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I Raise My Kids Differently Than Other Parents (Part LXXI)
A few weeks ago, my daughter Chloe found a vanity dresser on Facebook Marketplace (which is a shitshow - source). It was exactly what she needed for her new bedroom. Charming and beat up enough so there’s no worry about scuffing it up. The seller wanted $200. Chloe, a high school senior with an analytical mind and killer lats, asked me if I thought she could talk him down.
I said, “Tell him you’re a broke student heading to college and ask if he’ll let it go for $150.”
She typed out the message while sitting next to me. A few minutes later, he wrote back: Sure, I can do $150.
Chloe looked at me like we’d pulled off sorcery. “That worked?” I said nothing, just grabbed the truck keys borrowed from a neighbor.
The Ambush
We drove 25 miles. We pulled up to a small house and knocked on the door. Two little kids opened it, stared at us blankly, and said, “Go around back.”
We walked to the truck, but as I reached for the door, another man approached. He walked straight up to Chloe’s side of the car, and she rolled down the window.
“You here for the vanity?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Chloe replied.
“So am I,” he said.
I’ll tell you something: I’ve been kind, generous, and moral most of my life. But at that moment, I was a father first. I poked my head out and said, “I’m sorry to say this, but if this seller invited two people for the same dresser, I need to let you know that my daughter and I are going home with it.”
The guy blinked a bit too fast (see our research on this - source). “I’m just gonna talk to the seller.”
“Sure,” I said, smiling. “Go ahead.”
I told Chloe to stand outside the truck with her arms crossed like a bodyguard in a Yo! MTV Raps video. Intimidation, but classy.
Just then, the dad of the two kids came out and told the other guy to go around back. That’s when I whispered to Chloe: “Run.”
She darted across the yard while I jumped in the truck and peeled around the block, determined to beat the guy to the back door.
I leapt out of the truck and walked into the open garage, ready to throw hands over a discounted vanity. And then I stopped.
It wasn’t a one-off vanity. It was a warehouse. The guy had an entire wall stacked with boxed, unopened dressers. Factory sealed.
The other buyer saw me, and I raised my hands. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just trying to make sure my daughter got what she needed. I apologize if I freaked you out. Namaste.”
He acquiesced. “All good, man.”
The Real Negotiation
Chloe stood in the corner, arms crossed again, disappointed in the situation and more importantly, me! The dresser was still boxed. A DIY situation. She thought it would be ready to use.
I leaned over and whispered, “Follow my lead.”
I turned to the seller. “Hey, we didn’t know this required assembly. Can you lower the price?”
He said, “I could go down to $135.”
I said, “How about $120?”
“That’s too low,” he replied. “I won’t make any profit.”
I nodded sympathetically then raised an eyebrow. “So you're telling me you’ve got an entire inventory, and $15 is the line between profit and no profit?”
He didn’t respond.
I put my arm around Chloe and slowly walked back to the truck. She whispered, “Dad, what are you doing?”
“Pretend you’re annoyed,” I said. “He’s gonna follow us.”
Sure enough, 73 seconds later, he walked over.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do $120. I’ll even help you load it.”
Chloe beamed (on the inside). On the outside, she gave him a polite nod. The moment we pulled away, windows up, trunk closed, she let loose a scream of victory. It’s the delicious sound of a parenting win (don’t ask about the lifetime win-loss record).
And then I debriefed her. Move by move. Emotion by emotion. I reverse-engineered everything I’d just done.
This was never about the dresser. This was about learning how to get what you want in the real world with calm precision.
Most kids don’t get to watch their parents navigate conflict skillfully. They get orders or lectures. Sometimes the parent is not to blame; society is…
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