| So this took place in about 1982. I had just gotten pretty interested
in oriental rugs for a couple of reasons: we had bought a condo with lots
of newly refinished hardwood floors, and I had just gotten an oriental rug
dealer as a client (who was paying me for my services in rugs). We needed
a runner for the central hallway, something in the 3' x 15' range. My
client didn't have anything old in this size, so I stopped at a Michigan
Avenue rug shop (long since moved to LaSalle Street) to see what they had.
It was in a great old building which has been torn down and replaced with
a huge pile of marble called modestly "One Magnificent Mile." The old shop
was long and narrow with a mezzanine at the back where the owner sat,
surveying all that was his. After about ten minutes with a rug
porter/salesman, he came down and told me he had just the thing. And sure
enough, it was 3' x 14' and presented as a turn-of-the-century Afghan -
just one row of dark indigo fil poi guls on a wine red field. We agree on
a price, and I take it home. A couple weeks pass. My client receives a
visit from an Afghan manufacturer (with ateliers in Kabul and Herat) who
shows up with his shipment of rugs. We strike up an acquaintance and
invite him over for some lamb, spinach, and garlic stew. As we show him
around he looks at my runner and says in what little English he can
manage, "Pakistan." Naturally, I'm sorta' shocked. After all, this was
purchased from a Michigan Avenue rug dealer who vouched for its age and
attribution. But the Afghan manufacturer was insistent, pointing out the
cotton warps and long, soft wool. The next day I marched into the Michigan
Avenue dealer's store with the runner and asked for my money back. As you
may have already guessed, the dealer stuck by his story and refused. Well,
I suppose I might have gotten kind of demonstrative and loud, because
another couple who were already there when I arrived started edging for
the door. Noticing this, the dealer got even hotter with me, accusing me
of not knowing anything while he had been in this business all his life
and how could I dare say he had deliberately lied to me? About this time,
by previous agreement, the little, cross-eyed Afghan manfacturer strolled
into the store. I introduced him to the dealer, and after a few moments we
discovered that they had a fluency in Turkish in common. My "mavin" tore
the dealer a new sphincter. In short order he agreed to offer me a store
credit. But by this time I didn't want to have anything to do with the
lying bastard. Conveying this in pidgin English to the Afghan, he tore
into the dealer some more. And damn if I didn't get my money back. I'll
bet that dealer never expected a real, live Afghan rug manufacturer to
come walking into his store to challenge his attribution of an "Afghan"
rug. And nothing less would have gotten my money back. Cordially,
-Jerry- |