🌀 Return Policy Madness

There are normal days at MegaApplianceMart, and then there’s Tuesday.

Tuesdays are when Carl works the returns counter—the place where all hope and common sense come to die. Carl, a man with the patience of a sloth on antihistamines, had seen it all. Or so he thought.

At 9:03 AM, the bell above the sliding doors jingled, announcing a customer. A man in his mid-40s strutted in, wearing flip-flops, a bathrobe, and the kind of confidence you only get from eating expired cheese and surviving.

He dragged a suspiciously fuzzy blender behind him.

“I’d like to return this,” he said, plopping it on the counter with a proud smile.

Carl peered at the blender. Its lid was slightly cracked, and inside…was what could only be described as a hairy tornado.

“…Is that hair?”

“Cat fur, mostly,” the man said cheerfully. “But it also blended part of my favorite hoodie.”

Carl blinked. “Sir, why exactly did you blend your cat’s fur?”

“It’s a long story,” the man said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “But basically, I was trying to create an eco-friendly toupee.”

Carl blinked twice. “A…what?”

“You know, a wig. For my bald patch. I figured, ‘Hey, Whiskers sheds a lot anyway. Why not upcycle?’”

Carl opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, like a confused goldfish.

“Sir, our return policy clearly states we don’t accept used appliances, especially those that have blended mammals.”

The man gasped. “Are you saying this blender is biologically contaminated?”

“I’m saying it looks like you tried to make a smoothie out of a lint trap,” Carl replied.

The man crossed his arms. “This is outrageous! I’m a loyal customer. I bought a nose hair trimmer here in 2017, and it only shocked me twice.”

Carl sighed and turned to his computer. “Fine. Let me check the serial number.” He tried to read the sticker on the bottom of the blender but recoiled instantly. “Why does it smell like chicken soup?”

“Oh,” said the man. “I also tried to blend broth. You know, to soften the fur. Smooth wigs need smooth base.”

Carl pinched the bridge of his nose so hard he briefly lost feeling in his forehead.

“Sir, did you clean the blender?”

“Define ‘clean’,” the man said, with suspicious enthusiasm.

Before Carl could define anything, the manager, Brenda, walked by. Brenda had the uncanny ability to appear whenever someone said the word "lawsuit", or "fur". She had a nose for danger—and a taser named “Karen.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Carl gestured wordlessly at the Hair Blender of Doom.

Brenda put on gloves. “Sir, did you attempt to return this last week at our Southside location?”

“Maybe,” the man admitted. “They said something about a restraining order, but I assumed it was a joke.”

Brenda sighed. “That store had to shut down the breakroom for two days because of the smell.”

“Look, I just want store credit,” the man said. “Or at least a wig coupon.”

Carl stared at him.

“You want store credit… for a blender that smells like broth, contains cat fur, and may or may not have emotionally traumatized three employees?”

The man shrugged. “Seems fair.”

Brenda leaned in. “Fine. One condition. You take this… thing… and never return again.”

The man beamed. “Deal!”

As he turned to leave, he whispered to Carl, “Next time, I’ll try dog fur. More volume, you know?”

Carl didn’t respond. He was already updating his résumé. Maybe the zoo was hiring. Animals made more sense than customers.

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Moral of the Story:

Always read the return policy—and never try to DIY a wig with pet hair. Especially not on a Tuesday.