Shoppers turn the bargaining tables in Beijing

Since I last went to Yashow Market in Beijing, I have had the image of wide-eyed shoppers lumbering about with wads of cash and salesmen stroking thin moustaches with gleaming eyes ingrained in my mind. The customer, I believed, is the yapping puppy frolicking on the fields and the salesman is Cruella de Vil.

I went shopping with my mom recently and discovered otherwise.

On the first floor, I watched a rotund German man standing by an array of fake leather bags and wallets. He pointed to a large Chanel shoulder bag.

The salesman smiled and tapped a few numbers into a calculator: $1,200. "But I give you the special price: 500 kuai."

What a snake, I thought, shaking my head while watching.

My first time at Yashow, the shopkeepers devoured my wallet. I bought an imitation Hermes bag for 300 yuan ($44). I took pride in my bargaining competence and "genuine leather" purchase until discovering another customer bought the same bag for a third of the price.

The German, however, did not fall down the same swindling slope. He let out a rumbling chuckle, eyeing the salesman with a condescending gaze, much like a father eyeing his adorable, 5-year old son. "You funny boy. I got one for 80 kuai last week."

The man chuckled again at the little game he played, patted the salesman on the shoulder and then strolled off, bags sashaying, leaving the salesman with a dejected pout on his face.

Since when did customers become so quick? So devious?

We then visited the fifth floor selling ceramics and trinkets, pausing at a silverware store. My mom began to peruse a collection of dainty ceramic dessert spoons.

"How much are the spoons?" my mom asked the saleslady, a young, timid 20-something.

With her firm gaze, five bags of goods on each arm and Beijing accent, my mom was no inexperienced shopper to fool with. The saleslady gave her the local price. Yet it did not appease my mother and she stalked off.

The saleslady quivered. "Wait!" she beckoned. "Just wait a moment!"

She then whipped out a mobile phone and dialed frantically. "Brother!" she whispered, "a woman wants to buy the spoons for 15 yuan!"

"Is the buyer a gweilo (foreigner)?" the low tenor voice grumbled on the other end. After more intense interrogation, he agreed. "Ok, fine, 15. But never give such a low price again."

The saleslady, distressed and forlorn, hung up the phone and turned to my mom: "OK, how many, and what kind do you want?"

My mom recited her demands: She wanted eight spoons, each of them using a different pattern, preferably with red, not white, flowers.

The saleslady opened a peeling cupboard and proceeded to dig through packets of dusty spoons, sweat glistening on the back of her shirt, for the next 30 minutes. While she was on the desperate quest to find the desired array of patterns, my mom continued perusing the rest of the goods while enjoying a pastry she bought from the nearby coffee shop.

When we finally left the store, my mom had a set of eight delicate spoons and a European-style ceramic container - a bargain for 120 yuan - and a smug grin.

The saleslady had parted with a quarter of her stock for a dangerously low profit, had a strained neck, soot on her hands and a seething brother all set for a heated berating session when she returned home.

Who's Cruella now?