I need face moisturizer with retinol, hyaluronic acid and vitamin C. This exact combination, I’ve been told, will reduce the appearance of the many fine lines etched into my 63-year-old face. Clearly of the utmost importance, I have vowed not to miss a day of slathering the stuff onto my sagging skin.
Please note that I am going to discuss purchasing said rejuvenation remedy, a crucial part of this story. However, don’t mistake my discourse for an advertisement. In fact, I’ve been using the product for years and still see plenty of wrinkles when I look in the mirror. Fortunately, all I need to do to lessen the horror of it all is to take several steps back from the looking glass and squint. Voila, my youth hath returned.
Still, I must use the potion with its magic ingredients because it could be far worse without it. Knowing this, when I dipped my finger into the jar and came up empty the other day, I immediately jumped in the car to replenish my supply. Mind you, this trip is not necessarily easy. I live on a long and narrow two-lane road with cyclists, sightseers and herds of marauding deer. I take my life into my hands every time I leave the house. That’s how essential I deem this cream.
On a reporter’s salary, I’m not off to Neiman Marcus to splurge on a silky formulation of miracles in a vessel. My brand is found at the neighborhood Target, behind one of the many locked cases now confining all the goods that cost more than a few shillings. Inventory control—one more fly in the shopping experience ointment.
I waited impatiently for the clerk to come by and open the case where my little red cardboard package sat behind the glass door. Finally, I plucked the L’Oréal Revitalift off the shelf and plunked down my $25 at the cashier stand. Mission accomplished, I took the treacherous road home and hurried back to my bathroom to apply the anti-aging hydrator to my thirsty face.
I opened the box. All seemed fine. But when I removed the jar from the packaging, the shiny metal-colored top had fingerprint smudges on it. Odd, I remember thinking. I unscrewed the cap and noticed something else—the white plastic disc covering the moisturizer was missing. Not a huge deal, though it does serve a few purposes. Primarily, the inner seal protects the product and keeps the ingredients fresh.
I peered into the jar. Apparently, the product had completely melted. Instead of cream, I had a thin liquid with a slight white tinge. Strange, indeed. I closed the glass container, inserted it back into its packaging and went to retrieve the receipt from the kitchen trash can.
Slowly, the realization of what had happened hit me. The moisturizer didn’t melt. Someone bought the item before me, scooped out the serum, put it in their own holder and then filled up the jar with water. While they forgot to put the plastic disc back on and soiled the outer lid, they left the cardboard container pristine. The game? Keep the cream and take the package back to the store for a refund. Wow. Clearly, this person is more desperate than I am for a skin elixir.
I called my friend, one who years ago had a few brushes with the law. “Is this a thing?” I asked.
Oh, yes, replacing the contents of merchandise with water is a big scam. Word to the wise, it’s commonly done with large jugs of liquid laundry detergent. That’s probably why your whites look dingy.
The con is called return fraud. The culprits also switch out items with sand, rocks or bricks.
I became annoyed. Everyone is inconvenienced by shoplifting and fraud, which results in increased prices and longer shopping times because the merchandise is kept in cages. The new twist is that we must now inspect our goods before leaving the store.
Do I spritz that perfume on my wrist and take a whiff before the salesperson rings me up? Should I resort to poking a tiny hole in that bag of ethically sourced ground coffee to see if sand trickles out? Rub a dab of hair gel on my fingertips to make sure it’s good and gooey? How far do I need to go?
Whether it’s the affordability issue that we’re all suffering through or lazy people trying to make a buck, retail theft in this country has reached epidemic proportions. Last year, shoplifting cost U.S. stores an estimated $47.8 billion, according to Capital One Shopping. Consumers, you and I, end up paying for it.
In 2024, the Public Policy Institute of California reported that overall crime fell in the Golden State. The bad news is that shoplifting shot up more than 47% since 2019.
Return fraud is also on the rise. The National Retail Federation states that fraudulent returns more than tripled from 2020 to 2025, increasing from $25 billion to $76 billion. Currently, these swindles account for a whopping 9% of all returns.
While we might understand a hopeless mom swiping baby formula, it’s difficult to empathize with the person who committed the face cream heist. Is she in my senior Pilates class? Perhaps it’s that young homemaker next door who possesses a secret criminal mastermind. Or a man could be the criminal. A recent survey by Express Legal Funding found that men admit to shoplifting almost as much as women.
It may be surprising to learn that shoplifters come from all socioeconomic backgrounds. A 2008 study in the American Journal of Psychology, “Prevalence and Correlates of Shoplifting in the United States,” cited that folks with a college education shoplifted at more than twice the rate of high school graduates. Some simply like the “thrill” that comes with stealing.
Once I got over my irritation about the staggering stats and the little jar of water sitting on my counter, I began fretting about returning the product to Target. Sure, the hassle factor. But even worse, what if they think I’m the scammer masquerading as a victim? Kind of like feeling guilty when you see a cop but haven’t done anything wrong.
Not to worry. The cashier expressed the right amount of outrage at the thief, took back the item and placed it in the defective bin. Another understanding clerk unlocked the case and helped thoroughly examine a new package of L’Oréal Revitalift.
At the end of the day, the whole ordeal probably added a few worry lines to my face, but at least I’m a more educated consumer. And I’m feeling better. After two trips to the store and healthy doses of wonder, anger and angst, I’m now back home with my mature mug drenched in a creamy mixture of retinol, hyaluronic acid and vitamin C.
