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Last March, just after the lunch rush, the credit card machine at Betty’s Market in Emporia, Kansas, decided to stop working. Betty had owned the place for thirty-two years, and she’d seen her share of breakdowns, flickering lights in a storm, the cooler going out in August, even a mouse chewing through the coffee grinder cord. But this felt different. The store was full, folks were in a hurry, and Betty could practically feel the tension in the air.
The first few customers sighed and fished for cash. Some apologized for holding up the line; others just shrugged. But when a man in a gray business suit stepped up and realized he didn’t have any bills in his wallet, the air shifted. He slapped his card on the counter and said, “This is ridiculous.” His voice was sharp enough that a mother with two young kids turned to look. “I don’t have time for this,” he went on, his face reddening.
Betty could have matched his tone, she was tired, she’d been on her feet since 5:30 that morning, and her own patience was running thin. But she remembered something her father used to say: Two angry people make a mess; one calm one can clean it up.
She took a slow breath, set the card down gently, and said, “I understand it’s inconvenient, sir. The ATM is just across the street, and I’ll keep your grocery bag right here until you’re back. Take your time — no rush.”
Something in her steady voice seemed to take the wind out of his sails. He glanced at the people in line, muttered something under his breath, and left. Ten minutes later, he came back with a twenty-dollar bill in his hand. He handed it over, looking sheepish. “Sorry about earlier,” he said. “Rough day at the office.” Betty just smiled and gave him his change.
That evening, when Betty’s niece stopped by to help stock the shelves, Betty told her what happened. “You can’t fix a broken machine by raising your voice,” she said. “And you can’t fix a bad mood by matching it. You just make more trouble. Sometimes, the only thing you can control is yourself.”
