Haggle, bitch!

As of writing this, it’s almost 5 in the morning. I can sort of hear a Muslim call to prayer not too far in the distance, so I opened the window to hear better…..man, that dude sounds REALLY tired.

So yesterday morning I tried to open a bank account, or at least change my tourist account to a regular account. A small crowd of people had gathered outside as we waited for the bank to open, and it became apparent that we needed to make appointments using the machine outside. Actually, it wasn’t all THAT apparent to me what the machine was for—when I opened my account back in April, I used the machine inside to make an appointment so I was slightly confused as to the purpose of this machine, and I thought maybe it was like a fancy ATM or something, since it was right next to the regular ATM and looked just like it. A girl around my age was standing next to me in line, making occasional remarks of small talk to me in Hebrew, to which I would either nod my head in agreement or smile and laugh at if they were amusing. Finally I was second in line and the Russian woman in front of me turned around and asked if I could help her with the machine, and I explained in Hebrew that I didn’t really understand what the machine was.

Wow.
It really was startling just how American I sounded. Like, normally I’m fully aware that I in no way sound like a native Israeli, but THIS time even I was shocked that my tongue and mouth somehow decided that this horrific combination of nasally vowels and flat R’s was the best approximation of native Israeli Hebrew that they could come up with.

The girl who had been making small talk comments gave me a brief surprised look, but rushed to help the Russian woman. Finally it came my turn and as I got closer to the machine, the girl was chuckling a bit and said to me in English, “Ah, so you ehhhhh did not understand me before?” So I turned bright red and tried to convince her that I actually do understand a bit of Hebrew, but trying to convince her was totally a lost cause at that point because my horrific accent gave it away….

So she explained in English what the machine was for (making an appointment), and then hit the English language option for me. At that point she stepped back to leave me alone, but stayed close enough that she could step in and help if need be. Meanwhile though, the security guard had noticed that I had been a bit confused, so he left his post to come help me (even though the screen was now in ENGLISH and I could very easily get what I wanted done!), leaving a line people waiting to enter now standing outside in the Jerusalem winter. The security guard starts navigating the screen for me as if I cannot do it myself (again, the screen is ALL IN ENGLISH!), but then the girl decides that she doesn’t want to be left out of the helping so she comes in and also starts trying to help. A couple seconds later several people from the line wandered over to see what the crowd of people around the ATM (or appointment machine, I guess) were doing….and then they all started trying to help me navigate the screen—which, as I’ve said before, WAS IN ENGLISH! Finally my appointment slip printed, and I feel like there were 7 hands reaching for it to hand to me.

While it was slightly frustrating and embarrassing to have all these people navigating an appointment machine for me in a language that is native to me but foreign to them, it did make me love Israelis for being so eager to help……. Aw, what sweeties!


Finally I got inside and got called over to the desk of the guy who I actually sat with to open my original account! Oh man, I kind of swooned a bit, because this guy is one of those random people in Israel that I have a crush on. Other random people in Israel I have a crush on? The guy who works at the McDonalds in the Harel Mall, and many others.
You know what’s wonderful about being an olah hadasha? Seriously like every 5 minutes you get a mazel tov from somebody. At the bank I got a mazel tov from the teller, and even the lady in the cubicle next to him leaned over and smiled, saying, “Mazal tov!” After I went to the bank, I went to get some fresh orange juice at some random stand, and the guy working there heard my accent and asked where I was from and what I was doing in Israel. I said I was from the US and that I made aliyah yesterday, and his face lit up. He clapped his hands together like a fat German boy who’d just been given cake, and then started gushing, “Mazal Tov, Mazal Tov, welcome! Welcome!!!!” We then talked in Hebrew about how cold it was, and he started talking about peeling carrots and even brought me around to the side of his cart so that I could see the barrel full of peeled carrots, and he explained that he was cold from peeling carrots. I’m not entirely sure how the hell peeling carrots makes you cold (maybe cos you can’t wear gloves?), but I did feel special that I can now actually have a friendly conversation with people in Hebrew. I’m really glad I came to Israel for a while before making aliyah, because last time I had so many moments of being totally clueless—which pisses off Israelis VERY quickly I noticed--or not understanding what people are saying….but this time I’m a little bit more aware of what to expect and a little bit better in Hebrew, so silly little conversations like this have happened more in the past day than they happened during the entire 4 ½ months I was here last time.

Also, I feel like I need to address the notion of haggling. So my understanding is that haggling (in the pure sense) isn’t as common in Israel as most people are led to believe. This is probably a marvelous thing for me, because I’m totally crap at haggling, and I’d probably accidentally end up paying more than the original price I was offered. Because of this, I tend to avoid marketplaces where haggling might be expected or at least tolerated or whatever. But in taxis, I always feel like I’m getting ripped off, and if I knew how I would totally try to haggle. Unfortunately, I don’t know how. So today when I got into the cab to come to my new home, the cab driver said I would have to pay 50 shekels.

Well, that seemed a bit high to me since we weren’t going very far at all, and even though I don’t know how haggling works, I figured now was as good a time as any to try a method even if it doesn’t work. For a second I thought maybe I’d just let it go, but I decided that if I’m going to live in this country I should learn how not to be ripped off. So I chose the method of repeating the exact price that the cab driver offered, but this time in a tone of voice that suggested that somehow what the cab driver said had violated my family’s honor. “FIFTY SHEKELS???” I repeated, as if the cab driver had just raped my son and sold my daughter into slavery. There was a slight pause during which the little voice in my head kept repeating, “Psssssst! Make a lower offer! Make a lower offer!” But suddenly the American in me became extremely ashamed of myself, and I ended up paying what the cab driver asked even though I knew I was paying too much (it was only SLIGHTLY less than what I used to pay to get from Jerusalem to the kibbutz, which was muuuuuch farther away).

Oh well. One of these days I’m going to learn how to sound like an Israeli when I talk and one of these days I’m going to learn how to haggle properly. But today is not one of these days.