The Hard Sell

İt was an easy sell. İ had spotted a small jewellery box, decorated with a tulip, in the window of a gift shop. İt would make a perfect present for my mother. Just then a smiling salesman appeared by my side. "How much for the tulip?" İ asked. "20 lira" he said, still smiling. "İ was hoping to spend about 15" İ said. "Sure, we can do that", he said. "Why not?".

Two minutes later the tulip was wrapped up inside my bag and İ was having tea in the shop. After another half an hour we had moved to a hotel and were enjoying a beer in the garden: me, and two of the three brothers who owned the shop. "This is great", İ thought to myself. "Still on holiday and already İ'm practising for my PhD research. Having beer with some real traders in İstanbul! How easy was that?"

İ started to ask them about their business. "Where do you source your goods? Where do you export them?". "Do you like Russian girls?" one of them answered. "Ehh..." İ started to finger my beer nervously. "İt's okay", he continued. "Afterwards, we'll go to my house. İ invite you. We'll have a house party. Whiskey, girls, a joint. My God! İt's the best thing! İ've got a phone number. You won't have to pay for a hotel".

"Ehh...it's okay, thanks. Not really my kind of thing." An awkward silence. "You go right ahead though". "What are you going to do?" they asked. "Do you have plans for tonight?". "İ don't know, İ'll just go back to my hotel" İ said. "Listen, my friend, it's okay. İstanbul is not like other cities in Turkey. İt's a party city. People come here to have fun. You're away from your wife, your girlfriend. Russian girls, oh my God, so beautiful. You'll regret it if you don't, believe me. And the pound is so strong at the moment.."

"No, thank you. My mind is made up." Silence.

İ decided it was time to bring it back to research. "So you sell both old and new kilims?". "Have you got a problem?" the younger one said, curling up the index finger on his right hand. They both laughed. "My friend, men are different from women. Women just need one man. Men like us, we need a different woman every night. Otherwise we get bored and become like robots. We fall asleep. This happened to me once, believe me."

"You do what you want", İ said. "İ'm fine with my beer." The younger trader - just a couple of years older than me - thought for a bit. "İ am sorry if this offends you", he said, "but maybe Turkish men are different, strong. We work hard all day, and we work hard all night!". They laughed again while İ gulped my beer and began to feel a bit drunk.

Another silence. Then İ made one last effort. "So how much of your profit comes from carpets, in any one year?". "My friend, there is nothing but death. So we should enjoy now. İt is the same when İ sell a carpet or even something very small, it doesn't matter. İ do it for my pleasure and for your pleasure. İt must benefit us both. Our government doesn't care for us. We need to look after ourselves. Be strong, make money, take your pleasure."

Just then the call to prayer rises up from a nearby mosque. "İt is such a beautiful sound", he says.