There’s a certain kind of person who walks into Costco’s return line like they’re testing the limits of human decency. Not in an aggressive way. Not in a loud or confrontational way. But in that deeply unsettling, almost Zen-like way that says, “I know this is wrong, but the system allows it. So what are we really doing here?”
These people aren’t returning things—they’re performing a social experiment. They’re playing Calvinball with capitalism, bending unspoken rules into Möbius strips of logic only they seem to understand. It’s not about money. It’s not about buyer’s remorse. It’s about testing the boundaries of what’s allowed when no one has the nerve to say no.
You watch them approach the counter with that eerie calm, the kind of confidence usually reserved for cult leaders and people who clap when the plane lands. And the best part? It works. It always works. Because Costco, for reasons no one can fully explain, has committed to a return policy so forgiving it basically doubles as a philosophical stance.
This isn’t really about returns. It’s about shame. Or more accurately, the complete and total absence of it. It’s about what happens when you give people an inch of policy and they take a mile of moral relativism. And then get store credit for it.
