Remembering a return.

Several years ago, I was still definitely against returns or exchanges. I don’t really know why, perhaps due to some kind of misunderstanding. Several years ago, my ex asked me to buy something for a function (at this point, my ex was already an ex, but I’m not a mean person, or perhaps I’m too kind at times). I buy it. It’s worn to the function, and the next day I’m asked to return it. I wail and bemoan this act, knowing you cannot return something that’s been worn. In reply, I get, “They won’t know, plus I’m never going to wear this again.” I sign with contempt, and enter the store.

When I go to return the item, the man at the counter grabs it, shoves it in his face and inhales deeply. “This has been worn.” Firstly, I’m disgusting and grossed out that people do that in front of customers. At best, I’ll check after its returned–I note the feel and texture of washed clothes, then the smell of the detergent. It’s generally a game for us to guess the brand of detergent they use. Now, that’s funny. This situation is not so funny.

“What,” I reply, gasping, “They told me it wasn’t worn! Damn liars.” I take the item back and march out, and throw the package at my ex, “They smelled it, they said it was worn, they aren’t taking it back. It’s yours now, forever.” And I walk away. Definitely one reason an ex is an ex.

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