What happens to all the stuff we return?
Random story.<p>I used to have a pretty intense phobia about returning things, and 90% of the time I&#x27;d opt to just eat the cost rather than doing so.<p>When we had our first child, we bought this automatic rocker&#x2F;chair thing. I got it out of the box and put it together -- it had these locking joints where like a spring pin would pop into internal slot, such that once put together it was impossible to disassemble.<p>Once I&#x27;d finished, I put our daughter in it, and when turned on, one part rubbed against part of the structure, making an annoying clicking sound. My wife, half mad from lack of sleep, took one look&#x2F;listen and told me to get it out of the house. (In much more colorful language).<p>Just then, our daughter, who was still in the chair, who was wearing diapers a size too small because we&#x27;d run out of her normal size, pooped. We quickly got her out but there was a quarter size stain on the fabric. We cleaned that as best we could, but it was still visible.<p>I collected the pieces, which no longer fit in the box because you couldn&#x27;t fully take it apart, put as much in the box as I could, and took it back to the store. As I stood in line for the return with this overstuffed box with various rods &amp; parts sticking out all askew, I kept replaying horror scenarios in my mind. Like the clerk taking it out of the box and shouting in front of everyone &quot;YOU CAN&#x27;T RETURN THIS, YOU MONSTER, IT HAS POOP ON IT!&quot;<p>The clerk barely glanced at the box. I&#x27;m no longer afraid of returning things.