I went to the gold exchange, looking to make a trade.
But there was nothing worth trading for. Nothing perfect.
The exchange cashier told me all sales were final. No returns.
She asked her manager.
The manager said: no returns.
I asked if I could speak with both of them.
No returns.
They offered me options for trade-ins, but none were acceptable.
“It’s out of my hands,” each of them said.
“It’s company policy.”
So I asked the question that matters most:
Whose hands is the decision in?
They told me: The owner of the gold exchange.
I asked if we could give the owner a call.
We called. Straight to voicemail.
I asked if we could call three times.
Enter the son—Mike—son of the owner.
Mike offered me the same answer: no returns.
He told me no refund had been issued in four years.
So I explained my situation—that my gold was useless. That the gold meant nothing to anyone.
Then I laid out the choices they were leaving me with:
“Here’s what I can leave with:”
- I can take the gold and settle my losses somewhere else.
- I can get a return for my gold.
- I can settle for something less than perfect.
And I asked him plainly:
What would you do if you were in my shoes?
I left them my number and said:
“If you change your mind, give me a call.”
Mike stepped away to look for other options.
When he returned, he set a card reader on the table and offered me a refund.
I admitted my mistake and thanked them kindly for their mercy.
I stayed and chatted with the manager for a bit longer.
I asked him how many sales they do each week.
“Sixty to a hundred,” he said.
So let’s say eighty on average.
80 sales × 52 weeks × 4 years = 16,640 sales.
Maybe the real number is closer to 16,180. Who knows.
The odds?
16,640 to 1.
As a percentage:
0.0000600962.
Yet I got the refund.
And in time, I’ll make my way to Silver Springs.
Unbowed,
built for fire,
with steady hands,
#StandByToGetSome,
Love conquers all.
The secret? Holding a mirror. They didn’t like what reflected back.