You didn't want a real job. So here you are. Run an antique shop in Vienna with your friends or on your own. Buy low, sell high, pretend you know what you're doing. Oh, and keep your mood up. That last part is kind of the whole game.
Every customer who walks in is either a goldmine or a trap, and you won't know which until you've already lowballed yourself twice. Bargaining isn't just a minigame with a meter – it's a slow grind of trial and error. Offer too much, you're broke. Offer too little, they walk out. Sell in-store. List online. Flip the same lamp three times if you have to. Knowledge is the only real currency here (and money, of course; don't spend it all at the local casino).
Here's the thing nobody puts in the job listing: working at an antique shop is kind of soul-crushing. Your mood drains constantly, just from existing in a place you never chose. And then the printer jams. And then someone trips over the umbrella stand, and it's you, and it really hurt. Mood isn't optional. To fill it back up, you've got options – most of them questionable.
Undervalued is built for co-op. Split the work, argue about prices, blame each other when a deal falls through. Someone has to deal with the customer who wants to haggle for forty minutes over a ceramic bowl, and it doesn't have to be you. Probably shouldn't be you. You're needed elsewhere.
