Walmart had seen many things in its years of operation. It had seen the Saturday before Christmas, a man attempting to return a live fish, things that defied explanation and things that defied store policy and occasionally things that defied both simultaneously. It had not seen this.
Ava had a list. She held the list with both hands and reading it with the focused determination of a woman who intended to get in, get the groceries, and get out before anything went wrong.
Frostie was pushing a cart. Georgia was sitting in the cart’s child seat, which was not designed for gorillas but was managing admirably. She was wearing her bow and looking at everything with enormous interested eyes. “We stay together,” Ava said firmly. “We get what is on the list and don’t deviate from the list”. ”Five bears looked at her. “Understood?” Five bears continued looking at her. “Crikey,” muttered Outback Bear, already drifting toward the camping equipment.
They made it approximately 40 metres before Eugene disappeared. One moment he was there, trotting beside Ava with his small red vest and his expression of intense personal purpose. The next moment he wasn’t there. “Eugene,” said Ava. Silence. “EUGENE.” They found him 3 aisles over, in the cereal section, sitting cross legged on the floor with the serene contentment of someone who had found their natural habitat. He had opened a family sized box of Honey Nut Cheerios and was eating them one by one with tremendous concentration. Around him, 3 other boxes had been opened, inspected, and apparently found wanting. A small child passing with her mother stopped and stared. Eugene looked up, offered her a Cheerio, and returned to his breakfast.“
“Attention Walmart shoppers,” crackled the intercom, in the careful tone of someone choosing their words very deliberately. “We are experiencing an unexpected situation in the cereal aisle. Please remain calm. Do not approach the bear. We repeat — do not approach the bear. Someone from management is on their way.” “Eugene,” said Ava, crouching down to his level. “We do not sit on the floor and eat the cereal before buying it.” Eugene considered this information seriously. He offered her a Cheerio. “That is not— Eugene, we need to—” He placed a Cheerio carefully on her knee and returned to eating. Ava looked at the Cheerio. She looked at Eugene. She picked up the Cheerio and ate it. “We are buying 4 boxes of cereal,” she said. Eugene beamed.
They had almost recovered a sense of order when the sound began. It was a motorized sound. A dignified, purposeful, motorized sound, accompanied by the quiet beeping of a vehicle in motion and the faint rustle of extremely offended cashmere. Yogianna had found the motorized shopping cart. She had commandeered it with the natural authority of a grizzly bear who had never in her life asked permission for anything, settled herself onto the seat with her pearl necklace perfectly aligned, and was now navigating the clothing section at a stately 3 kilometres per hour.
“What IS this fabric?” She held up a bright orange cardigan and examined it as though it had personally offended her. Then she dropped it over the side of the cart. Then the blouse. Then four more items from the rack, in quick succession, raining down into the aisle with quiet but devastating efficiency as Yogianna motored slowly forward, clearing the racks on both sides like a very well dressed combine harvester.
“Attention shoppers,” said the intercom, with slightly less composure than before. “Could the owner of the bear in the motorized cart please report to the clothing department immediately. Also Aisle 12 needs a cleanup. And Aisle 13. And we are going to need someone in accessories as well.” Ava arrived at a brisk walk, took in the scene, and stopped. A Walmart employee arrived from the other direction, took in the scene, and also stopped. They looked at each other. “She has sensitivities,” said Ava. The employee looked at the trail of clothing extending the entire length of the aisle. “To fabric,” Ava clarified. Yogianna motored serenely past them both, examining a rack of scarves. “This,” she said, pausing at one, “is actually quite nice.” She placed it carefully in her cart. “Silk blend. Someone here has taste after all.”
Medved had been at the entrance to the electronics department, looking at the display tablets with the mild professional interest of someone reviewing inferior technology. Then he had simply drifted, quietly and purposefully, toward the store’s price display terminals. He was there now, one paw resting lightly on the screen, his laptop open in the crook of his other arm, his expression entirely and completely serene. The terminal flickered. A passing shopper glanced at the price tag on a television. It read $0.00. She looked at it for a long moment. She looked around. She put the television in her cart. The woman behind her looked at the price of a coffee maker $0.00. She put it in her cart within 45 seconds, the electronics department had achieved a level of enthusiasm not seen since the Boxing Day sales of 2019. Carts were filling. People were running. A man was attempting to fit a large flat screen television under his arm while also carrying a toaster and what appeared to be a paddling pool.
Medved watched all of this with quiet satisfaction. “Attention,” said the intercom, and this time the voice had taken on a slightly elevated quality, like someone trying very hard to remain professional while everything around them ceased to be. “All prices are currently showing as zero dollars. This is not a promotion. We are working on resolving the situation. Please do not take items from the shelves. Please put the television down sir. Please, all prices are currently zero dollars. We are working on it. In the meantime please stop taking things.” “Medved,” said Ava, appearing at his elbow, “Mm,” said Medved. “What have you done?” “The prices were unreasonable,” said Medved simply “You can’t just—” “I have a list of suggested corrections,” he said, producing a neatly formatted document from his laptop bag. “I have also improved their inventory management system and fixed a significant security vulnerability.” He paused. “They should really thank me.”
The security guard found them in Aisle 7. He was a large man, and he had clearly been having a very long day, and he opened his mouth to say something authoritative and then saw what was in Aisle 7 and closed it again. Outback Bear had discovered the outdoor furniture section and was asleep in a display hammock, snoring with magnificent commitment. He had arranged a small display cushion under his head and pulled a folded picnic blanket over himself and looked, genuinely, like a bear who had come to Walmart specifically to nap and considered the trip a complete success. Georgia, who had escaped the cart at some point, was sitting on top of a display shed examining the contents of someone’s abandoned trolley with great interest. She was wearing a Walmart staff vest she had apparently found somewhere and was wearing it with enormous pride. Danger Bear was in the pharmacy section, examining the first aid supplies with professional interest and occasionally placing things in a basket while muttering about medium situations. Eugene had returned to the cereal aisle. And Yogianna was at the checkout, motorized cart loaded with groceries, the silk blend scarf around her neck, waiting with the patience of someone who expected to be served promptly and intended to be. “Attention Walmart shoppers,” said the intercom. A long pause. “This is your store manager. I have been doing this job for twenty two years.” Another pause. I quit.”
Frostie appeared beside Ava and surveyed the scene with the calm of someone who had made her peace with all of it somewhere around Aisle 4. “She’ll be right?” she offered. “She’ll be right,” Ava agreed. From the cereal aisle, faintly, came the sound of a baby panda eating Cheerios with great contentment. From the hammock display, the rhythmic sound of an Australian bear sleeping through everything. From the checkout, the imperious beep of Yogianna scanning her own groceries because nobody had come to serve her and she had things to do. From the electronics department, the sound of several people trying to leave quickly with zero dollar televisions. And from somewhere near the garden centre, the distant but unmistakable sound of Danger Bear explaining his flowchart to a bewildered security guard. “Crikey,” said Outback Bear, from the hammock, without opening his eyes. Nobody disagreed.