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My partner loves a large outfitting company that has a very generous return policy. The store will accept nearly any return within a year of purchase. My partner has been buying fairly expensive items from the store, using them while we travel and then returning them, even though they have accrued a good amount of wear and tear. Note that she would probably keep the items if they were exactly what she wanted, but there is almost always some imperfection: For example, she returned the backpack she used daily for international travel after nine months because it was slightly bigger than ideal. She returned the shoes that she wore almost daily for several months because they were not quite as comfortable as she desired.
Of course, everything she has done is technically compatible with the store’s policies, and the store always has the ability to deny a return. And their policy is part of the reason she buys items from the store more often than she might otherwise do, including purchases that she does not ultimately return. I can’t help but feel, however, that her process of buying and taking things back is not in the spirit of the store’s return policy. If everyone used the policy in this way, I feel confident the store would be forced to eliminate it.
I certainly agree with returning an item that is truly not up to your standards as soon as possible, but using an item extensively and then returning it for some minor imperfection doesn’t sit quite right. It feels like ordering a burger at a restaurant, eating three-quarters of it and then demanding a refund because it was cooked medium instead of medium-rare.
If the store’s calculations were that this policy ultimately cost more than it was worth, of course they would cancel it. I can see both sides of this argument, and I’m truly unclear on what the most ethical approach is. — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
You’ve thoughtfully given your partner’s side of the argument as well as yours. She isn’t engaged in deceit or fraud; she’s in compliance with the retailer’s return policy. That policy presumably helps the retailer retain a loyal clientele, while costing an amount that it can probably predict with some precision. It’s also true that if lots of people acted as she does, the policy would change. And so an interesting question is why more of them don’t follow her example.
Perhaps most customers believe, as you seem to, that what she’s doing is an abuse of the system, because it’s predicated on the moral restraint of others. Commercial relations connect us in a web of mutual expectations beyond what is strictly required by contract. If, like your partner, people are profiting from an interpretation of the rules that they know isn’t widely shared, they are exploiting the spirit-of-the-policy compliance of their fellow customers.
Your retailer isn’t a charitable organization; part of its business plan is this unusually generous return policy. (A typical return policy might give you 30 or 60 days, not a year.) Still, it’s a policy that customers can legitimately benefit from. Your partner has a habit of returning nondefective merchandise. But suppose you’ve purchased something that’s meant to be waterproof — whether hiking pants or a tent light — and you discover it isn’t only a few months later when you’re actually using it in the rain. If your running shoes fall apart after 50 miles and you bring them back, similarly, we’ll feel that the product was at fault, not that you were using the store like a lending library. And this useful policy persists because we mostly don’t push it too far. Your partner’s stance may remind some readers of the ‘‘Simpsons’’ episode in which Homer sues a restaurant that advertises an all-you-can-eat buffet, hiring a lawyer who previously filed a suit against ‘‘The NeverEnding Story.’’ In this respect, your partner is being a little bit Homeric. We should do our fair share to maintain practices that serve us well, and following her example risks bringing us past the point of no returns.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a reader in a tough financial position. He wrote: “I have been unemployed for six months, during which time I’ve faced a tough job market with few interviews and no offers. Now I’ve been offered a senior executive role in an industry that is, while legal, known for exploiting financially vulnerable people through predatory practices. The role comes with a significantly higher salary than my previous positions, which would help my family; we’re currently incurring debt to pay our mortgage. However, the company’s ownership structure means that, even at a senior level, I would have little to no chance of enacting positive changes from within. Would it be ethically wrong to accept this role, knowing that my compensation would be derived from taking advantage of those in financial distress? Does the fact that I know I have no other offers and that my family’s financial stability is at stake justify taking a position in an industry that I know is predatory?”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “You’re a decent soul; you don’t want to profit from the hardship of the vulnerable. Payday-loan companies, for example, lend money at rates that many of us would regard as usurious. … But let’s suppose that the quandary you’re facing is exactly as you’ve described it. By taking this job, you’d be a participant in wrongdoing — in the sort of commercial activity that would, ideally, be regulated away. It’s still the case that it’s reasonable and right to give special weight to the needs of your own family. You’d justly find the work dispiriting, but at least you wouldn’t be making things worse. And you can’t be reproached for deciding that the welfare of your dependents matters more than your own peace of mind. That company no doubt has a pool of candidates it can turn to; your family does not.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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I agree with the Ethicist’s response. I would add that taking the job doesn’t keep the letter writer from continuing to look for another job. — Carolyn
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I disagree with the Ethicist’s response. Before the housing crisis of 2008, my husband, a mortgage loan officer, was offered a job making more than he had ever made in his life. He came home from the interview and said, “I would have made a lot of money there, but I would not be able to look myself in the mirror.” I accepted his decision but was annoyed at what I considered a lack of consideration for our family. After the predatory loan industry tanked the world economy, that annoyance eventually turned to pride in a man who refused to take advantage of people. Imagine if everyone did the right thing. I think a better response by the Ethicist would have been to advise the letter writer to keep job hunting. — Regina
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The Ethicist’s response to the job seeker is reasonable and kind. But I wonder if he is too quick to assuage the letter writer’s scruples. A world in which people universally decline to take harmful jobs seems preferable to a world in which job seekers do not take such considerations into account. Even if one does not take an absolutist (strict deontological) view according to which that settles the question, it seems that this thought should carry some weight here. And if we are weighing competing considerations, the details might matter: Just how harmful is the potential employer company? And how financially desperate are the job seeker and his or her family? If it is less a question of survival than of maintaining an accustomed somewhat luxurious lifestyle, that could be relevant to the calculus. — Tom
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In reading the Ethicist lately, I wonder just how intense cancel culture has made us. I want to be clear that I am by no means assuming that without cancel culture, this letter writer wouldn’t have faced this ethical dilemma. But, in the same, I think our puritanical culture has wreaked havoc on the decision making of our every day lives. There is a cultural vibe shift that tells us we cannot make one step out of turn for fear that others will make sweeping assumptions about our character based on one decision or quality. For God’s sake, this is a person with no other job prospects, going into debt to pay their mortgage, unemployed for six months — and they still cannot bring themselves to take a good paying job because they don’t agree with the company’s practices. To me, this is a slippery slope. We are not defined by our jobs, nor do we assume ethical responsibility for the decisions made by those at the top of the company. (The letter writer claimed that they would not be able to make impactful change in this position. My assumption is that it’s a middle-management job.) My concern around puritanical decision making does not come only from reading this particular letter writer’s quandary. I noticed it with the horse rider who didn’t want to patronize a Trump-supporting business and the person wondering whether to name his dog after Zeus. It makes me wonder if we as a society are actually worried about the impacts of our decisions, or just what others will think when it feels like all of our choices are examined through the panopticon of our surveillance-focused modern world. — Grace
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Regardless of the letter writer’s situation, working at a job that he is morally opposed to will quite likely make him miserable. If he feels guilty about his work, he will feel bad not only while he’s working but at home and in the rest that he does. If he has children, how will he feel about teaching them that money is more important than ethics? The fact that you ask the question should tell you the answer. — Phil
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