Some people are bargain hunters. They set out for the mall in search of savings. I, on the other hand, am a bargain magnet. Not that I go looking for discounts ”“ they simply find me.

Last week, for instance, I went shopping for a copier machine. Weighing the merits of various models, I asked the salesman some questions. He then pointed to a newer version of the Canon copier we had been discussing and I asked the price. Since it had just arrived that day, it was still unmarked. He excused himself and retreated behind the counter, where he scanned the product code on the box.

“It’s $40,” he announced.

I laughed, as if to go along with the joke. When he didn’t respond with a more plausible number, I challenged the price. Forty dollars would barely cover the cost of packaging and shipping, I argued, much less the product.

“You can’t argue with the computer,” he said, as if a machine were the final authority on pricing.

The $40 copier went through yet another screening at the check-out counter, with the store’s manager watching, to boot. That was several layers of missed opportunity before the copier and I left the store.

Once home, I immediately checked the store’s latest catalog, which had arrived recently in the mail. I looked up the copier model, and there it was in bold print: $199.99.

I suppose I could have picked up the phone, called the store manager, and restarted the debate. But I had already done battle once in person and had tired of the fight.

Where does one’s moral duty end and the store’s responsibility begin?

Perhaps if unquestioning, robotic salespeople weren’t the rule in so many stores, money wouldn’t trickle out the door. I know, I know: Most people would revel in such savings; I, on the other hand, am troubled by the frequency of these misplaced bargains.

Take, for instance, another shopping experience I had recently. A well-known home furnishings store had just received a shipment of Persian rugs. As I browsed the store, a lovely Hamadan caught my eye. Equally eye-catching was the pricetag. Looking at similar Hamadans in the pile, I noticed that all of them were marked two, even three, times higher. Having bought several rugs before, I knew this was a steal. I just happened to be the thief who bought it.

Actually, I thought to question the price, but for two facts. The lone salesman in the department had told me that he was new and untrained. This didn’t bode well. Moreoever, the rugs were all one-of-a-kind. Unlike mass-produced goods that are identical in character and price, comparisons among hand-woven rugs are, at best, approximate.

In the end, I decided to leave well enough alone. Had the salesman agreed that the rug was mismarked, what then? Would he have refused to sell it to me? There was no one else in the department to ask, nor was the computer much help. And so I bought the rug for a song.

Curiously, my bargain tales don’t end there. I have a long and varied history of being undercharged at restaurants, gas stations, you name it. Rarely does a week go by that I don’t have occasion to correct some bill or other, often when an item is missing from the tab.  Sometimes it’s a numeral that’s missing ”“ even in the hundreds column. True, life can be less expensive by keeping mum. But there are other ways of measuring costs.

— Joan Silverman is a writer in Kennebunk. This article originally ran in Boston’s MetroWest Daily News.