Yesterday I was standing at the return counter at Best Buy and the guy examining the digital camera I was bringing back on the exact 14th day since I bought it looks up and says to me, “You’re a couple weeks past the return date. We have a 14 day return policy.”
I tell him that the first camera I bought was a month ago, but I brought that one back and got this one instead… 14 days ago. He patiently explains that their policy applies to when the first camera was purchased. Basically, I’m fucked.
My dad had a tough time returning stuff for credit or exchange. I have a vivid memory of him trying to return a Skill saw to a hardware store — I must have been around ten. He ended up screaming and swearing at the store manager. I thought he was going to punch him.
So I’ve inherited the problem though I don’t quite get what the mistaken thinking is. As I stand at the counter, I feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. It’s as if I’ve been asked to give an impromptu speech in front of a thousand people. My body’s reading some goofy signal from my brain that this is a life or death, fight or flight situation. I don’t quite have my dad’s temper so my inclination is to walk away. Then it occurs to me that I’ll have to face my wife when I get home. She’s the queen of merchandise returns and seems to actually enjoy the negotiations when things get sticky. She’ll be privately aghast at my weak-kneed behavior, and although she’s sensitive enough to not berate me for it, she will be upset.
So I pause and it then occurs to me to make an offer. “How about I get another camera and keep that one instead of returning this one for credit?” He goes off to check with his supervisor and comes back with an approval but they’ll have to charge me a 15% restocking fee. A seasoned negotiator would have argued to have that fee waived since the repackaging I did was flawless. But not me. I’m just relieved. I’m now the proud owner of a Canon PowerShot A70.
Looking back on it now, I’m still not sure what goes on in my head in situations like that. It must be a fear of being a wimp, being taken advantage of, bullied — the legacy of my bullying father who had no reluctance in expressing his disdain anytime he saw a hint of Momma’s boy behavior in me.
I tell myself now that it’s time to shelve that reaction. Next time, I’ll take a deep breath and see it as a dance of sorts, a chance to get better at negotiating, a challenge not unlike climbing a wall. The idea is to not so much as to emerge victorious over someone but to create a win-win situation — a business lingo phrase I hate but I don’t know what else to call it. I’m sort of picturing it now in my mind’s eye. We’ll see if I can pull it off.