Store Policy: Returning Fish Dead
A Story about Why I Paint Fish
“We want to return a pet fish,” I said to the Wal-Mart pet manager, as my friend held out a little Tiger Barb for her to examine. I had made up my mind earlier that day that Little Shark Tale, the Tiger Barb, had to go back. First of all, he had eaten just about all of my friend’s fish, including her Guppi and another Tiger Barb. Plus, Little Shark Tale was not doing very well in his tiny, filter-less, glass vase. My friend had to remove him from the tank as quickly as possible, because she was concerned that he would continue to eat the last of her fish. So, instead of flushing him down the toilet, she asked me if I would like to keep him.
I did my research, of course, and found that Tiger Barbs can be aggressive. They are likely to eat other fish, and should be kept in groups of at least six to reduce aggression, though I read contradictory testimonials about Tiger Barbs ganging up on other fish, so actually larger numbers could make matters worse. Little Shark Tale was not an anomaly; he was just like all his fellow Tiger Barbs (cannibals), but Wal-Mart had neglected to inform my friend about her purchase.
Sadly, Little Shark Tale was getting slower in his confinement, moving as though his tiny silver and black-striped body was suspended in molasses. It had only been a day since my friend had removed him from her tank, but he looked unhappy. I was worried about his welfare. It was a difficult and guilt-ridden decision because part of me wanted to keep him as my drawing specimen. That idea was quickly overshadowed by his slow-moving mouth as he gasped for, what I feared to be, the last bit of breathable oxygen in the stagnant water. So I called my friend and we decided to return him.
After arriving at Wal-Mart, we made a bee-line for Customer Service with Little Shark Tale in tow. He attracted a great deal of attention, as only a little fish could, as children and parents wondered what a fish could be doing in the return lane. I too questioned what exactly we were doing. Can you really return a life? Can you really buy a life? And, what is the price of life? Apparently, for a Tiger Barb, it’s a dollar and forty-five cents, plus tax.
I hoped Little Shark Tale would find a happy fish-tank home, and meet other Tiger Barbs he wouldn’t eat. I just wanted the best for him, but my friend and I were soon to discover a terrible thing: store policy. Apparently, the only way you can return a fish is if you bring it back dead. So, to solve the problem, the pet manager poured out the water and let Little Shark Tale flop and gasp and dance until his little body went limp. We were in shock.
“Why?” we exclaimed, only to be answered with, “It’s store policy. He might have had diseases.”
“But, no,” I said, “he wasn’t sick.” We were bringing him home and you killed him, I thought, though I finally said “I understand.” I wanted to understand, because the fish was dead, and you have to try to understand death.
We had carried Little Shark Tale all this way, only to realize we had brought him to his execution. Now some might retort that this was just a fish, but I find it disturbing how quickly we can trivialize a life because it’s something different from our own. Distraught and confused, I attempted to draw the other fish at Wal-Mart, but all I could think about was my own guilt.
Long after the pet manager had disappeared, another Wal-Mart employee came over to me with her finger pressed close to her mouth, whispering “Shhhh.” To my surprise, she had secretly poured enough water back into the vase to save Little Shark Tale, without letting her manager know, and she was now putting him back into the tank. After a missed attempt, and Little Shark Tale’s brief spill on the floor, she swiftly picked him up again and plopped him back into the tank with his fellow Tiger Barbs. I nearly cried.
“Tell your friend,” she said, because she knew we were both upset. Little Shark Tale was alive, though. I had witnessed an extraordinary series of events, all of which I believe are worth sharing. There are a greater set of policies that govern us as human beings, and I believe that every moment is a choice based on the circumstances at hand. Perhaps it was just a fish, but I believe it carries a universal message. Is a store policy really above saving a life?
A Story about Why I Paint Fish
“We want to return a pet fish,” I said to the Wal-Mart pet manager, as my friend held out a little Tiger Barb for her to examine. I had made up my mind earlier that day that Little Shark Tale, the Tiger Barb, had to go back. First of all, he had eaten just about all of my friend’s fish, including her Guppi and another Tiger Barb. Plus, Little Shark Tale was not doing very well in his tiny, filter-less, glass vase. My friend had to remove him from the tank as quickly as possible, because she was concerned that he would continue to eat the last of her fish. So, instead of flushing him down the toilet, she asked me if I would like to keep him.
I did my research, of course, and found that Tiger Barbs can be aggressive. They are likely to eat other fish, and should be kept in groups of at least six to reduce aggression, though I read contradictory testimonials about Tiger Barbs ganging up on other fish, so actually larger numbers could make matters worse. Little Shark Tale was not an anomaly; he was just like all his fellow Tiger Barbs (cannibals), but Wal-Mart had neglected to inform my friend about her purchase.
Sadly, Little Shark Tale was getting slower in his confinement, moving as though his tiny silver and black-striped body was suspended in molasses. It had only been a day since my friend had removed him from her tank, but he looked unhappy. I was worried about his welfare. It was a difficult and guilt-ridden decision because part of me wanted to keep him as my drawing specimen. That idea was quickly overshadowed by his slow-moving mouth as he gasped for, what I feared to be, the last bit of breathable oxygen in the stagnant water. So I called my friend and we decided to return him.
After arriving at Wal-Mart, we made a bee-line for Customer Service with Little Shark Tale in tow. He attracted a great deal of attention, as only a little fish could, as children and parents wondered what a fish could be doing in the return lane. I too questioned what exactly we were doing. Can you really return a life? Can you really buy a life? And, what is the price of life? Apparently, for a Tiger Barb, it’s a dollar and forty-five cents, plus tax.
I hoped Little Shark Tale would find a happy fish-tank home, and meet other Tiger Barbs he wouldn’t eat. I just wanted the best for him, but my friend and I were soon to discover a terrible thing: store policy. Apparently, the only way you can return a fish is if you bring it back dead. So, to solve the problem, the pet manager poured out the water and let Little Shark Tale flop and gasp and dance until his little body went limp. We were in shock.
“Why?” we exclaimed, only to be answered with, “It’s store policy. He might have had diseases.”
“But, no,” I said, “he wasn’t sick.” We were bringing him home and you killed him, I thought, though I finally said “I understand.” I wanted to understand, because the fish was dead, and you have to try to understand death.
We had carried Little Shark Tale all this way, only to realize we had brought him to his execution. Now some might retort that this was just a fish, but I find it disturbing how quickly we can trivialize a life because it’s something different from our own. Distraught and confused, I attempted to draw the other fish at Wal-Mart, but all I could think about was my own guilt.
Long after the pet manager had disappeared, another Wal-Mart employee came over to me with her finger pressed close to her mouth, whispering “Shhhh.” To my surprise, she had secretly poured enough water back into the vase to save Little Shark Tale, without letting her manager know, and she was now putting him back into the tank. After a missed attempt, and Little Shark Tale’s brief spill on the floor, she swiftly picked him up again and plopped him back into the tank with his fellow Tiger Barbs. I nearly cried.
“Tell your friend,” she said, because she knew we were both upset. Little Shark Tale was alive, though. I had witnessed an extraordinary series of events, all of which I believe are worth sharing. There are a greater set of policies that govern us as human beings, and I believe that every moment is a choice based on the circumstances at hand. Perhaps it was just a fish, but I believe it carries a universal message. Is a store policy really above saving a life?
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