On Wednesday I actually had two return experiences. In the morning, I took back my friend's rug to the store. I didn't mind driving down to Ikea. I really love that store actually. However, that is another blog in itself. Anyway, my friend gave me her debit card that she used to buy it and that is when the first fear came into play. I thought, that isn't my name on that card. What if they ask me for I.D.? What if they don't believe me that my friend really asked me to take back the rug for her? I just knew that I would not be the one driving back to my friend's house with the rug, but that I would be riding home in a cop car.
Well, I got to Ikea, I took a number and I sat down and waited with great anticipation. I played Sudoku on my phone in order to distract myself. I heard a ding and looked up at the number on the screen. It was a 32. I looked down at my ticket. Same number. I slowly walked up to the counter with the rug. The lady asked why I was bringing it back. With my eyes on the counter I mumbled out something along the lines of it not being the right size or color for the room. Apparently this was a good enough answer. Whew! Then she asked if I wanted the money back in cash. New panic moment! I pulled out the card and told her that it had been paid with it. Then she said she would give me cash back since it was paid with a debit card. Another whew! But then, she passed me the receipt and told me to sign! Moment of truth. I told her that I was bringing it back for a friend so was it okay if I signed my name? "Sure, no problem." Third and final whew! Now I could go upstairs and happily meander through the showroom looking at all the beautfiful furniture and decorator items. :0)
Well that was my first return. The second one was the hideous black top I had bought at Macy's with a birthday gift card. I honestly don't know what I was thinking. I blame it on the fitting room mirrors. My roommate agreed that I needed to take it back. The only problem was I had ripped off the tag and thrown away the receipt.
I seriously have a disease of some form in this area. As soon as I bring a clothing item home I immediately rip off the tags. I can't even say how many times I have regretted this move. Thankfully I found the tag, but no receipt. Because the tag wasn't attached I assumed they wouldn't take it back. So the top sat on my desk for about a month. Once in awhile I would look at it and think, "I need to try and take that back", but to no avail.
Finally, on the day I took back the rug, I thought I might as well get it all over with. So I went to Macy's. Surprisingly, she took it back, but not without proper humiliation. "Next time, the tag will need to be attached." Next time? You really think you are going to be here the next time I take something back? What are you going to do, put a hidden camera on me to make sure that I keep all tags attached from now on? Anyway...the humiliation is another reason why I hate returns.
Well, sorry if that was the most boring piece of literature that you ever read. But my sister didn't want to keep looking at that giant spider picture.