A couple of weekend observations have just reminded me how vastly digestible my life is becoming to merchants (and surely to society's overseers as well).
The first came during a domestic trip to the Super Target store to replace a small steel pot that had broken six weeks after I bought it. With no box or receipt, I figured chances of a refund for a charred item with a broken handle were slim, but at least I'd show them their shoddy product.
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