Day 10 of 30: Asking for a better future

Friday morning I had a phone conference with Vickie Pynchon and Lisa Gates, the life forces behind She Negotiates. We've been talking about ways we can collaborate, and one idea we came up with was A National Day of Asking.

Imagine if every year, for one day, women decided to ask for something important to them. Imagine that they not only ask, but have the tools, information and strategies to make the request effective.

Imagine that billboards, bus stop ads, TV commercials and a viral online campaign raised awareness among the women who don't know how to ask for what they need, or that it's even an option.

Ask their bosses.

Ask their husbands.

Ask their doctors.

Ask their neighbors.

Ask their children.

For help.

For access.

For information.

For opportunities.

For fair pay.

Imagine we could somehow reach the women who don't have laptops and internet connections, who have 4 kids to care for and are exhausted and such hard workers. What would it take to prompt them to think about these issues. To act?

What if we made it a Global Day of Asking?

Imagine that around the world somehow -- but how? -- women got the courage to ask, for one precious day, for what was most precious to them.

Imagine that they could ask  -- what a dream -- safely, without fearing for their lives.

Imagine that in the direst situations, they do not ask, but demand.

Delhi.

Kandahar.

Uruguay.

Seattle.

Rome.

Addis Ababa.

The issues will certainly be different, but common in in the core message: "Hear my voice. I have something to ask of you. This is what it is."

How can we work together to stop the car thefts in our neighborhood?
Would you mind critiquing my resume?

Please let me stay in school?

Put a well in our village?

Can you give me a 20 percent raise?

I will not give you my passport.

I will not get in the car when you've been drinking.

I will not allow you to do that to her, ever again.

Just writing these words, I comprehend I can't comprehend the obstacles. Traditions, threats, violence, gaps in finance and education. But then I think about Egypt -- the ultimate ask: regime change -- and the writings of Nicholas Kristoff, and the book that set off a powerful chain reaction in my world, Women Don't Ask.

We can do this.

To make this happen, we'll need resources. Money. Access to important, connected, powerful, dedicated and influential people.

Oprah.

Kristoff.

Ellen.

Bill and Melinda Gates.

Lady Gaga.

Larry Page.

Angelina Jolie.

Katie Couric.

Carla Bruni.

Rachel Ray.

After the conversation, we each tweeted a big request: Can anyone put us in touch with any movers and shakers?

Today, Vickie heard back from Gloria Feldt, author of the must-read No Excuses, that she'll try to connect us to Mr. Kristoff.

What about you, gentle reader? Those of you reading this blog regularly or stumbling across it by searching for 'salary negotiation' or 'talk down cable bill' online (two common routes into my blog) are already victors. Congratulations for thinking about these issues. For being here.

Is there some way we could work together to help the others? If you're interested, or if you have any resources or ideas, I would love to hear from you. 

Gained: Planted a seed

Lost: Not a thing. I just feel like I'm losing time, not acting this instant. But such an endeavor will take months of hard work.

image sources: developmentalidealism.org, http://www.timesofindiatravel.com/incredible-india.html, http://smallbusinessonlinecommunity.bankofamerica.com

Ropa Usada?

The woman in the center dared to ask.

A few days into the trip, I witnessed a real estate transaction whose intricate details I will not get into here. (Quick version: several people with land inside a national park traded their property for land outside the park. The result: they got a pasture for their cows closer to their home in the city -- and the world's richest rainforest won't get chopped down to create grazing pastures. I'm all for grass fed beef, but not at that cost... Win win!)

After the ceremony, I chatted with some of the people who participated in the transaction, and they fired questions back at me: Where are you from? How do you like Ecuador? How long are you staying? Only 10 days!? Not enough! Come back and visit again, ok?

The event wrapped up, and as I was making my way out of the hall (where, along with a few government employees, nonprofit workers and the families involved, a spider the size of my face watched the ceremony from an cranny in the roof), an older woman -- the family matriarch, I suspect -- trotted up to me.

(Here's the thing about old people of southern Ecuador. They're amazing!! One of our guides was 51, but didn't look a day past 39 and a half. And a town in that region was written up in National Geographic for having really really old people. Like, a whole cluster of people over 100. My take: they walk a lot, they work until they're 95, they eat well, and they don't get stressed about about things like spotty wifi connections and alternate-side street sweeping.)

So, she trotted up and urgently gestured for me to follow her.

I sat down again with her family, and she started tittering nervously.

"I have a question," she said in Spanish.

Pause.

"How should I put it.... You know... I've heard that... people in other countries.... We are... we are poor, and I heard that..."

She smiled again, hunching her thin shoulders and tucking her head in like a raven haired turtle. (Also: people there don't go gray until the age most Westerners are dead.)

"People in other countries?" I urged, nodding to encourage her.

"They have soooo many clothes that they just throw away! My friend in Spain told me that people throw away whole bags of clothes, nice clothes! And if you're there you can go and collect them. She found good clothes! Such pretty clothes! Sitting outside in trash bags!!" She sounded unconvinced that such a thing could be true, but if her friend said it was so, it had to be. "Do you have any clothes you don't want? Maybe you have some you can give to us?"

I shook my head. I packed lightly -- I wore the same pants over and over, and I wouldn't wish the sweat encrusted t-shirt I was wearing upon this perky abuelita and her kinfolk (see prior blog entry: Showers, lack of). But I told her that from the U.S., I could definitely send something.

"What's your address?"

"I don't have one. But here's my phone number. You can call, when you have the clothes ready. I will find a way to receive them."

"Perfect. What kind of clothes do you want? What colors?"

She said they'd like t-shirts, clothes for men, women, children. As for color? She pointed the powder pink sweater she was wearing.

"I hope you do not mind. We are poor, and I heard people over there have more clothes than they use," she concluded.

"I am very happy that you asked. I think asking is wonderful, and you are very brave to tell me these things. It's great that you told me about your need, since I would be happy to send you something, and I will also ask my friends in America if they have any clothes they can give away."

Outside, I talked with a nonprofit worker and he offered a solution. Any clothes that arrive at his research station, he'll deliver to that family. So, gentle reader. If you have any clothes you don't need or come across anything new you'd care to pass along, please consider bundling them up and sending them to:

Familia Morocho
C/O Naturaleza y Cultura Internacional
Pio Jaramillo 13-12- y Venezuela
P.O. Bo. 11-01-332
Loja, Ecuador

(FYI: Sending a package of up to 4 lbs to Ecuador runs about $13 with priority mail, or you can send 1 lb for around $10 with ground shipping. See this site for the deets.)

Let me negotiate for you?

[image source]

The morning of Tuesday, June 15, I went to the salon.

I always see the same woman, and in the year or so I've been going we've talked about everything under the sun.

This time, she confided something in me. Something that took courage to bring up. She was having some financial problems because she can't afford her mortgage anymore. The more she told me, the angrier I got. Not at her, but at the bank. She tried to sell her home twice, and the bank refused both offers. Now the bank is foreclosing and holding HER liable for the cost of the home.

How is this possible? They pass up two perfectly good offers and then make HER pay the balance?

I asked her if she tried negotiating the debt or getting a mortgage modification. She said she didn't realize she wasn't sure how and didn't know if it was worth the effort. Bankruptcy seemed easier.

I asked her -- begged her in fact -- to let me help. I told her I'm far from a finance professional, but that maybe having someone on her team, doing a little research and even coming with her to a meeting with her loan officer, or drafting a letter, would make a difference. I told her about the Daily Asker. I suggested she has nothing to lose.

I asked for her email.

That night, I went home and dug around online. I was curious if what the bank did was legal (not in certain states, it seems, but I couldn't see anything about California). And quickly I became absorbed with hundreds of posts against her lender, Chase.

Chase is evil, Chase screwed people over. So many people have tried to sell their homes and Chase has stalled the paperwork or refused the offers, choosing instead to foreclose. Allegedly.

Here are some of those forums.

http://www.loansafe.org/forum/chase-mortgage-tell-us-your-chase-story/

And here is Chase's loan modification site, since there are two sides to every story.

https://www.chase.com/chf/mortgage/hrm_expect

Anyway, I found a bunch of resources for her -- free legal aid, home owner's help hotlines, and info about debt negotiation -- and emailed her. Here's how I ended the message:

I understand you're exhausted, and this isn't my fight, so if you want to bow out I would totally sympathize. But if you do want to weigh your options, there's a lot more reading material out there, and bottom line: you do have options. If I can help you meet with a bank rep, write a letter, practice a negotiation, contact a journalist (I know people at the U-T and other outlets) or brainstorm, just ask.

Take care!

Hoping, really hoping her situation is resolved fairly and correctly.

And, note to self: based what I read in those forums, I've decided that until/unless there is widespread banking reform I will NEVER get a home loan with Chase. Caveat emptor.

BANG

Miracles do happen.

My last asking for this year involves something I NEVER would have imagined doing last July.

I....

Hold on.

Let's backtrack.

Before this unexpected evening, I completed my first request for the day by asking something for someone else.

A friend called me for some travel advice. She is on a very strict budget, but wants to buy a plane ticket for her son so he could be with them when the husband/father turns 50 around Labor Day. This man just had a heart attack, so the whole family is excited to finally be together for this milestone.

Could I help her look online to book a supercheap ticket?

I checked a few sites, but it didn't look good. Prices are lower than last year, but not low enough.

So instead of giving her airline or website recommendations, I did something a little more extreme.

With her permission, I wrote an email to one of the airlines that services their two cities and asked for a discount or courtesy ticket.

I know this woman is in debt, and she really shouldn't put this on her credit card.

So maybe, maybe, maybe, the airline will agree to lower the cost.

Before I could write to any more airlines, she called and said she put the flight on her card after all, because she didn't want to risk a "no" and miss the last available seats at the lowest price.

Gained I: Tried to help. Didn't work out as I'd hoped. Glad the family will be together that weekend anyway.

As for tonight.

I was sitting at my dining room table, alone.

Tabulating the data from this year of inquiries.

Mr. A is in LA for a conference. The house seemed really empty.

And I was a little down.

It was not how I imagined I'd be spending the last night of asking.

Inviting myself to drive someone's cool car? Maybe.
Crashing someone's party? Why not.
Asking a pastry chef for his awesome banana bread pudding recipe? Yum.

But crunching numbers seemed like such a... whimper, not a bang.

Then the phone rang.

"What are you up to?"

It was Jem.

"Nothing much. How are you?"

"Good! I'm calling to see if you want to go to dajin."

"Where's that?"

"The gym."

"Did you say G-Y-M?"

"Yeah! The K-meister just got me a membership and we're on our way over."

"Really. Mmm, I'm not sure I have time.... I'm sort of busy..."

"They have a pool, and a sauna! Come on!"

"Really?"

I weighed the two alternatives: Sit home alone and stare at the wall. Or meet some friends for a workout.

"If I come, can we hang out after too? Get a drink or dinner?"

"I would love to."

Half an hour later I was on a stationary bike, watching CNN.

The place wasn't half bad.

Clean.

Good music.

Badminton courts, unlimited yoga. Stuff I'd vaguely considered looking into. One day.

On the way out, I stopped by the membership desk. The girl told me there is no signup fee -- today only -- and no cancellation fee, ever.

So I signed up myself and Mr. A.

But not before asking for -- and getting -- a free month.

Gained II: 3 months for the price of 2. Value: $30.

Did I sufficiently tantalize you? When you read that gooey first line, about miracles, did you expect I'd say I knocked on the door of the White House or asked Steve Jobs about his surgery or begged my grad school for an expedited PhD?

Well, until tonight, any of those possibilities struck me as more feasible than La Roxy joining a gym!!!

I crave sunlight, not elliptical machines.

But so be it.

So that's that.

365 days.

Done!

Poof!

Finito!

Results and revelations coming soon. But first I'm taking a break.

Until we meet again,

xoxo,

La Roxy

Best apartment rate? And some much needed advice?

June 25. Day 360.

My dad and stepmom are going to France, and they asked me to help them book a hotel or apartment. They're on a tight budget, and they want a kitchen, so I went for the Craigslist approach.

Rather than query 20 apartment renters separately, I opted for a more efficient approach. I grouped together all the listings that matched most of my criteria and sent a mass email.

Hello,

I am interested in renting a studio apartment for 10 days between the dates of July 11 or 12, and July 21 or 22.

It is for my father and stepmother. (They are unfamiliar with Craigslist, so I offered to help them find something.)

Their budget for 10 days is around 250 euros per week. They would pay cash at the beginning.

Is your apartment available in that period?

If so, would you please email me a photo of the bed, bathroom and kitchen, or give a website where these items are clearly visible. Also please tell me the address, and list the name(s) of the nearest metro stop(s)? Finally, if it is on the 4th floor or higher, is there a lift?

If it is occupied then, it is available at any later time? They may be able to shift their vacation to August instead.

Merci, bien a vous,

La Roxy

Got some answers with prices around my target. Yay.

Bon voyage!

Next, I asked for advice about yesterday's job offer. I got a tutoring gig that pays $40 per hour, or around $25 factoring in travel time and preparation.

I asked three people their input and they were unanimous: Don't take the job.

Mr. A said I need to be writing my dissertation, and the last months are the most grueling. He knows. He's been there. He also reminded me that I don't NEED NEED the money. If I couldn't cover the rent or had a family to feed it was one thing. But I have the basics taken care of. Do I really want to drive across the city just to pay for coffee? Isn't there a better job out there? What's the rush?

Eau, my friend in DC who visited a few months ago, who previously advised my sister to demand better pay in a similar situation, said I should be charging way more given I almost have a PhD from a top school and I've been tutoring for 15 years. I stammered it's tough times, people can't afford to pay a lot these days, and she listed half a dozen friends with less experience who are earning at least triple what I am charging. Ouch.

My grandma told me to skip the job and be a student. Then apply for jobs with all my might. But don't do things half way.

I think they all had good points. So my instincts were right -- I way undersold myself. I'm still thinking about it, but I'm leaning toward calling her back and either asking for more money, or turning it down entirely...

Gained: A preliminary room in Paris for my dad and stepmom. And advice from The Three Wisepersons.

Asking RX

June 22. Day 357.

I met a friend for a glass of wine this afternoon. She is an ear nose & throat doctor, and she has received an out of the blue job offer from a coveted institution.

"Do you know what the offered salary is?" I cut to the chase.

"Yes."

"Better than your job now?"

"Not by a lot."

"You're going to negotiate your salary, right?" I checked.

"I don't know..."

Turns out that this woman who had the courage to start her life over in a different country, who had the tenacity to attend medical school in the U.S. to validate her studies abroad, who has kicked butt at several prestigious fellowships and who helps people lead liveable lives by giving advice and instructions... is scared to ask.

"It's just that I don't feel like I'm anything that special or remarkable. Why should I get more money than they're offering? Why would they give me more than what they're offering? I feel grateful to get the job offer in the first place," she confessed.

"Why? They're expecting you to negotiate, and you ARE awesome. They came to you."

"But what if they have budget constraints? Especially these days. Or if I price myself out?"

"That's why you have to snoop around first. Once you know there's some flexibility -- and, I have no reason to know this, but this is what I'm guessing -- there's always a little flexibility, even when they say there's not. You should at least try."

"So when we meet I'll say, 'We need to negotiate my salary!' "

"Something like that. Maybe not sounding quite so forceful. But what if before talking to them, you got some practicing asking? We can role play."

She agreed. I know she thinks I'm kooky. And a little obsessed by this asking project -- and she's right on both counts.

Anyway, I took out my pad and wrote out this "prescription." (I took a picture with my cell phone, but it's blurry. Here it is part of the page).

The idea is based in spirit on a weeklong asking exercise called the Negotiation Gym, created by the writers of Ask for It (and Women Don't Ask). The idea is to help you discover that asking 1) isn't scary even when you're rejected and 2) gets easier over time.

I created each daily goal together with my friend, checking at each step to see if it would help. Here's the list.

Ask for something random you'd normally not ask for that...
Day 1. you know you'll get
Day 2. you might get
Day 3. you definitely won't get
Day 4. Break.
Day 5. Actively negotiate something, anything
Day 6. Ask/negotiate for more TIME (she's busy, and I wanted to give her a goal she really cares about to see how that affects her methods and success)
Day 7. Ask in a nice way something that seems to you offensive or rude or difficult, but might not be to the other person. Look for a solution to a problem you have, etc (i.e. to help her get over herself, since many times I think people stop themselves, shock themselves, when the person being asked wouldn't mind in the least helping out or providing said service/favor/courtesy)

In the first three, I told her to ask for stuff she doesn't care about, has no investment in. Just to get a feel for it and feel ok taking risks, getting rejected, letting loose. In the last three, it has to be for goals she is actually interested in obtaining.

Every day, she should keep a log with what she asked for, the result, an analysis of her method (what could improve, what went well), and how she felt asking.

After seeing the list, she thought about it and realized she's been negotiating left and right already. She just hadn't seen it that way ebfore.

"Ok?" I asked.

"Ok!!!!"

Gained I: Spread some askerly love. With her permission, I'll let you know how her week o' asking goes... and how that salary negotiation turns out!!!

As for what I asked. I ended up on someone's email list, and many months ago I requested that he remove me, through email and voicemail. Since then, he's kept spamming me and I've kept asking him to stop. I could just put his email in the spam filter, which is what I do with most other annoying message senders, and which is much easier. But now I'm actually intrigued by the the process of getting him to stop.

That is, I've been fairly successful in getting people to do something, but how do you get someone to not do something?

It's much harder, it turns out.

After various attempts, with no success, today I sent him this email. Is the all caps excessive? Maybe I could have saved them for the last paragraph. I don't know. I've never sent an all caps email before, but maybe this will get the point across that I mean business? We'll see next Sunday... Here it is:

PLEASE REMOVE ME FROM YOUR LIST.

I HAVE ASKED TO BE REMOVED APPROXIMATELY 10 TIMES.

IF I RECEIVE ANY MORE MESSAGES FROM YOU, ROB/RAOUL APPEL AND/OR SD THEATER SCENE, BESIDE A MESSAGE CONFIRMING THE END OF MY UNDESIRED, UNREQUESTED AND UNTOLERATED EMAIL SUBSCRIPTION TO YOUR NEWSLETTER, I WILL TAKE THE FOLLOWING ACTIONS:

--REPORT ROB/RAOUL APPEL TO AMERICA ONLINE, WHICH MAY RESULT IN THE SUSPENSION OR TERMINATION OF HIS ACCOUNT
--REPORT YOU TO THE SAN DIEGO COMMISSION FOR ARTS AND CULTURE
--REPORT YOU TO THE SAN DIEGO FOUNDATION
--REPORT YOU TO THE TIPPETT FOUNDATION
--REPORT YOU TO THE FTC BUREAU OF CONSUMER PROTECTION
--REPORT YOU SPAM GUARDS DATABASES, WHICH MAY PLACE YOUR EMAIL ON A BLACK LIST AND HINDER YOUR ABILITY TO SEND UNSOLICITED EMAILS TO NEW ADDRESSES IN THE FUTURE
--ENCOURAGE MY FRIENDS, FAMILY AND INTERNET CONTACTS TO THE SAME
--USE YOUR ASSOCIATION, NAME, AND THE NAME OF ROB/RAOUL APPEL IN INTERVIEWS WITH OR PIECES PUBLISHED BY THE MEDIA ABOUT THE SUBJECT OF *SPAM.*

PLEASE CEASE AND DESIST.

I HAVE ASKED KINDLY. I HAVE ASKED PATIENTLY. NOW I AM TIRED OF ASKING AND I WILL TAKE ACTION IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY WITH MY REQUEST.

PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gained II: I know, what drama. No results yet, but I advanced the experiment of making someone stop, rather than start, a behavior.

Give me a kleenex? And a free pizza?

June 21. Day 356.

I went on a bike ride today with Mr. A and a friend, the K-meister. We started in the middle of Point Loma and rode up to the lighthouse.

For those readers not from San Diego, i.e. most of you, that means we rode approximately 5 miles each way, up hill and knoll, and then careened back down the gentle slopes after a lovely break at a historic lighthouse overlooking the bay.

5 miles is an objective standard.

Subjectively, allow me to add that it felt like I skinned a 2,000 pound potato with a butter knife.

We rode long enough that my legs were trembling and I hee-hawed the whole way.

It was so intense that at the top, when our ride was half over, I stretched out on a bench and actually fell asleep, while the guys rode up and down a steep hiking path that led to the beach, for a real workout.

To top it off, I had a runny nose, and there were no stores where I could buy tissues or even ask for a napkin.

Instead, I decided to beg mercy from a fellow human. I thought of knocking on anyone's door, but an easier option presented itself.

Before my nap, a couple with two young kids walked by the bench where I was recovering.

"Excuse me, do you have a kleenex?" I asked, eyeing their generous diaper bag.

They have two toddlers and look the part. Meaning it probably takes more than the request of a sweaty, sleepy biker to phase them.

"No, sorry! All we have is wet wipes," the mom offered.

"Oh, no, that's okay. Thanks anyway."

Gained I: Nothing. Because a wet wipe would only make things worse.

For all my dramatic whining here, the trek was actually awesome. The ideal 72 degree Sunday afternoon breezy bike ride with postcard views. Great to be back in San Diego. And, today makes me think that I should try to build up some muscles or resistance. Sheesh.

Out: Feeling like you're 70 when you're almost 30. In: the exact opposite!!!

Afterward, we stacked the bikes onto the car rack, made a detour to see a movie, then drove to the newest branch of Pizzeria Luigi, which has my favorite NY-style pizza in San Diego. A seditious faction of the storied Bronx Pizza, a San Diego popular favorite, broke off a few years ago and started its own joint, pruning and culling staff from the other NY-style pizzerias around the city.

Or so goes the rumor.

Some say the sauce is just perfect. Others prefer the crust. I dig, and dig into, them both.

We tumbled in, exhausted, but before we ordered I checked one key thing:

"Do you guys take credit cards? Cause we don't have cash."

"We don't, but that's okay. Today is free."

"What?"

"We're testing things out this weekend, making sure everything goes smoothly, so we're giving everything away free."

"Really???"

"Yeah. What can I get you?"

"I don't know. What's your favorite pizza?" I asked.

"I love the margherita. It's really light and fresh. I'd say that's my favorite," he told me.

Pause. You know what the old La Roxy would have ordered, same time last year: a slice of whatever. Must not impose. Must not be, or seem, greedy. Enjoy the offer, but not too much. It would be unseemly.

For an instant I was tempted to do precisely that, even today. Even after a year of asking.

Instead, I snapped out of it just in time and asked for two slices and a water.

"Sure -- so one whole margherita pizza and a slice of mushroom?"

At that point I was confused.

"You're seriously giving away whole free pizzas?" I checked.

"Yeah."

"Oh my God, thank you!!!! I live in the neighborhood and I promise to become a very good customer."

He laughed.

We ate.

And I am spreading the word.

Anyone in this town, or passing through, listen up: I liked Luigi's pizza before today, and now I like their attitude, too. Seriously the best thin crust "a-round." Heehee.

Gained II: About $25 worth of food, with 3 slices, the pizza, two waters and sales tax between the three of us. Not exactly a direct gain, i.e. by walking in and asking for free food, but I'm including it because I started with a question, and then I milked the situation for all it was worth: a guilt free acceptance of a generous pizza-fest. (Yes, we left a nice tip.)

The pic above is a nice angle from the Fifth Deadly Sin.

Can I be domestic so you can be professional?

June 7. Day 342.

Today, I offered to help someone. This person has a professional appointment which prevents her from taking care of some domestic chores. So I asked if I could hang her laundry to dry, on her balcony, just a few moments ago.

She said no.

I insisted.

She agreed.

I can't give you more details than this, or you'll instantly figure out what city I'm in. And that is your final hint.

The contest ends tonight at midnight California time.

The winner will be announced tomorrow.

Gained: Helped someone in a bind.

Illegal parking 101: Don't ask, don't tell

June 3. Day 338.

Met up with some friends around 9. Destination: a bar on the water, in time for happy hour. The girl who was driving circled around for a few minutes and, finding nothing -- not even an illegal spot tight enough to fit her Mini -- moved on to the next neighborhood. Still nothing.

"How long does it take to find parking in this city?" I inquired.

"Depends if you care about getting a ticket or not," came the answer. "If you don't, 5 minutes."

We approached downtown, where there's a cool rooftop bar, a rarity in this city. The driver found an illegal spot and swooped in.

Just as we were getting out of the car, four young policemen, in uniform but acting relaxed, like they were off the clock, pulled up to the spot next to hers -- which was also illegal. They got out, then milled around for a moment.

"Damn!! If I leave the car here, I'm definitely getting fined," the driver lamented.

"Don't worry! They'll never fine you! Let's just pretend we're waiting for someone and once they're gone, we rush to the bar," another retorted.

"But they're coming back eventually. And then what?"

I had it! The solution! I would ask for clemency.

"Guys, what if I talked to them?"

They both looked at me, mortified.

"I will ask them if you can leave your car here. Explain we all know everyone breaks the rules anyway, and we've been circling around for half an hour, so could they be nice and promise no ticket?"

"No!! La Roxy, no no no no way!!"

"Don't worry! If anyone gets in trouble, it's me."

"NO. More like if you ask, they're going to say it's illegal and we'll have to move again. The system here is 'Don't ask, don't tell,' got it?"

We waited for the cops to disperse and headed to the bar (whose empty lowball glass, which formerly held my strawberry caiprinha, is here; above, its neon terrace).



Gained: Instructed to hold back. I don't know the lay of the land, so I just took their cue. Fortunately, she got no ticket. The cops were still gone when we got back. Looks like they partied harder than we did.

I hadn't proposed to ask because I needed to fulfill my daily dose. I just thought it was a "nothing to lose" situation that could help them out. An enterprising American diplomat to the rescue! Guess not.

A few hours earlier, I asked to borrow someone's office equipment.

I was getting a tour and learning what kind of work an acquaintance does -- a mix of marketing and branding, with lots of cool clients and cool technologies -- and I came across a magazine in the lobby with an interesting article.

"Do you have a photocopy machine I could possibly use to copy these three pages?"

"Sure, why?"

"There's a story here that I'd love to read later."

"Of course! Here's the machine. Press the black button. Make yourself at home!"

Gained: Saved money and time of tracking down/buying the magazine. Simplified my life. Got my own copy of a cool article. Here's another picture of the bar.

Are you a VIP?

May 18. Day 323.

Had lunch today with a friend who's a pop music critic. Before I dropped him back off at his office, he asked me if I ever buy VIP tickets to concerts, or if I know anyone who does.

You know, he continued, pay a few hundred bucks and meet the singer, hang out backstage or at the reception beforehand, enjoy all you can eat sushi.

I explained that I don't enjoy sushi and have consequently abstained from such VIP experiences.

Ok, not really. More like I don't have $500 to shell out for any tickets save the aerial kind.

As we said bye, I promised I'd ask around. Help a friend and complete today's Asker task? Ideal.

So I texted a few friends:

"have you ever bought VIP tix to a concert? Ie the whole package--great seats, food, meet the singer, etc? x, rox"

And the answers came beeping back:

"Nope."

"um, no..... why?"

"No...?"

"No..Is it amazing?"

"No never meet the singer, how does that work? What concert are u considering?"

Darn.

What about you? Have you? Want to be featured in an article? If so, drop me a line and I'll put you in touch with him!

Gained: Nothing yet... Still trying!

A blessing in disguise?

May 8. Day 312.

Bad news for a lot of my friends and acquaintances. This week, their company laid them off.

It's happened before -- this is the fourth or fifth round in a year or two. I've lost track.

But this one was absolute carnage.

So I wrote each of my friends who are leaving a note, with a small offer to help. I don't know what I can do, I don't know if I can help them find work, but maybe, maybe I can. Or someone I know can. Who knows.

It was a reverse asking -- the kind where you gain by giving, that is.

Gained: Hope these people will pull through, hope the cuts were a blessing in disguise, hope I might at last help someone professionally, after being helped so many times by so many others.

And you, reader, have you been affected by the economy, job-wise? If you were laid off recently, did you find it was for the best? Perhaps escape from a crumbling institution, a pressure cooker, a chance to refocus? Or was it the worst thing imaginable?

And if you weren't laid off, what's it like holding a steady job while people left and right are losing theirs? Is this idea of "survivor's guilt" a bunch of media hype, or is it real? Is it harder for those left behind, or the departed?

Salary injustice, close to home

May 6. Day 310.

La Sorella called me this morning, flustered.

She took on a babysitting job in Seattle. A baby and a toddler. $10 per hour. It takes her an hour to drive there and back, not paid. Plus the family comes home late and doesn't pay for the extra 10 or 15 minutes. Should she ask for a raise or not? Should she ask them to come on time, or pay her for her time? She was nervous about bringing up these issues, but upset with the status quo.

I told her yes on both counts. Encouraged her. Gave her a few talking points. Told her to find a better paying gig, since even if she got a raise, the base is so low it would probably not jump high enough to be worth it.

Then I hung up.

But I felt like we didn't end the talk well. I wasn't sure I'd given her the best advice. It was snippets of ideas, but nothing coherent. Nothing rousing. Nothing more meaningful than "hope" and "try."

"Can you talk to her?" I asked Eau.

This woman has taught negotiation classes. She bargains down jewelry in Hong Kong to less than 10 percent of the asking price. And she knows about employment law.

It was a moot question. Of course she would. I dialed and handed her the phone.

"Darling," she said, and yes she really does talk that way. "Darling, I heard about your situation, and I have to say, it's really wrong what they are doing. It's unconscionable, really. I mean, given my line of work I'm really tuned into what's fair and equitable and what's not, and anyone would rule that this is exploitation. If you factor in your travel time and gas, you are earning less than minimum wage. Just to put things in perspective, when I was in New York I charged more than five times that. Prices are very inflated there, and you're in a different city, but you're still a college graduate with special training in education. You should be charging much more than $10, especially for two kids.

"I think that what's more important than keeping these clients -- since they are taking advantage of you -- is learning to value your time and talents. People are happy to pay more for a quality product or service, and that's exactly what you're offering. You're intelligent, energetic, wonderful with children, and you've been trained as a teacher. You're a professional. You're not some teenager who wants to make a few extra bucks on top of her allowance. So I'm sure there are other people out there looking for a babysitter or a tutor. I'd find some other clients, and start with a much higher fee. You can always let them bargain it down, but $10 is far too little. And if those people still want to pay $10, they should hire a preteen from the neighborhood.

"Even if the kids take a nap, you shouldn't feel you have it easy or it's not a job. You're still the responsible adult in the house. If something goes wrong, if there's a fire or one of them needs to go to the emergency room, that's actually what you're there for. Just in case. On top of the care you provide when they are awake. Plus, any time you are there, you can't be doing something else. Working a better paying job, or looking for full time work, or doing whatever you want with your time.

"I've found that when people do ask for respect, when they take themselves seriously enough to complain about something or make sure they're treated fairly, people will actually respect them much more. Never, ever be afraid to stand up for yourself."

I just listened in awe. Right on every count. My sister, meanwhile, was silent, but taking it all in on the other end.

A few hours later, she sent me this text message:

"They said no to higher pay. So I won't be babysitting after these sessions. Ridiculous. Maybe they'll reconsider. Thank you and Eau. It felt great to stand up for myself!"

I was so happy -- so so happy -- she acted. Immediately. No fear. I'm proud of you, little sis!!!

Gained: respect -- and just around the corner, I am positive, a much better paying job -- for my Sorella.

(Another bit of good news:

For months I've been working on this chapter. Last Friday I drove to UCLA to hand it to my prof, but the pages had printed out funny. For her, that was a nuisance. For me, it was salvation.

Because it bought me a few more days.

So since Friday until today, I worked madly the finish the damn thing. Really finish it. I edited it three more times. Print outs. Paper jams. Between hanging out, cooking a chicken, playing a board game and occasional sleep...

Finally...

tonight... at 11:50 p.m...

I hit send.

Done. Bye bye, chapter two!! Four down, one to go!!)

Better price if we buy two?

May 5. Day 309.

Unt zee blogothon continues!

Eau and I ended up in Old Town. It's Cinco de Mayo, you see, and Old Town is San Diego's pseudo Mexican touristic mecca. Brimming with cute boutiques, women in old fashioned clothes and quite delicious margaritas.

We visited an old schoolhouse (from the outside, since it was closed), spotted a mariachi band on break, and swooped into a tucked away shop with geodes -- which has gorgeous pieces for rock bottom prices (heehee). One of my San Diego secrets. Eau found a present for a friend, and I found a pair of book ends.

Her geode was $65, my stones were $33.

I pulled her aside before the saleswoman rang us up.

"I could try to get us a discount. Ok?"

"Sure!"

At the counter, I asked if we could get a better price, since we were purchasing two.

"I can do that, sure," she replied. She tapped a few numbers into her calculator and gave us $9 off -- more than 10 percent of the $98 total. Nice! 2 seconds of lip motion for the equivalent of two happy hour margaritas. I'll take that.

Gained I: $9.

Earlier, we started the day at a thrift shop in a different part of town. I parked and as we walked past the store's window, to the front door, I noticed a gorgeous Tiffany style lamp there.

I swooped in and inspected it. It was in perfect shape.

But these things usually go for $300 new, especially when they have long stems, like this one. My secret wager was $80, since this particular shop has great deals.

Still above my budget but... I figured I'd check.

"Excuse me, how much is this lamp?"

"$25."

"Really?" I answered, not sure if I heard right!! "$25."

"Yes."

I bought it. No discount, but never ever would I own such a lamp if I hadn't stumbled upon one in a dusty second store -- and asked.

Gained II: spiffy accent lamp.

Of piety, and professors past and present

May 3. Day 307.

"Let me guess. You're the church going type. You came right from church."

This is was instead of hello, from the old man manning the CD table at an estate sale I visited this morning.

"Oh, really. What makes you think I'm the pious type?" I replied, mock snarky. "The CDs I chose, or just a general hunch?"

"The skirt. Obviously you came from church, in that skirt."

"Actually, nope."

(I'd say the picture above aptly summarizes my attitude towards good ol' church worshippin' piety. Not faith or spirituality per se, just the fixings and trimmings. Maybe I should carry around that image, as my own personal prayer card. Wave it at the next person who asks about my church habits.)

He smiled and shrugged, then rang me up: 8 CDs for $12. Some were brand new. I didn't even try to bargain. It was a great price.

The ad had stated: "SOUTH PARK. Estate sale. A mini museum of a renowned professor's life in Russia, Central/ South America, and the Mideast. Over 30 Persian rugs, Kilims, etc. Paintings, furniture, pottery, folk art, thousands of books- Russian, English. Thousands of classical CD's, LP's, computers, ethnic weavings, textiles, antiques, and more. 9am-3pm. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. XXXX XXX Street, west of 30th." (Word for word, minus the privacy edit.)

Come to mama. I have been looking for a rug to put in the bedroom since I moved to the new house, in January. The CDs were an extra perk.

As I wandered around the rest of the house, I wondered: who was the man who lived here? Did he move away or die? How does he feel about selling his clothes and books to strangers? Was the CD seller the owner of the house, or just a middleman?

I asked one of the other employees if they organize sales for dead people, or people who moved away.

"Both."

I wandered into the office and saw the large desk, also for sale. What had he written there? It faced a window. I looked out: eucalyptus trees and a canyon. Peaceful.

I wandered into what seemed like a bedroom. Clothes still hanging in the closets. For sale. Had someone burrowed her nose into his clothes just days before, crying? Was he missed? It seemed like he must be. A professor? Traveling the world, studying people and cultures? Had to be a character.

Seeing the traces of this life, I asked myself if I could spend my own as a professor, traveling, collecting books and art. Sounds nice, but am I cut out for that? Is that cut out for me?

Upstairs, there were dozens of kilims in all sorts of colors. I had spotted one I liked, with burgundy and cream colors, in a very tight weave. Just gorgeous. The price tag said $150.

It was a reasonable price, given its size and apparent age.

Just, more expensive than I wanted it to be.

I called in one of the women upstairs managing the sale.

"I was curious about this rug. Given that it's the last day of the sale, can you give me a better price?"

"How's half off!?" Her eyes glimmered with joy. I could tell she was happy to make someone happy. And the discount certainly was generous.

One problem: $75 was a fine price, but it was not something I could walk away with, without feeling guilty I had spent too much. And with the fellowship expiring in two months, I really need to watch my bottom line these days...

"Wow, thank you! That's a great price!" I paused... "The thing is, and I know I'm crazy to suggest this, but I am looking to buy a rug for... $50. Is there any way you can do that?"

She said she'd check. Disappeared for a few seconds. And came back smiling.

"It's yours!"

"WOW! Thanks!!"

When I got home, I did an obituary search and found out whose house I'd visited. His name was Timothy McDaniel, and he died of cancer in March at age 61. Younger than my dad. The article begins:

A citizen of the world, Timothy “Tim” McDaniel lived in Chile during the 1973 coup overthrowing President Salvador Allende, headed a university study-abroad program in Russia and spent time in the slums of Brazil.

A sociology professor who believed in seeing firsthand how other cultures live, he shared his knowledge and passion with students and faculty at the University of California San Diego, where he played a major role in the foundation of Eleanor Roosevelt College. (More here.)

I printed out his obituary and filed it. I will care for his rug as if it were my own family heirloom.

Gained: The small piece of a stranger's life. And $100.

Then, this afternoon, I went shopping for a present for one of Mr. A's former professors. He was having a milestone party, and I'm the default present shopper. A title I am happy to claim.

I figured a pen would be a cliche, and I had too short notice to do something personalized (which would require snooping a bit, talking to his wife, to find out a little more about his interests). I wandered into Nativa, a store with blah furniture but very cute accent pieces, and noticed a silver picture frame. It was for an 8 by 10 photo, manly, distinguished, with a vaguely Native American thing going on.

It was $85, but actually, on sale for half off -- bringing it to around $45 including taxes.

The salesman came up, made lots of small talk, explained that it's from Argentina, a special kind of silver from there. Sounded good, but I wasn't totally sure I should get it. I liked the shape and sheen of the metal, but I also figured I could take a look first at the other stores in the neighborhood. It's full of bookstores and nifty, gifty places.

"Ok, I'll keep it in mind," I said. "I like it, but I'm not convinced it's exactly what I'm looking for."

I turned around and was about to step out the door when he stopped me.

"How much would you like it for?"

Hmm? Interesting!

"I really don't know." This was completely noncomittal. Completely bored.

"I'll give it to you for $30 even. No taxes, nothing. I'll gift wrap it right now."

"You know what? Deal." I figured I could show it to Mr. A. If he thought it was a good match for his prof, we'd give it to him. If it wasn't, then we'd keep it or give it to someone else later. Either way, a silver frame for $30 is a find.

Gained II: $15.

Want me to take your picture?

April 20. Day 294.

Nice has a lovely boardwalk, which more than makes up for its narrow, grainy beach.

(I know, I'm a spoiled Californian, but of all the beaches I've seen, none come close to ours. Allow me to wax obnoxious for just one moment. Our waves. Our wide swaths of fine sand, our palm trees, our bars and restaurants, just steps away. Our piers and sand crabs. Unbeatable.

I have never been to the Caribbean, Asia, Australia or Africa -- i.e. most of the world -- so maybe something else will win, one day. But until then... Cali takes the cake.)

On this boardwalk, people roller blade and bike. And tourists take pictures.

We were strolling there at sunset, smiling at how easy life is when you're in Nice and on vacation, when I noticed something. A man, trying to photograph himself. He was alone -- one of few tourists, it seemed, traveling by themselves -- and he was trying to commemorate the moment by holding out both hands steadily and hitting "click."

But what kind of shot would he get if held the camera himself? His face would block the rest of the amazing background.

"I'll be right back," I told my mom.

"Excuse me?" I called as I approached him. He looked surprised, unsure if I was talking to him. "Would you like me to take your picture?"

His face lit up. He gave me his camera. I stepped back about 15 feet, and caught his smile, the whole boardwalk, the glistening water, the hill in the background. Then, I took one more shot, just in case.

"Thank you very much," he said.

Gained: Made someone smile.

Airport access

April 13. Day 287.

After 9/11, traveling got to be a nightmare for everyone. And an extra 1 percent more annoying for me, because I have an "un-American" last name. Not quite like Hussein or Ahmadinejad, but unique enough that at every checkpoint, at every leg of every journey, for about one or two years after the terrorist attacks, I was selected for "random" security screenings.

We'd all be standing in line, all these wary and weary travelers, looking at one another and wondering who'd be selected. And as we approached the agents, I'd be mentally rehearsing my smile. The easy going I don't mind smile. Because if you minded, there would be problems.

"Ms. La Roxy Daily Askerinobergsonkronchville sur la montagne de kadhafiski, could you please step to the right? I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

"Sure!"

My eyes glistened, cheeks rosy and nermal-cute, on command. Friendly. Cooperative. All American girl.

It was properly Pavlovian.

Now a days, the madness has subsided -- I've even seen a woman persuade TSA agents to let her bring her her expensive Korean acne medicine through security, even though it was a gel. Woah!!!

Now a days, in fact, airports are total minefields when it comes to asking -- goldmines, that is. Unless you're up against an exhausted employee (or intransigent moron), people are usually as accommodating as they can be. They're even reasonable.

All that to say that on Day 1 of our journey, I asked twice and received twice.

1. My mom and I got in line to check in. We were near the back, and just as I was settling into the routine of pushing the bag and shifting my weight from one foot to the other, an airline agent approached the line.

"I need a single traveler with one bag!"

No one moved.

"No one has one bag?"

People in line looked at one another again, hesitating. Was someone in trouble?

"I can take care of you in priority check in." True, the first and business class counter was empty. Who would be the lucky traveler?

Amazingly, no one moved. So then, I thought I'd try -- "We're two people but we only have one bag. Can we both come?"

"If you both only have one bag, I guess that's fine."

Gained I: 30 minutes or so. Which don't count for much since we were in an an airport, but it beat standing in that line.

2. When I booked the tickets, I tried to get an aisle seat for my mom, but I was told the last two seats together were in the middle of the middle section. Still, why not try again? I asked the same agent who pulled us from the line, "Is it too late to ask for an aisle seat? My mom likes the extra leg room."

"We're full, but let me see what I can do." Tap tap tap. "I did find two other seats. Here you go!"

Gained II: A more comfortable ride for my mother.

Whole New Meaning: Please help a reader?

April 9. Day 283.

My project and this blog have just taken on a whole new meaning. I got an email yesterday from a woman who has been working for her employer for several years. She just discovered that despite a promotion and stellar reviews, she is earning less than a newly hired male intern with the same job functions. She found The Daily Asker on Google and asked for my advice.

Wow.

Here I am asking for $5 off of a pair of shoes, and this woman got the kind of shock that inspired me in the first place.

Reminds me what's really at stake here.

Here's what I'm going to write back: that I'm not qualified to give legal counsel, but I'll refer her to a bunch of online resources. And that if she needs moral support or encouragement about whether to pursue this, even if it means rocking the boat, I'm happy to stand behind her and help in any way I can.

However, I would also love to put her in contact with an employment attorney or HR specialist.

So... here's my first question for the day:

If you are a lawyer who would be available to answer her questions for 10-15 minutes for free, could you please get in touch with me? I'm thedailyasker [at] gmail [dot] com. I can pass along her email, which has more details. Alternately, if you know any people who might be interested in helping -- friends who went to law school, your brother the appellate court clerk, your totally cool professor, your daughter who just passed the bar, your ex-boyfriend the Supreme Court Chief Justice -- can you please forward them this page? Put it up on Facebook? Get the word out?

This situation makes me realize the grander potential of this blog, particularly as I set the stage for Round 2 (launch: July 1, 2009!!). I'd like to add a feature where women who suspect or know of pay discrimination can get in touch with a lawyer and ask for free initial advice. (Might she have a case? Should she file an informal complaint? Stuff like that.)

This brings me to a second question: If you or anyone you know would be willing to provide occasional free consult, which could perhaps introduce you to a possible client and help someone in need, I'd love to turn this page into such a resource.

Please email me, and we can work out the details so that these queries are not intrusive to you. I can screen them, and distribute them among all particiants, so that each participating lawyer only gets a query one in a rare while.

What do you think?

Gained: Nothing yet, but hoping to help a woman correct her disturbing situation.

Group discount for a spa day?

March 26. Day 268.

Yuck. I just had a sip of bottled water that tastes like a plastic chemical crap.

Shudder.

Ok. So.

I've taken on my first assignment as an asker!

Every few weeks, I get together with a group of girls and we hang out. Watch a movie, go out for dinner, whatever. One of them suggested we have a spa day, and I offered to call around and see what kind if group rate or special package I could find.

It's a weird tradition, if you think about it: have your body buffed and primed, poked and abrased, your hairs removed and your toxins sucked away by organic compounds, in public, for exorbitant prices, while discussing men. All in order to please the men you've just been discussing.

In any case. Here are the results of my first round of inquiries, in the order I called.

1. Indigo, a boutique salon and spa, offered 10 percent off of any individual service. No discounts on package deals (like massage and facial) because those are already discounted.

I didn't push for anything better. Other places to call first.

2. Aqua Day Spa, a larger outfit, offered ten sauna visits for $150 (aka $15 per person, from $20). For scrubs and massages, they have a "buy 10 get 1 free" $900 package (aka $81 per person).

I explained people might not want both scrub and massage, and $81 plus $15 for the sauna was above our budgets. Could we pay less and use less -- i.e. only massage or scrub, plus sauna?

"That's okay, in that case you will get a credit," she replied.

"I don't want to pay for something I won't use."

She was getting confused, or I was being confusing. (There was also a language barrier.) So I tried again, calmly and clearly:

"I'm trying to get the most competitive package. I am calling several places, and I will select the one that can work with my budget. I am looking for a package for 7 to 10 women, who want to pay around $60 to $70 for massage or scrub and sauna. Is that possible?"

(Yes, $60 is low, but that would let them raise it to $80 while including the sauna rather than tacking it on. I hope!)

She said she must check with the owner. Sounds good.

3. Estancia, in La Jolla, serenaded me with sexy bossa nova while the spa concierge made her way to the telephone. She the told me to email someone else to arrange this package. And the email she she gave me was from a different company, someone at "destination hotels" -- basically someone corporate.

Too much trouble. And from the look of their website, too pricey for a glorified nail salon. (Ok, fine, it is the lap of luxury! Sumptuous serene luxury! Luxury I can't afford! Next?)

4. Hair and Nail Studio. It's a small operation, family owned, and a far cry from Estancia. With prices to match. (Disclosure: I get my legs waxed there. Susan, the owner, is wonderful. Here's the website.)

I asked if we could get facials, plus mani-pedis, for $60. She thought about it, then agreed.

I think that's a great deal. But the vibe is more "maintenance" than "indulgence." Bright lights, can-do attitude. Not "ommmmmmm." I don't think the girls will go for it.

5. Hyde-Edwards looks great -- from its website and Yelp reviews, at least. (Though, I don't trust yelp ever since they took down my negative review of a place. Still, I use it once in a while for things like this -- lists of places to check out.)

She told me about their regular group special, which is full price, but includes free champagne and fruits.

I asked if it would be possible to get a discount on top of that. She said no.

Wrap-up: I didn't try very hard. Just by asking, I got up to 20 percent off of services at a mix of salons. And "free" champagne.

Next, I will go back and negotiate with the final two or tree contenders. Personally, I'm leaning for Aqua Day Spa. I'm all about the sauna!! Or Hyde-Edwards, if I could get those prices to come down just a bit.

Gained: Update next week.

(Above, pictures from spas around the world. What would an alien think... torture? birth canal? other aliens? )

Performance Anxiety: $2 off?

March 14. Day 257.

There's a certain pressure that comes with being The Daily Asker, rather than simply Roxy. Not that I am ever simply Roxy, for I am -- just as you are, gentle reader, or as any atom or galaxy we can conceive of is -- far from simple. But you get my drift.

Being a blogger with a mission comes with certain unexpected complications.

Like performance anxiety.

Usually I'm fairly brazen (growing more so with every question, I fear), but once in a while I do get cold feet. Usually, this happens when I'm with friends who know what I'm up to. Maybe they can see the question forming in my lips, my eyes scanning the room or street for opportunities. And they want in on the excitement.

"What are you going to ask for?"

"Are you going to ask for something cool today?"

That's when I start to worry. Cool? I don't know! Is my cool your cool?

Besides, it can be a challenge to ask convincingly when someone is watching. How do I utter the words? Do I sound natural? What if I approach my target like a sylphic lioness eyeing her prey from the shadows of the sausage tree -- and the fox says, "Nah, not today. No can do. Can you talk with my manager?"

Not fun.

Which brings us to Saturday. I was in LA, visiting a grad school friend who's now a hotshot prof at a local institution of higher learning. Not only is she a rising star in academia -- she's also negotiating a better package at her school by doing all sorts of cool tricks I can't quite disclose (since it's a small world). But let's just say, she's gooood.

After our dinner, we strolled around Venice Beach and ended up in Equator Books, a booktique that had quite a few nice selections. Cecile, for that her self-appointed pseudonym, found a copy of The Confessions of Nat Turner.

"I've been wanting to read this!" she exclaimed.

It was $20.

I hadn't asked for anything yet, but this store didn't seem like the place to try. The prices were higher than standard for used books, the editions were hardbacks or otherwise classy, and the general vibe was "non-negotiable."

Should I try and risk failing in front of a friend? A friend who's been curious about this project, but never seen me ask "live"? On the flips side, what did I have to lose, really?

She handed me the book.

"Hi, I was wondering if we could get this for $18."

"$18? Why specifically that figure? Is that all the cash you have on you?"

"No, it's for another reason, but I can't tell why you yet. I can only explain once you say yes or no."

"Ok, then yes," he replied with a smile. "That's fine." I think I made him curious.

Then Cecile jumped in -- "She has this blog, she was on NPR, she's The Daily Asker!"

After he rang it up, I asked for his card, and it turns out he was the owner.

As for my rationale: I made my request very specific -- $18, rather than "discount?" -- because people so far seem inclined to grant requests that are focused, not vague. Plus, $18 was 10% off, so I figured he'd be inclined to say yes. I was tempted to ask for $15, but 25% seemed like a big discount for one item. So I played it safe, asked for a more modest discount -- and got my "yes." That's worth something, too!

Gained: $2

Why are you letting him kick you around?

March 12. Day 255.

Newsflash: "Everything is negotiable."

This story talks about how patients can bargain down medical bills. First line: "When money is tight, everything is negotiable — including your health care bills." Damn straight!

It's a perfect link to set up what I asked for today.

I was working in a cafe when I ran into an acquaintance. She works in a different cafe, and we were always friendly when we saw each other. So I invited her to sit with me and we ended up talking. She told me about her used car, which is falling apart -- two weeks she bought it. Now her boyfriend is trying to sort everything out and return the car.

The dealer won't take it back, and will only pay for half of part of the repairs.

"Why are you letting the dealer set the terms?" I asked.

"I don't know. Because... it's too convoluted."

"Why about lemon laws?"

"I'm sure he's [boyfriend] looked into all that."

"Why don't you at least try to negotiate with him?"

"I don't think we can. He said he won't take it back."

"Well, if you wanted, maybe I could try talking -- I mean, maybe having a third party there, who could help you stop getting pushed around or --"

"It's okay. My boyfriend is taking care of it."

I really wanted to tell her about the blog -- and I've told people before, if it seemed they might be interested or I was feeling particularly blabby -- but this seemed a little preachy, especially since I'd already tried to give her advice and she wasn't interested. "I have this blog where I talk about asking and negotiating. Maybe you can find some useful info there." Nah.

As she ran her hands through her hair, this girl told me how stressed she was about the situation -- it was clear from her voice, her posture. Stress was eating her inside out. But still, she didn't ask.

I'm not criticizing her. First, I don't have the whole picture and it's possible they really are doing everything they can -- and know it.

But is also possible they're selling themselves short. Millions of people do just that, after all. People who get medical bills, confusing insurance claims, and don't ask.

They're scared. They're exhausted by work, life, the fear of futility. They don't know where to start. They don't even know they can negotiate. They don't think they're entitled. And they're not just women. They're Americans, and from every other country on this planet, mired in this opaque system of ours, or opaque systems of their own...

But what if they opened their mouths and asked. Once per billing cycle. Once per billing account. How much money could we save collectively, if everyone tackled one bill, one account and bargained it down?
Castigated excuses and rationalizations and demanded a break?

Gained: Nothing. Tried to help. Failed. Case closed.