It’s Spreading

(I’ve just gotten back from lunch when I notice a bedspread that I thought we had sold out of behind our counter. I have been wanting one for my daughter, but the last sold yesterday.)

Me: “Where did that come from?”

Coworker: “It was a return.”

(I pick up it up and notice something not right through the packaging.)

Me: “Did anyone check this?”

Coworker: “No, the customer only just picked it up from layby, but their daughter didn’t like it so they returned it right away.”

Me: “Did they leave the shop with it before returning?”

Coworker: “Yes, but it was less than five minutes. Why?”

Me: “Because this has been washed; we need to check it.”

(I open the package and unfold the spread to reveal a blood stain that someone has tried to bleach out.)

Me: “They swapped it for the new one.”

(I show her before I stuff it in the bin and tie up the bin liner.)

Coworker: “You’re kidding me.” *looks at stain* “Oh, my God, that’s blood. I’m going to wash my hands.” *starts to leave but I beat her to it* “Where are you going, [My Name]? I need to wash my hands.”

Me: “To scrub mine. I touched the d*** thing; you didn’t.”

Coworker: “Oh, right.”