This week I took some items back to WalMart. One was a gift that was the wrong size and accentuated my frumpiness. The other was some yarn that was just the wrong color of green.
When we decided to return these items, I couldn't find the receipt. Then, when I found the receipt, we headed to WalMart, maneuvered their horrendously designed parking lot, found a rare parking space, and started hiking toward the entrance. I looked at Glen's empty hands, and then at my own. We had left the bag on the couch as we walked out the door!
The receipt must have gotten filed, or at least looked at and suddenly it was missing again. I thought about taking them back without the receipt, but I knew that by now, the blouse had gone on sale, and I wouldn't get the full amount from it; so I decided to search again for the elusive piece of parchment.
Then, on Sunday night, I told Glen that I would be taking it back on my break on Monday. I had seen the receipt in his wallet, so I had every confidence that my plans would not go awry this time. He told me that he probably emptied his wallet since I saw the receipt.
My heart fell, but I decided to make one more search in the morning, and then make the return with or without documentation.
In the morning, I found the receipt; not in Glen's wallet, but in the basket on the counter in the kitchen. (whew) As I was placing it in the bag with the returns, I noticed the notice on the receipt that said, "Items may be returned with a receipt within 15 days of purchase." My mind quickly calculated the time. The blouse was a Christmas gift, which meant that it was purchased before that merry event, which ... was... more that fifteen days ago! Well, all I can do is try.
I got the the Customer Service desk with my returns and my receipt in the bag. I gave them to the nice young lady behind the counter, and she processed my refund!
She place a crisp and colorful twenty dollar bill in my hand, then poured some change on top of it.
I was surprised at the emotional reaction that sparked. It has been a while since I have had a twenty dollar bill in my hand, and my senses of sight and touch were peaked by its presense. I put the change in my purse pocket, and with the twenty dollar bill fluttering in the breeze of my passing, I headed for the craft department. I kept it in my hand as I relished my search for fabric, and, not finding any that I hoped for, my enjoyment of yarns and such. When I decided that WalMart had nothing to separate us, we walked together out the door and drove away, my new, still fluttering friend and I.
Wednesday evening, Glen asked me for it so that he could buy some gas.