The Great Receipt Rebellion

Linda Grapefruit had set aside 20 minutes to return the scratchy, ill-fitting impulse buy she regretted from yesterday.

“Ahem,” Linda cleared her throat as the bored worker scrolled on her phone.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes?

“I’d like to return this sweater,” Linda said. She tried to hand it over, but the sleeves swirled around her hands. The sleeves tightened as she shook her arm.

The teenager watched, unphased. “Receipt?

“Yes, right here,” Linda said, pulling it from her pocket.

The worker took it and glanced down before handing it back. “No, do you have the receipt from the Interdemensional Council of Retail Beurocracy?”

“The what?”

The teenager sighed. “It’s right there in the fine print; to be eligible for a return, you must obtain a full-length receipt from the ICRB.”

Linda glared at the girl. “Are you high? Where’s the manager?” She huffed, glaring down at the sweater.

The teenager shrugged and waved her hand, “Follow me.”

Brow furrowed, Linda hesitantly followed the teenager into the large back area.

"Just take this hallway to the back.”

“Thank you,” Linda said, walking briskly.

About halfway down the hall, she jumped as a door slammed closed. She whipped her head around and read the sign: “Absolutely Not The Secret Rebellion Lair.”

Linda laughed, assuming it was an inside joke.

Looking ahead again, Linda jumped to see she was facing a giant, tuxedo-clad llama. Gasping, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, the llama stood on its back legs and held a large scanner to her head. She squealed and jumped back.

“Relax,” The llama said, “I’m just scanning your brain for treasonous return policies and pro-capitalism inclinations."

“You’re clear.” He said after a moment. “Follow me.”

Dazed, Linda staggered behind the llama until they arrived at the office. He lifted his front leg and knocked with his hoof.

The door opened to reveal a large raccoon wearing an eyepatch and a pirate hat. “Hello, Thunderhooves. Is this her?” the raccoon asked.

“Yes, Sir Baguette Fuzzington, she was chosen by the Scratchy Sweater of No Returns.”

“Excellent, Linda, come with me.”

“I just want my $19.99 back.” Linda squeaked.

“I understand,” Sir Baguette started, “But much more is at stake.”

Thunderhooves guided her to the “Absolutely Not The Secret Rebellion Lair” room and opened the door. Inside sat a large group of rebels, including an owl with a bolo tie reading from an expired coupon, several sentient mannequins in heavy warpaint, many disgruntled employees, one wearing a nametag that read “ask me about our soul-crushing rewards program,” and a man in a straigtjacket with a large “buy one get one free” sticker who ran up to her and bowed.

“I pledge my allegiance to thee, Linda Grapefruit.” He said gravely before running off again.

Linda looked to Sir Baguette.

“That’s Jeremy. He got lost in the store in 1997. The mannequins joined the rebellion when an intern posed them in a… compromising position.”

“Silence!” Thunderhooves shouted into the room. “The Scratchy Sweater of No Returns has chosen Linda Grapefruit. You will listen to her!”

All eyes turned to Linda, who had finally regained her wits.

“Alright,” she started, voice heavy with sarcasm, “I guess we should just burn down the clearance section and defeat the corporate overlords.”

Cheers rippled through the rebels as they gathered their weapons.

“To the Clearence Section!” Sir Baguette Fuzzington raised his fist and led the charge. A wobbly penguin wielding a chopstick knocked her down as he plodded through the door.

Getting up, Linda shouted, “I was kidding! What is happening?” She ran after the group.

Rebels sprayed hairspray and tossed matches as Loss Prevention Bots descended.

She watched with wide eyes as a battle ensued. Four large worker bees in chef hats placed a robe of return policy scrolls on her shoulders. A miniature pony trotted up and handed her a coat-hanger sceptre.

Linda took it, feeling a new sense of duty. Looking around, she saw that the rebels had subdued the bots.

Smiling, she addressed the crowd. “Rebels! Let us take these prisoners to the Cash Register Citadel and close this matter!”

Cheering, the passionate group swiftly led their prisoners of war to the Worldwide Conspiracy of Non-Refundable Merchandise underneath the mall.

They immediately attracted the attention of the CEO of Capitalism. The 14-foot robot bounded over, voice booming, “Who dares enter my home office?”

“Surrender, Cyborg! Your reign of retail terror is over!”

The cyborg laughed maniacally, “Silly human, you think your band of ragged rebels can overthrow me?” He shouted, thrusting his sword of expired gift cards in her face.

“You underestimate how loyal the humans are to their brands. The needs of millionaires to grow their fortune outweigh weak desires for fairness and refunds; the sanctity of store credit must be protected.”

As he prattled, Linda noticed a particularly long receipt scroll at her feet.

“Aha!” she shouted. “It turns out you didn’t proofread every policy!” Linda cleared her throat and read:

“All non-refundable items may be returned, provided they are deemed refundable under the Non-Refundability Refund Clause, which shall only apply in cases where non-refundable items must be refunded to maintain the integrity of the Refund Paradox Exemption Act."

“The loophole is too powerful! YOUR OWN FINE PRINT HAS TURNED AGAINST YOU!”

“Does… not…. Compute!” the CEO screamed as his parts fell in a heap.

The room erupted in cheers as the rebels won, and the Executives were freed of enslavement.

Most of the mall lay in shambles, but a single cash register remained intact. Realizing the Scratchy Sweater of No Returns had finally loosened its grip, Linda approached the bored worker once again.

"Hello, I’d like to return this. No, I don’t have the receipt.” She said, determined.

The teenager shrugged. “I guess I can make an exception, only since you saved the world from Corporate Greed.” She said as she scanned the tag.

“There you go. Please enjoy the $19.99 store credit.”