Pickle Panda Finds Love in the Time of Robot Bees

Pickle.

- INTRODUCTION | PART 1 -

Hello, again! If you’re just joining us on Good Morning St. Augustine, we’re here with Dr. Joyce Sartin, a professor from the Environmental Science department of Flagler College. She’s here to talk to us about bees. Isn’t that right, Dr. Sartin?

Call me Joyce, Diane, please. she corrected with a smile, leaning forward in the studio’s comfortable lounge chairs.

"Of course, Joyce. Is this ‘thing’ with the bees something we should be worried about?" asked the chipper newswoman.

Yes, indeed. It’s a very serious matter. This past winter, nearly 34% of all the captive honeybees in the US have died. That’s the worst number since the US Department of Agriculture started keeping track. We’re very rapidly approaching a critical situation, where-

Tell me, Joyce, interrupted Diane, why is that a problem? I mean, no one wants to get stung by a bee. Isn’t less bees a good thing?

Dr. Sartin just stared at the pretty blonde newswoman for a moment. Lots of make-up. Blue contacts. Fake nails. She was playing the role of television journalist well enough, for a light morning show in the North-East corner of Florida. Dr. Sartin reminded herself that the general health of America’s bee population was not usual morning-show fare. She should be grateful to have an audience - any audience! - and she reminded herself not to blame Diane for asking what seemed to be an obvious question. She quickly composed herself and went on, a bit more slowly. "No, Diane. Less bees is not a good thing. It’s not. Honeybees pollenate crops. These bees perform a vital function that we all depend on. If there aren’t enough bees to collect the pollen from flowers and the go from flower to flower spreading the pollen-"

Like the birds and the bees! exclaimed the newscaster, happily.

Ye-ess, said the professor, drawing out the word. It’s like the birds and the bees. The bees help make baby crops, and if there are no new baby crops then people won’t have enough to eat. Unless someone does something about it, food prices will go up. That means a lot of people won’t be able to afford-

Well, I was stung by a bee once when I was five, so I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Up next - what’s with all these talking animals, Bob?

The shot switched from Diane and a slack-jawed and bewildered Dr. Sartin to a more traditional anchor desk. Bob wore a sharp gray suit and sat in front of a bustling newsroom full of metallic surfaces.

"Thanks, Diane! Of course, we’ve all heard of talking parrots, but Diane is referring to a number of popular YouTube videos showing animals that seem to be talking. Popular theories explaining the cause of these talking animals have ranged from wi-fi signals to GMO foods to miraculous signs from God. We’ve got channel 6 reporter Jamie Day on the scene at a Humane Society brunch where one of these talking animals may have found a new home right here in St. Augustine. Jamie?"

The shot switched again, this time to a white tent on the beach filled with aging socialites in linen pants drinking their mimosas in the salty morning air. The tent was white, the tablecloths were white, the shoes were white. In true, upper-crust, old-Florida-money fashion, the only things that weren’t white were the waiters.

Thanks, Bob! It looks like Mr. Bryce Clark has agreed to adopt the famous talking panda cub that was born at the San Diego Zoo last year as a birthday present for his young daughter, Kelsi. This is a fantastic contribution to Panda International’s breeding program, as you know. Tell me, Mr. Clark - what motivated you to pay $600,000 to adopt this one-of-a-kind panda?

Mr. Clark smiled self-effacingly, well, my wife passed away last summer and it’s been a tough year for us. This is my daughter, Kelsi. She’s had a tough time and she doesn’t really ask for much. I’d promised her that she could adopt one of the zoo animals and she fell in love with this one and it seemed to mean a lot to her. I had the money, and I wasn’t going to tell her no. It’s important to live up to our promises, isn’t it, Kelsi?

Right! I’m going name him Pickle, because he likes pickles, said the young girl.

Does the panda like pickles? asked the newscaster.

Not that I know of, said Mr. Clark, but she has quite an imagination!

I see, I see. Now, of course this is all for charity and this money is all going to a good cause, explained Jamie. "The zoo will eventually use the money raised here today to build a larger enclosure for the pandas there, which will help them to do more research and determine why their pandas gave birth to a talking panda like - I guess his name is Pickle."

Well, that will be great. I’m sure Pickles will enjoy his new habitat, said Mr. Clark.

"Pickle is coming home with us, daddy," said Kelsi.

No, no, dear, explained the man, softly, as he turned to his daughter. Pickles is going to stay with his family in San Diego. This was a fundraising brunch to build a bigger-

Actually, Mr. Clark, interrupted the newscaster, all of the other bidders were zoos and wildlife organizations. You were, in fact, bidding to take the panda home.

"I told you!" said the little girl, triumphantly.

What!? shrieked Mr. Clark. What do you mean? I can’t take care of a panda! I’m in real estate-

The camera panned away from the Clarks and focused on channel 6 reporter Jamie Day’s brilliant white smile. It looks like Mr. Clark is going to have an interesting drive home. Speaking of driving home, gas prices seem to be going up again just in time for the long weekend. Channel 6 anchor Bob Krandle has the story. Back to you, Bob!

[ 1 ]

I never should have brought you, said Kelsi, flustered as she tried to make sense of the crude map the university had provided her while navigating the hallways full of students. It’s my first day of college and you’re already ruining it! People are going to think I’m slow.

Only if you talk to them, answered Pickle, snarkily, doing the best he could to keep pace with her.

Ugh! I hate you so- Wait. I think this is it.

The classroom was basic. It had two doors, one near the teacher’s desk and one towards the back. Otherwise it was nondescript and generic in that way that university classrooms used by multiple departments so often are. There was nothing permanent on the walls to mark this as a Humanities class or a Math class. Kelsi and Pickle looked around the room, which starting to fill up with other, eager young freshmen, and decided to sit in the back corner of the room. As close to the back door as possible, in other words.

Just stay quiet.

I’ll try not to make a scene, said Pickle. It was a hollow statement, of course, and they both knew it. Despite the progress their family had made with getting Pickle recognized as a service animal by Florida’s courts, he was still a panda. The hard-won rulings made it so Pickle could accompany Kelsi to school or to the mall, sure - but they couldn’t control how Kelsi’s teachers treated him and, by extension, treated her. Some teachers treated him like an interesting pet. Others, like a dangerous zoo animal. Regardless of how the teachers saw him, though, Pickle was still a panda in an orange vest, and a panda in an orange vest was a scene.

I hate dad. He’s so stupid sometimes.

I don’t want to be stuck following you around, either-

Good morning, class! said the teacher. It’s 8:05, so we should get started. I am professor Stephan Westby, and this is COM 101, Speech Communication. I would like to welcome you all to- He stopped mid-sentence as his eyes fell on Pickle.

He spoke with a heavy accent Pickle couldn’t quite place, but that didn’t bother either Pickle or Kelsi. What bothered them were the heads of some twenty-odd students that turned to follow the professor’s gaze. Good morning, professor! said Kelsi, with an uncomfortable smile.

Good morning, Miss Clark, he answered. There were a few quiet seconds, then he went on, "I know you and your panda from the internet videos and the news reports, also. When I saw your name on my roll it never occurred to me that you were that Clark."

Pickle stayed quiet. In the early days of his adoption, when he was no bigger than a small dog and only spoke a few words, Kelsi posted hundreds of photos and videos online showcasing her exotic new pet. It was through those videos, and the news outlets that picked them up, that the world came to know Pickle Panda and his expanding vocabulary. Once Kelsi and her father began thinking of Pickle less as a pet, and more as a sensitive, thinking person, the videos stopped.

This, of course, left the public with a lot of room for interpretation.

The professor continued to look at the pair. The eager young woman, dressed expensively and ready for class with an open notebook and a sharpened pencil at the ready. The pudgy little black and white bear in the seat next to her, looking very much like the top prize at a county fair ring-toss. Miss Clark, will your - er, the panda? Will he be taking the class as well?

I’m just sitting in, said Pickle.

The other students were blown away. St. Augustine was a small town and, on top of that, it was a genuinely weird town, so the locals weren’t really phased by a panda (talking or otherwise). The incoming freshman class of Flagler College, however, were mostly from somewhere else, and gasped when they heard Pickle speak. A few were horrified by the human sound of his voice. Overall, however, the response seemed positive.

Calm down, calm down, professor Westby said. Eyes front. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a minor celebrity in my class. Now, let’s get started with our first assignment.

"Did he just call us minor celebrities?" whispered Pickle, to Kelsi.

Shut UP! she hissed, as she carefully wrote First Assignment: in a bubbly script on her notepad.

This is a communication and speech class, so our first assignment will help me see how well you communicate and speak, already explained professor Westby as he handed out a stack of printed syllabi. I’m hoping that, through this exercise, we’ll all learn about each other and, perhaps, you’ll all learn a little bit about yourselves. The exercise won’t be graded, in the conventional sense, he continued, you get 100% if you give it an honest effort. You get a ‘zero’ if you choose not to participate. Now, since it’s your first day of class. For many of you, it’s your first day of college, so get out of here. He smiled, go figure out where your classes are and buy whatever textbooks you need and make some friends. We’ll meet up again Wednesday.

Kelsi tried to gather her things quickly and escape out the back door without generating too much more attention, but it was not be. The other students immediately crowded around Pickle, blocking the door and trying to talk to him. They meant well, for the most part. She heard Whoa! and Dude! and watched Pickle reluctantly give a few of the boys fist bumps as they walked past him and out the door. She overheard one of the girls in the class say Is she autistic or something? Why does she need a seeing-eye panda? and another say "Why is she allowed to bring a pet? Does that mean I can bring my poodle to class, now?"

Kelsi sighed and dropped her shoulders, waiting out the traffic by the door. It was just like high school, and the only thing anyone seemed to pay attention to was Pickle.

Hey, that’s cool that your panda talks.

Huh? she said, as she looked up.

Your panda. He’s pretty cool. He said your name was Chelsea, I think? the boy was nervous, but very cute. He was taller than Kelsi, with close-cropped hair and blue eyes. Um - so, you’re a freshman? That’s cool.

It’s Kelsi, and yeah. she said, smiling a bit nervously herself.

Cool, cool, he said. So, what’s with the panda? Is he like, super smart or something?

"He’s stupid. I mean, he’s like, smart for a panda, but he’s normal. I guess."

Oh. Well, um - I’ll see you Wednesday? I mean, if you don’t drop this class. The professor seems cool.

Yeah, she said. See you then.

Kelsi watched the boy walk away from her, and out of the classroom - he looked back, she noticed. Pickle was still uncomfortably chatting with professor Westby and a few straggling students who couldn’t get enough of his novelty. Can we go now? she said, on the verge of impatience.

Yeah, let’s go, said Pickle, as he dropped out of his seat. At just four-and-a-half feet tall with short, stocky limbs, Pickle wasn’t particularly graceful in his movements.

Don’t forget what we talked about, Mr. Panda, said the professor. I expect you to complete the assignment, too. You’re in my class, after all!

Yeah, I’ll think about it.

What’s that all about? asked Kelsi, taking out the university’s map once again and trying to make sense of it.

He said if I was going to sit in the class, that I should take the class, explained Pickle. He wants me to do homework.

HA! OMG, Dad’s going to make you do it!

No, said Pickle, sternly. He’s not going to make me do it, because he’s not going to know about it.

He already knows. I just texted him while you were talking.

Dammit!

He says ‘LOL’. Your life sucks!

"I so hate you."

You make me wanna die- OK, we need to go this way to the library. I think they have a coffee shop in there, said Kelsi. I’ll buy you coffee if you stop talking.

Pickle could always be bought with coffee or pastries, and she needed time to think. She’d spent most of the summer re-inventing herself for college. She’d determined to finally be something other than that girl with the panda, and had begun waking up early for runs along St. Augustine’s beaches to get in shape. She’d tanned her skin and dyed her hair blonde (just highlights). High school had been so much about Pickle and she’d hoped that she’d - finally! - found a place where she wouldn’t be forced to drag Pickle around everywhere she went. She’d even chosen Flagler because it was a private university, and she was sure they’d never let her bring Pickle into their historic classrooms.

Her father had laughed off that failure with Did you really think a bunch of liberal intellectuals weren’t going to want to have a one-of-a-kind talking panda at their university? Ha!

Ha! indeed.

Her re-invention seemed to have paid off, though, if the attentions of - what was his name? - were to be any indication. Maybe college was going to be different, after all ...

[ 2 ]

Meghan Watson, Ph.D. she said, looking into the mirror. Doctor Meghan Watson, she tried, again. The woman she saw in the mirror didn’t look like the other doctors she talked to in the hallways and in the labs. The woman in the mirror was hardly a woman at all. For starters, she didn’t have wrinkles, she had freckles. She didn’t wear glasses, because she didn’t need them. She didn’t have dark brown hair pulled-back bulled tightly back into a bun, she had fiery red hair. She had big, fiery red hair!

I can’t be ‘Doctor Watson’, she thought to herself. "That sounds so old!"

Meghan stopped thinking about her title as she finished getting herself ready. Purse, she said, to no one in particular. Purse? Purse, purse, purse - got it! She repeated the ritual with her phone, her keys, and her lip balm, then started making her way across the crowded campus to get her morning cup of coffee. Coffee. coffee, coffee ...

The first day of any fall semester was, to Meghan, a harrowing experience. The peaceful Flagler College campus she’d come to know and love over the past nine years was thrown into chaos every fall with a fresh in-flux of out-of-state students who chose the school, more often than not, for its close proximity to Florida’s beaches and, of course, the local bars. Until they’d all bought their textbooks and figured out where their classes were and which ones they could skip without fear, they were simply in. Her. Way.

When the first freshman bumped into her on the sidewalk, Meghan grunted some kind of excuse me that wasn’t returned to her satisfaction. When it happened again, a few steps later, she almost barked Excuse me! When she was bumped a third time by another young man looking down at his phone, she lost it. "Look where you are going!" she screamed.

The young man looked up from his phone with an annoyed glance, and responded with a dismissive Sorry, ma’am.

Ma’am?

Meghan was not impressed with being called ma’am. I’m no ‘ma’am’, she thought as she made her way into the library’s coffee shop. I’m not that much older than he is. Who does that jerk think he is!? That ma’am continued to work on her psyche as she stepped into the library and - Meghan stopped short. "Look out! There’s a freaking panda in the library! she shouted. Get away from it!" she shouted again, pushing two boys out of the way and knocking down the girl closest to the panda.

"Rude! said the girl. What’s your deal?"

Meghan was flustered, but she had enough intuition to read the social cues. No one was scared of the panda. The panda was wearing an orange vest that read SERVICE ANIMAL - DO NOT PET in a black, stenciled font, the boys were upset that they’d been shoved, the girl was livid, everyone was looking at her like she was a lunatic, and (worst of all) she was convinced that the freaking panda was looking at her like she was a lunatic.

OK, Meghan, she thought to herself. If you think the panda is looking at you like you’re a lunatic then you’re probably a lunatic. She turned to help the girl up.

Is everything OK? she heard from behind her.

Nothing, Meghan said, apologetically, I mean, it’s fine. I just freaked out when I saw the panda. I haven’t had my coffee, yet, either, and there’s this zoo animal-

As Meghan turned, she expected to see someone standing there, more or less at eye level. She didn’t see anyone there. Just as she began to truly question her sanity, she heard the same voice, again.

Down here, the voice said.

She looked down, and saw the panda, sitting peacefully in the coffee line and looking up at her in a way that seemed - expectant? Was that the right word?

Are you going to get in line like a human being now, or what? asked the panda.

Meghan was about to respond. She'd really meant to say something clever and apologetic that would make the whole episode seem A-OK, really - but she passed out before she could.

[ 3 ]

As soon as Meghan started shouting about the panda, Ramses could sense, instinctively, that something was wrong. He was already turning towards her when she started fainting, and, moving swiftly with a grace that belied his great size, was there to catch her as she fell.

Is she OK? asked Kelsi.

She will be fine, he said, effortlessly lifting the limp Meghan Watson in his powerful arms. I know her. She is the math tutor. I will take her to her office. It is only across the way.

Pickle and Kelsi just stared at him. Who- who are you? asked Kelsi.

I am Ramses. Ramses Young, he said, in a deep, heavily-accented baritone that rumbled out of him as he walked away from them.

We should-

Follow them? asked Pickle, flustered. We should, definitely. Who does he think he is? Do you see the way he's just- Just walking around like that?

"He's so hot."

What!? said Pickle, stunned. Are you insane? You can't-

Come on. We're going, she said, snapping a leash onto Pickle's vest.

"The leash!? You bit-" he was cut off by a yank on the vest that pulled him sideways. Even though he was almost a foot shorter than Kelsi, Pickle weighed nearly 250 lbs., and was significantly stronger than most humans. Even so, the only thing more humiliating than being put on a leash was to be seen fighting the leash, and Kelsi knew it.

"UGH! You suck! Come on!" she pleaded.

Ramses Young could barely fit his massive frame through the door of the small office, but managed to gently place Meghan on the