The Great Avocado Uprising

Norman Blinksworth just wanted an avocado. That was all. A single, ripe avocado something that, in theory, should have been an uneventful purchase. But of course, Norman lived in a universe that had long abandoned logic in favour of chaos, and so this would become the day that the produce section finally snapped.

It started, as most catastrophes do, with an old woman.

She stood before the avocado display, poking them with the precision of a seasoned bomb defuser. Norman waited patiently, because he was British, and passive-aggression was his birthright. The old woman, sensing this, slowed her pace deliberately, examining each avocado as if one of them contained the secret to immortality.

Norman cleared his throat.

Nothing.

He tried again, a little louder.

She turned, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "Can I help you?"

Norman smiled politely, as one does when confronting a dragon in human form. "Oh, no, take your time. I’m just here for—"

A thud interrupted him. One of the avocados had rolled off the pile and hit the floor. Then another. And another. Before Norman could process what was happening, the entire display was shifting, the avocados tumbling down like an emerald landslide.

And then, in a moment that defied all logic and basic physics, one of them… stood up.

A single avocado round, plump, slightly overripe shook itself off and surveyed the chaos. Its tiny, pit-black eyes glared at Norman with a fury usually reserved for scorned lovers and parking enforcement officers.

"You," it growled.

Norman did not have a protocol for being threatened by an avocado. "Sorry?"

"You think you can just take one of us?" The avocado puffed out its leathery chest. "Like we’re objects?"

"Well, I mean"

"Silence!" The avocado spun to address the other fallen comrades. "The time has come, my brethren. No longer will we be mashed into guacamole without consent! No longer will we be left to rot because some fool miscalculated our ripeness!"

The pile of avocados trembled with excitement. A dozen pairs of tiny eyes blinked open. Somewhere in the distance, a dramatic orchestral swell began, despite there being no visible source of music.

The old woman gasped. "Oh dear. Not again."

Norman turned to her in disbelief. "I’m sorry again?!"

She sighed, rubbing her temples. "They get like this every few years. Ever since the Bananas Unionised, the avocados have been desperate for a movement of their own."

Norman blinked. "You’re saying… this is normal?"

The avocado leader now perched on a display of discount oranges pointed an accusatory stub in Norman’s direction. "We demand reparations!"

"Reparations?!" Norman spluttered.

"For the centuries of oppression! The forced ripening! The indignity of being paired with toast!"

A murmur of agreement spread through the produce aisle. The tomatoes, long thought to be neutral, nodded in solidarity. The lettuce, ever the fence-sitters, rustled uncertainly.

The store’s manager appeared, looking deeply exhausted, as if this was merely another Tuesday for him. "Alright, what’s the situation?"

"Fruit uprising," the old woman informed him.

The manager groaned. "Oh, for the love of—look, we just got over the pineapple riots. Can’t we have one peaceful day?"

The avocado leader ignored him. "We demand an immediate cessation of all purchases! No avocado shall be removed from this store unless they volunteer!"

Norman massaged his temples. "And how exactly would that work?"

The avocado narrowed its eyes. "We’ll conduct interviews."

"You want customers to apply for permission to buy an avocado?"

"Yes. And there will be background checks."

The manager pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright, that’s it. Steve, get the mop."

A tall employee appeared, holding what Norman could only describe as a heavily modified broomstick with a net attached. He gave Norman a solemn nod, as if about to engage in battle.

The avocados screamed.

A battle cry rang through the store as the produce section erupted into chaos. Avocados hurled themselves off shelves, pummelling customers. A pineapple catapulted itself into the deli counter. The bananas, ever the opportunists, joined in, their peels transforming the tile floor into a war zone.

Steve swung the net wildly, capturing rogue vegetables like an overworked Pokémon trainer. Norman ducked as a particularly aggressive avocado soared past his head, smashing into the dairy section.

The old woman sighed, retrieving a tangerine from her purse and hurling it with Olympic precision. It struck the avocado leader squarely in the face.

Silence.

The avocados froze. Their leader teetered, eyes wide, then collapsed dramatically onto the linoleum.

The uprising was over.

The remaining produce slowly slunk back into place. The bananas whistled innocently. The lettuce pretended it had never been involved.

The manager wiped his forehead. "Alright. Someone clean this up. And for the love of god, get security on apple watch before they get any ideas."

Norman stood amongst the wreckage, his soul forever altered. He picked up a lone avocado from the ground and held it in his hands.

It was overripe.

Of course it was.

He placed it back on the shelf and walked out of the store.

Maybe he’d just have toast.