However, when I handed the Genius my broken iPod, he examined it and said: "Sorry, there's a scratch on the bottom so it's no longer covered under warranty."
"But that scratch has nothing to do with the iPod not working," I explained. "It went dead in my speaker system. That scratch is simply from carrying it around for months in my Mary Poppins-esque tote." (Note: I call my tote this because there's always so much stuff jumbling around within it.)
"Sorry," the Genius told me. "The scratch nixes your warranty."
"Can I speak to your manager?" I asked with a smile.
The Manager came over and I immediately experienced déjà frustration. I was told due to that tiny scratch, my plans to retrieve a shiny new iPod were now verboten.
"If you want to file a complaint," offered the manager, "just fill out these forms and I'll forward them onward."
I stared at the sheaths of paperwork he attempted to hand me and could feel myself entering into The Curmudgeon Zone. I was surprised. After all, I am a best-selling self-help author. I shouldn't be sweating this small stuff. I asked myself: "What would I coach a client to do?"
"You know what?" I said to the manager. "I intuit I'm not going to be getting a new iPod, and that's okay. I don't want to frustrate myself or you further. You're just doing your job as you've been instructed about that warranty. I'm not going to fill out that paperwork, because I don't want to think about this iPod thing anymore. I'm going to leave the store now and go on to have a happy day. And I wish you a happy day, too."
The manager and I exchanged warm smiles. I headed out the door.
But when I got outside, it seemed I not only left the store with my broken scratched iPod, but a broken scratched mood. I was still feeling curmudgeony. So I consciously decided to live up to my promise to the manager and choose to have a happy day.
Following instincts can change your world