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"We are not authorized to lower the prices," sniffs a woman with a haystack of red hair.

It is Saturday inside a Linens 'N Things store, where the mood approaches giddy hysteria. Linens 'N Things has succumbed to Gloom 'N Things. It is going out of business. A poster headline in end-of-the-world point size screams "Everything Must Go!"

But not, apparently, the Cuisinart food processor I like. The 11-cup-capacity, touch-button item was priced at $299.99. Now, its bright yellow sticker says, it is $249.99.

"You can't do better?"

The saleswoman takes in my mom-in-yoga-pants-and-ponytail look. She shakes her haystack.

I jab at the buttons of the Cuisinart, sullenly, which is what successful hagglers do, according to an online tipsheet I found. "Do not attach yourself to an item," it warned.

"Can I speak to your manager?" (Another tip.)

"She's not here," she says over her shoulder, disdainfully, as she shuffles off.

FUTURE SHOP: 22" LG LCD HDTV

STARTING PRICE: $399.99

On an afternoon in the middle of the week, salesmen in black shirts and khaki-coloured pants loiter on the second floor of a downtown Toronto Future Shop. They have that pent-up energy of restless young men who look ready to break into an impromptu game of basketball.

I feel their eyes on me, the only shopper. Another haggle pointer: Seek out a place where salespeople work on commission. They want to help.

This time, I have a notepad, all the better to exude a vibe of serious bargain hunter. I take my time to peruse a bank of LCD HDTV brands with flat screens of about 20 inches.

"I am interested in this one," I say, pointing to a 22-inch from LG.

The sales dude watches as I write down the name on his tag: Prab. "What can you do for me?" I ask. (Kind steeliness is something you can practise.)

He starts in about the fact that the item is already on promotion. "It's $399.99, down from $449," he says.

I had done some comparison shopping - another good idea. At Best Buy, where the salespeople are not on commission, I wangled a deal on a 19-inch flat-panel LG. From $349.99, I got it down to $299. The catch: I had to buy the four-year Best Buy protection plan for $99.99.

Total price, taxes in: about $455.

"Well, that was for the 19-inch," Prab says. "You can get it for the same price if you want."

I scribble in my notepad.

"Nothing on this one?" I park in front of the 22-inch.

He studies his screen at his sales station, non-committal. "I would knock thirty bucks off the price." But I would have to buy the store's protection plan.

Total price, taxes in: about $531.

I do the math: $76 for three more inches of TV.

"Size matters, I guess."

But Prab doesn't hear me. Still, I have won somehow, because now he leads me to a small grouping of "open box" TVs. Shoppers have returned them, basically untouched. A top-brand Sony 19-inch TV, originally $539.96, is $399.99. A 19-inch TV from Insignia, their house brand, is $149, from $299.99.

Victory, my fellow hagglers, comes with persistence, a frown and a notepad.

HOLT RENFREW: ETRO SCARF

STARTING PRICE: $919

If the message isn't clear on the flashy exterior of the flagship Holt Renfrew store in Toronto, it is once you step inside. You shop here not to acquire some transformative persona. You shop here because you are already Somebody. Or rather, you think you are.

I have armed myself accordingly. No notepad. No ponytail. I slide into the smooth crowd like a confidently nude bather into a hot tub.

Pick your battles, the haggler's tipsheet advised. I stick to the ground floor, where tables of merchandise suggest a bargain. Forget the sublime Armani section upstairs.

I see a beautiful scarf in a jumble of items. By Etro, an Italian design house, an exquisite emerald band of suede lined in black fox fur circles the neck. Original price: $1,325. On sale for $919.

A sales associate glides over. She tells me it looks marvellous on me; that Etro is timeless, each piece one of a small number, carefully crafted. She fingers the fur, too. "Gorgeous," she breathes. They sell not by pushing, but by enabling.

I ask if she could drop the price.

"It was just marked down today," she says by way of a no. She is carefully refolding the items that have been pawed by shoppers.

"But I love it."

She offers me a sisterly sympathetic look. It's a female thing. We understand the seduction of beautiful things you cannot afford. "I would buy it for fifty less," I lie.

She simply smiles. I circle the floor and return (another tip). This time, a male sales associate stands near the table. I ask him for a reduction.

He says nothing and shakes his head slightly, lips pursed, as if I am an ingrate who has committed a terrible social faux pas.

He looks me up and down. But I hold my own. "Perhaps I'll be back," I say airily, and look him up and down, too.

LINENS 'N THINGS:

CUISINART FOOD PROCESSOR

STARTING PRICE: $249.99

I return to Linens 'N Things in the middle of the week. Red Haystack is nowhere in sight. Blond Lovely, another saleswoman, doesn't seem very pleased to be interrupted from her job of stacking cooking pots. The food processor has been marked down to $209.

"Anything you can do?"

"We are not authorized to lower the prices," she drones.

"But it's the floor model. It doesn't even have a box," I complain. She scrutinizes me. I am in office attire. Which doesn't help. I am not a mother on a shoestring, which may invite sympathy. I am now some working bitch who is really cheap.

"I'll take it off your hands for two hundred bucks." (Cash sometimes works, apparently.)

She catches her jaw before it drops to the floor. I may have broken a cardinal rule of haggling: Do not insult the retailer. I decide not to ask for her manager.