The barbecue
of negotiation
Guido goes full-tilt at the negotiating table…
Dunno what the womenfolk were fussing about. A quick back-of-the-Trader calculation
(I use the classified submission page) says I’ve owned a mere 20-something
bikes in the last 20-something years of riding. Which, all things considered,
shows admirable restraint and could indicate a too-timid approach.
Let’s look at a recent conundrum as an example: Muggins is at the head
of the queue to buy the AMT long-termer CB1300. Now I can justify the CB (suitably
warmed-up of course) as a commuter to replace the ageing Gerald the GS1000G.
Okay, so the definitions of “justify” and “commuter” may
vary depending on which planet you’re from.
The potential purchase somehow cropped up in conversation at Chateau Guido recently,
somewhere during the interval between dinner and desert. On the couch. My challengers
– playing for the map of the toybox – were Ms M Senior and Junior.
A formidable team.
Experience selling real estate in a former life taught me that you never give
away a negotiating point lightly. So it started with M Snr, who had just read
AMT number 151 and worked out I had the hots for the 1300. (Note to Ed Snag:
Can we produce a Spouse Edition of AMT? It’ll be worth a fortune.)
“You’re going to buy it, aren’t you?” she asks. “Well,
I dunno…” quoth I. “That means you are,” chimes in M Jnr,
who has magically joined us in the ruck. Oh dear – we’re now fighting
on two fronts, viewers.
“Why?” asks M Snr, somewhat brutally. “Well, I didn’t say
I was…” “Yes you are,” adds Jnr. (At this point we strongly
advise keeping your nerve.) Eventually the hedging and admission of nada (watch
the Prime Minister at work, if you need pointers) pays off. Since they can’t
get me to confess, they move on to negotiating the details – just in case.
“So,” asks M Snr, “What’s going in its place?” “Nothing,”
is the reply. She gives me that you-couldn’t-possibly-have-said-that look.
I reply with that it-wasn’t-me-y’honour look.
M Jnr, who is a little inexperienced in these things, looked dumbstruck but
nobly tried the, “But where are you going to put it – the shed’s
already full” line. “Dunno – maybe we should buy a bigger shed,”
was the reply. (She wasn’t expecting that one.)
By this stage our lounge room (thank god Ms A Jnr was absent) was feeling mighty
crowded and somewhat hot. Fortunately the television was still going and supplied
its usual rich font of inspiration. All of a sudden an advertisement appeared
for a portable barbecue of Homer proportions, which had a beer cooler on its
lower deck. I’d never seen one before and was truly impressed.
Just as I was scrabbling for traction in the debate, the ad came on a second
time. In sheer desperation, as a diversionary tactic, I drew their attention
to the beast on offer and blurted, “I suppose if it had a six-figure income
it would be the perfect mate...” Now many folk would have savaged me on
the spot – but they coolly took in the full stupidity of what I said, treated
it with the contempt it richly deserved and, just for a moment, lost focus.
M Snr went back to asking which of our fleet is going in exchange. Mac the Valk
and Ted the Triumph are staying, while the rest of the fleet is up for review
– this could take some time, given the 11-ish bikes floating around the
place. She got bored with this and went back to her newspaper.
M Jnr still thought she was on a winner with the shed-space issue, until I reminded
her that access to my wallet – which funds her car – might be in imminent
danger of review. Suddenly she took an interest in her DVD collection. (My apologies
to her future spouse, who hasn’t a prayer…)
It was a narrow escape. Neither will be surprised if the CB turns up in our
shed one day (assuming I can lever Snag’s mitts off the thing). I’ll
probably have to concede something – which will be Gerald the GS1000G,
who will move into Spannerman’s shed.
If it comes off, it will be reason to have a celebratory dinner. A barbecue
would be nice…
Guy "Guido" Allen
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