A Shopper's Right to Browse

There’s a salesgirl in an upscale furniture store called Saccaro out in Barra da Tijuca, a neighborhood in the western part of Rio, who seriously needs some sales management skills. For starters, I suggest she read Harry J. Friedman’s best-selling book, No Thanks, I’m Just Looking, to get a feel for how to assess her customers. She might then consider that when customers actually say, "No thanks, we’re just looking," the proper response on her part would be, "Fine, feel free to browse, if you need help just give a shout," rather than the scolding rebuke Mark and I received on a recent shopping trip to Rio, a rebuke that reverberates in my ears to this day.

Me and my shadow

But let me back up for a moment. This is not the first time in Brazil that we’ve come up against a clash of ideas about what constitutes good customer service. I’ve written about it before (April 5, 2012 blogpost) and I’ll probably write about it again. For me, the act of shopping, or browsing, is often more fun than the final buying. But Brazil is less addicted to recreational shopping, and their language reflects that. Portuguese makes no real distinction between "shopping" (fazendo compras) and "buying" (comprar), and there’s no specific word for "browse" either. The expression olhar sem compromisso (to look without obligation) misses the deeply satisfying "browsiness" of a good browse. Leave me to my own devices and who knows but that I won’t buy something I wasn’t intending to buy. But in Brazil most salespeople can’t just leave you alone, they must follow you around the store in case you have an urgent question, they point out things you don’t need to have pointed out, and explain things you don’t need to have explained. I don’t know, I for one can’t shop if I'm being watched and followed, period.

So here’s what happened at Saccaro, the furniture store Mark and I entered in our ongoing search for chairs:

Salesgirl:  Good morning, may I help you?

Us:  Good morning. We’re just looking, thanks. (Oh, please, just let us browse.)

Salesgirl:  Well, I’ll accompany you and show you what the store has. (Foreigners, I knew it.)

Us:  That’s okay, we can see what you have, and we know what we’re looking for. We’ll let you know if we have any questions. (Sweetheart, it’s a furniture store, you have tables and chairs and sofas. Duh.)

[We start to walk off, the salesgirl begins to follow.]

Salesgirl:  Here we have our veranda furniture . . .

Us:  Yes, we can see that. Really, it’s not necessary to accompany us. (Leave us alone!)

Salesgirl:  I have to accompany you. It’s my job, and you don’t know the store. (Foreigners, they always think they know everything.)

Us:  Actually, we do know the store, we’ve been here before, we bought a beautiful piece here a few years ago. So really, if you just let us shop . . . (Oh, this is ridiculous!)

[We walk off again, salesgirl continues to follow, albeit quietly. But she can’t help herself . . .]

Salesgirl:  Over there is our home theater area . . .

Us:  We have no interest in your home theater area, we’re looking for very particular chairs, we'll know them when we see them, and you're being very distracting. (Doesn’t she want to make a sale?)

Salesgirl:  Look, I can’t let you walk around unattended, we consider that to be very rude. Let me explain something you don’t understand. I know that you’re foreigners, maybe it’s different in your country, but you’re in Brazil now . . .

Us:  Actually, we live in Brazil, we’ve lived in Brazil for 11 years and we’re very familiar . . . (Now she's going to lecture us?)

Salesgirl:  . . . and this is how it’s done in Brazil. We are here to serve you, to attend to your needs, and show you the store, and let me also say that our Brazilian customers are very happy with the way we take care of them.  If you live here, you should know to do things the Brazilian way! (So there.)

[We'd had it. We walked out of the store and she lost any chance of a good sale. Not exactly tensions on the Gaza Strip, but one more sorry story of one side not understanding the other.]

Our first and now last Saccaro purchase

Customer Service

I love browsing. I love to walk into a store and take in the atmosphere, actually breathe it in, look around, take my time, see how the products are displayed, look for sales, handle things, put them back, touch the fabrics, buy what I need and buy what I don't need. You know, browse. Yet in all my years of shopping in Brazil I've enjoyed very few chances to browse. There's no word for "browse" in Portuguese, although you could say olhar sem compromisso (look around without obligation). But that really misses the deeply satisfying "browsiness" of the behavior. No, in most stores Brazilians are serious about face-to-face, hands-on customer service. I rarely walk more than two feet into a store before a salesperson comes right up to me and says, Pois não? (May I help you?)

Somehow I don't see this as helping 

For most Brazilians this is an expected and welcomed part of the shopping experience. It's part of what makes Brazil Brazil. Must drive Brazilians crazy to walk into a CVS Pharmacy in the States and have to wander around aisle after aisle, looking for — and never finding — a salesperson. But for me, this immediate approach on the part of the sales help is counterproductive. In my early years here I used to just walk out of the store. At least now I'm getting better at standing my ground. Sympathetic friends have taught me to say, 'Tou só olhando, 'brigada (Just looking, thanks). But then I find that the salesperson sticks with me, follows me around the store (as in the picture) just in case I might have an urgent question. I know this all sounds very grouchy and grumpy, but I really cannot do quality shopping — let alone browsing — if I'm being watched and followed. It makes me nervous. 

One more thing while I'm on the subject of shopping. In Portuguese, boa noite (good night) is both a greeting and a farewell. Therefore, when you walk into a store after sundown, the salesperson says boa noite as you walk in and boa noite as you walk out. A salesperson who hears English spoken by customers — and who wants not only to be helpful, but to practice his English — almost always says "good night" as you walk in. And every time this happens to my husband and me, no matter how much we expect it now, our immediate reaction is to think that the store must be closing, we'll have to leave. It's instinct. Well, I want to be helpful, too, so I always explain to the salesperson that English speakers make a distinction. Good night is a farewell, a good-bye, a taking leave. When people walk into your store, say "good evening" if you mean to greet them. I don't think any salesperson has ever believed me. 

Even U.S.-based reporters for the Brazilian television networks seem to have misunderstood the Good Night, Irene sign that many homeowners across the East Coast put up on their property as the hurricane barreled down on them last August. It was explained, wrongly, to the Brazilian television audience that these signs were put up to greet the storm, as if the homeowners were taunting the storm: Come and get me! In truth, the homeowners were actually saying, Irene, it's over, you're dead meat, you're history. And there was a double whammy confusion. Besides not getting the meaning of the signs at the most superficial level, they also didn't know the reference being made to the ultimate leave-taking American folk song. Here's the version that The Weavers sung at the end of all their concert performances.