Are you guilty of ‘weekend rentals’?

“And if it comes back the very next day, well, then I’ll go bankrupt.” — apologies to Elvis.

It started with “wardrobing.” Unscrupulous shoppers would buy expensive outfits for a special occasion and return them to the store the next day. (“I guess I just trusted this once-great store too much. I didn’t notice that the gown had vintage 1947 wine stains on the front and my boss’s handprint on the derriere when I bought it.”)

Now, according to USA Today, the phenomenon has morphed into “weekend rentals,” in which citizens purchase power tools, seasonal decorations or just about anything imaginable — with the full intention of getting a refund as soon as the immediate need is satisfied. (“I bought this politician yesterday. And now I have my zoning exemption for a suburban radioactive pig farm. So I’m bringing him back. You can put the refund back on my credit card, or if you have a permissive clergyman in stock.”)

Consumers perform breathtaking mental gymnastics to rationalize abusing the return process. (“Heaven knows I’ve spent enough money with this company over the years. Well, not this company, but one remarkably similar to it in a different state. And I need temporary custody of a disco ball more than their payroll department needs my Powerball winnings.”)

The rule-bending mentality even infects store employees. One customer service rep confided in me, “It’s company policy to greet every return with a big smile. But if I ever transfer to a different department, I’m returning my dentures for a refund.”

According to the National Retail Federation (motto: “Sure, we hate ethnic slurs, but doggone it, ‘Eliminate the middleman’ deserves to be designated as hate speech, too”), returns (some legitimate, some shady) approached $890 billion last year.

This year’s figure will probably go even higher if the “return the Louisiana Purchase” movement gains momentum. (“I think Jefferson squirreled away the receipt somewhere at Monticello.”)

Many retailers have been squeamish about imposing restrictions such as restocking fees or narrower refund windows, lest they offend the too-clever shoppers. Sounds about as reckless as antagonizing your freeloading in-laws, but, sure, let’s go with that.

Shoppers hooked on “weekend rentals” view their behavior as a victimless enterprise, but the effects are widespread.

Employees must deal with the drudgery of inspecting and restocking. Stores raise prices, give fewer raises, cut back on vendor orders and make fewer charitable donations. (“Sorry, Tiny Tim. When Brad returned home, he suddenly remembered he already had a state-of-the-art barbecue smoker.”)

Sure, I hate spending money on an emergency item that I may not use more than once (“Pick up your aerosol can of SPF 10 Halley’s Comet screen today!”); but if “weekend rentals” aren’t nipped in the bud, garage sales and Goodwill will soon run short of merchandise. And romantic relationships will suffer. (“If you can’t commit to a toaster, how likely are you to commit to a partner with restless leg syndrome and a huge car loan? Hit the road, Jack.”)

Sometimes shoppers do see the light.

One former “weekend renter” admitted, “I realize now that I wouldn’t want someone treating me that way. It’s a violation of the Golden Rule. And now that I’ve learned that lesson, I’d like to return this Bible. What’s that? Not even a store credit? All you can give me is a hunk’a hunk’a burnin’ brimstone? On second thought …”

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at tyreetyrades@aol.com and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”