which are apparently something everyone in the working world has. Regardless, this is New York, and it rains in New York, and I don’t own an umbrella. Problem.
Solution: there’s a phenomenon in New York (likely in other cities as well, but New York is the only city on the planet, everyone knows that): when it rains, people pop up from nowhere with umbrella stands. One minute after the first drop hits, there’s a salesperson on every corner. My block is no different, except for that on my block, there are actually two stands, right next to one another. A Chinese woman mans (womans?) the first, an African American man the other. On first glance, it’s pretty clear: these two are not friends.
The last time it rained, I had had just $2 cash on me. The asking price for an umbrella usually begins at $5. That said, this is New York, so, if you’ve got any wits about you, you know that forking over an Abe for an umbrella that will surely invert itself and become useless after three uses is out of the question. I thought my $2 would be a little bit low, and, sure enough, when I countered their shouts of “Five! Five!” with a “Two?,” I was turned down. To be honest, I was a little surprised – I thought one of them would bite. But, no luck, not this time at least. I pocketed my $2 and started an umbrella fund for the next rainy day.
So, at this point, I’ve got some knowledge on the market. I know that there are two players in the 15th St-and-4th Ave-market, sure to be there each time it rains. I know that the asking price is $5, and I know that two bucks doesn’t cut it.
This brings us to last week: I wake up, it’s raining, and I know that today’s the day. Now, as I mentioned, these umbrellas are far from durable, so I’m ready to have some fun with this, knowing that I’m buying a shit product.
I get out of the subway and head over to meet my makers. From across the street, I can see that both of them are there, just like last time. I grab four singles from my wallet and approach. They can sniff a sale from a mile away, and they see my gait, they see that crazy, umbrella-starved look in my eye, and prepare for the kill. Make no mistake: these are competitors. This really does not seem to be an inside job – I’m under no illusion that they might actually be working hand in hand. They are pitted against one another, simple as that.
The Chinese lady sees me first. She knows what I want, and initiates. “Five! Five!” I ease in. This is pretty simple stuff: I’m not paying five. Her competitor plays it cool, lurking in the background. I look at her for long enough to let her know that I’m interested, but slowly raise my singles, displaying four of them, and propose my counter offer in as many words. She hesitates, if only for a split second, and my eyes wander to the man. He says nothing, but releases a wry smile and a slight nod. Four it is. She watches this, and immediately backtracks: “Four, OK! OK!” But my arm has already begun to reach toward the man. My agreement is with him, but the cash is floating between the two. They both reach for it, but he snatches it first, passes me the umbrella, and that’s that. She’s not happy, and she lets me know as much, but I walk away. My business is completed in a matter of 45 seconds.
Except, is it really that simple? My conscience, which wanders for the next few days, chewing on the event, tells me that there may have been quite a bit behind what went down on that corner. There are multiple angles to this transaction.
Consider, first, my perspective. I came to the market as a rational, thrifty, and shrewd consumer. I knew the market price, but also knew the market conditions, and knew that by pitting one against the other, I could get what I wanted at the price I was willing to pay. I made my offer, one merchant accepted quickly, and I completed the deal. Done.
Now, consider the deal from the perspective of the man, the eventual seller. He was a wise salesperson, knowing that there was a chance that I would be the type of consumer who would make a counter offer. He was ready for my counter, had my desired umbrella in his hand, and didn’t flinch at my lowball offer. His margin may have been smaller than he wanted, but profit is profit, and he walks away a winner, too.
The key perspective, though, the one that gives me trouble, is that of the woman, who made the original offer of $5. She sniffed out the sale first, approached me with the right product (albeit at the wrong price), and was ready to listen to a counter. She may have been slow to accept the counter, but $4 was actually OK with her, at the end of the day. Like her counterpart, she’d rather a lower margin than no margin.
The more I think about it, the less comfortable I am accepting the scenario as it is told from my perspective. True: I wanted something, and I paid the seller who offered the product for my desired price. No denying that. But here’s my problem. When I bought the umbrella from the man, hadn’t I already entered negotiations (however informally) with the woman?
On one hand: Would it have been the right thing to do to ignore the man altogether, and deal exclusively with the woman whom I had originally encountered? Did I owe it to her to make my counter offer to her, and her alone, to see if she would meet me at my desired price? She probably would have accepted my $4 offer, even without the pressure of her competitor’s acceptance. In a sense, the sale should have been hers: she was first to identify me as a consumer and it was she who introduced me to the market. Maybe it’s her right to take the sale from start to finish: to listen to the consumer, and make a rational decision based on her understanding of her own margins and price floors on whether or not to accept any offer that might come her way.
On the other hand, time is money, and I have no loyalty to any umbrella salesperson. I simply did not care to enter an exclusive negotiation with one of the two players, not when another was right there, waiting in the wings, ready to accept a lower price at a second’s notice. In a vacuum, sure, I may have been more willing to take the time to actually negotiate with the woman, to understand her: where does her supply come from? How much can she actually afford to sell an umbrella for? Is she happy to accept a $4 offer, or, after careful consideration, would she decide that I am really just not the right consumer for her, and is she willing to forego my sale, instead choosing to wait for the next buyer to come along and accept her original $5 offer without asking any questions?
But this is not a vacuum. For the consumer, at least for the one that is reluctant to pay $5, a scenario like this is precisely why there are two salespeople, not one. That’s the way of capitalism, isn’t it? Two players competing for business. Advantage: consumer. With just one salesperson, there may not have been room for negotiation: if the price was $5 and I offered $4, I might well have been told to take a rainy hike.
I think, in the end, I have no reason to feel guilty. At least that’s true given the way our markets work. I’d be a fool to pay anything other than the lowest price possible. That’s where one branch of my consideration ends. But! Really, I’m not wondering whether or not I was right to offer a lower price. Actually, what I’m wondering is whether or not I should have felt some sort of loyalty to the original salesperson. In hindsight, I know that she would have taken my $4, just as the man eventually did, had only I given her the chance. Is it my responsibility, not as a rational consumer or a capitalist player, but just as a human being in a simple negotiation, to stay faithful to one supplier, to reward her for her understanding my needs at a moment’s notice?
There is so, so much in this world.
_____________________
Rational Consumerism, Ethics, and Umbrellas
It’s raining outside, and I’m on the subway. It’ll take about 4 minutes for me to get to my office from the time I leave the subway station, and I forgot to wear my crappy rain shoes, which are apparently something everyone in the working world has. Regardless, this is New York, and it rains in New York, and I don’t own an umbrella. Problem.
Solution: there’s a phenomenon in New York (likely in other cities as well, but New York is the only city on the planet, everyone knows that): when it rains, people pop up from nowhere with umbrella stands. One minute after the first drop hits, there’s a salesperson on every corner. My block is no different, except for that on my block, there are actually two stands, right next to one another. A Chinese woman mans (womans?) the first, an African American man the other. On first glance, it’s pretty clear: these two are not friends.
The last time it rained, I had had just $2 cash on me. The asking price for an umbrella usually begins at $5. That said, this is New York, so, if you’ve got any wits about you, you know that forking over an Abe for an umbrella that will surely invert itself and become useless after three uses is out of the question. I thought my $2 would be a little bit low, and, sure enough, when I countered their shouts of “Five! Five!” with a “Two?,” I was turned down. To be honest, I was a little surprised – I thought one of them would bite. But, no luck, not this time at least. I pocketed my $2 and started an umbrella fund for the next rainy day.
So, at this point, I’ve got some knowledge on the market. I know that there are two players in the 15th St-and-4th Ave-market, sure to be there each time it rains. I know that the asking price is $5, and I know that two bucks doesn’t cut it.
This brings us to last week: I wake up, it’s raining, and I know that today’s the day. Now, as I mentioned, these umbrellas are far from durable, so I’m ready to have some fun with this, knowing that I’m buying a shit product.
I get out of the subway and head over to meet my makers. From across the street, I can see that both of them are there, just like last time. I grab four singles from my wallet and approach. They can sniff a sale from a mile away, and they see my gait, they see that crazy, umbrella-starved look in my eye, and prepare for the kill. Make no mistake: these are competitors. This really does not seem to be an inside job – I’m under no illusion that they might actually be working hand in hand. They are pitted against one another, simple as that.
The Chinese lady sees me first. She knows what I want, and initiates. “Five! Five!” I ease in. This is pretty simple stuff: I’m not paying five. Her competitor plays it cool, lurking in the background. I look at her for long enough to let her know that I’m interested, but slowly raise my singles, displaying four of them, and propose my counter offer in as many words. She hesitates, if only for a split second, and my eyes wander to the man. He says nothing, but releases a wry smile and a slight nod. Four it is. She watches this, and immediately backtracks: “Four, OK! OK!” But my arm has already begun to reach toward the man. My agreement is with him, but the cash is floating between the two. They both reach for it, but he snatches it first, passes me the umbrella, and that’s that. She’s not happy, and she lets me know as much, but I walk away. My business is completed in a matter of 45 seconds.
Except, is it really that simple? My conscience, which wanders for the next few days, chewing on the event, tells me that there may have been quite a bit behind what went down on that corner. There are multiple angles to this transaction.
Consider, first, my perspective. I came to the market as a rational, thrifty, and shrewd consumer. I knew the market price, but also knew the market conditions, and knew that by pitting one against the other, I could get what I wanted at the price I was willing to pay. I made my offer, one merchant accepted quickly, and I completed the deal. Done.
Now, consider the deal from the perspective of the man, the eventual seller. He was a wise salesperson, knowing that there was a chance that I would be the type of consumer who would make a counter offer. He was ready for my counter, had my desired umbrella in his hand, and didn’t flinch at my lowball offer. His margin may have been smaller than he wanted, but profit is profit, and he walks away a winner, too.
The key perspective, though, the one that gives me trouble, is that of the woman, who made the original offer of $5. She sniffed out the sale first, approached me with the right product (albeit at the wrong price), and was ready to listen to a counter. She may have been slow to accept the counter, but $4 was actually OK with her, at the end of the day. Like her counterpart, she’d rather a lower margin than no margin.
The more I think about it, the less comfortable I am accepting the scenario as it is told from my perspective. True: I wanted something, and I paid the seller who offered the product for my desired price. No denying that. But here’s my problem. When I bought the umbrella from the man, hadn’t I already entered negotiations (however informally) with the woman?
On one hand: Would it have been the right thing to do to ignore the man altogether, and deal exclusively with the woman whom I had originally encountered? Did I owe it to her to make my counter offer to her, and her alone, to see if she would meet me at my desired price? She probably would have accepted my $4 offer, even without the pressure of her competitor’s acceptance. In a sense, the sale should have been hers: she was first to identify me as a consumer and it was she who introduced me to the market. Maybe it’s her right to take the sale from start to finish: to listen to the consumer, and make a rational decision based on her understanding of her own margins and price floors on whether or not to accept any offer that might come her way.
On the other hand, time is money, and I have no loyalty to any umbrella salesperson. I simply did not care to enter an exclusive negotiation with one of the two players, not when another was right there, waiting in the wings, ready to accept a lower price at a second’s notice. In a vacuum, sure, I may have been more willing to take the time to actually negotiate with the woman, to understand her: where does her supply come from? How much can she actually afford to sell an umbrella for? Is she happy to accept a $4 offer, or, after careful consideration, would she decide that I am really just not the right consumer for her, and is she willing to forego my sale, instead choosing to wait for the next buyer to come along and accept her original $5 offer without asking any questions?
But this is not a vacuum. For the consumer, at least for the one that is reluctant to pay $5, a scenario like this is precisely why there are two salespeople, not one. That’s the way of capitalism, isn’t it? Two players competing for business. Advantage: consumer. With just one salesperson, there may not have been room for negotiation: if the price was $5 and I offered $4, I might well have been told to take a rainy hike.
I think, in the end, I have no reason to feel guilty. At least that’s true given the way our markets work. I’d be a fool to pay anything other than the lowest price possible. That’s where one branch of my consideration ends. But! Really, I’m not wondering whether or not I was right to offer a lower price. Actually, what I’m wondering is whether or not I should have felt some sort of loyalty to the original salesperson. In hindsight, I know that she would have taken my $4, just as the man eventually did, had only I given her the chance. Is it my responsibility, not as a rational consumer or a capitalist player, but just as a human being in a simple negotiation, to stay faithful to one supplier, to reward her for her understanding my needs at a moment’s notice?
There is so, so much in this world.