Rollin, rollin…

When the man exited the bathroom, he found a shopping cart sitting right in the middle of the exit. There was just enough room on either side of the cart to walk past. He walked toward one end of the cart, only to have it roll forward and block his way.

He looked over at the other end of the cart, to reassure himself there was no one there pushing it. He didn't see anyone, but this cart was in his way and he needed to get by. He tried swinging the cart outward so that he could walk by without moving it much from its position. But he found some resistance -- somehow the cart seemed to be pushing back!

He looked around but didn't see any employees that he could ask about this wayward cart. He looked down and didn't see anything that looked like a motor, or for that matter a radio or any other kind of control, on the cart.

He shook his head, confused and slightly annoyed, as he walked toward the other end of the cart. But the cart rolled backward and blocked his path again!

"What's going on here?!" he said, angry and frustrated more than anything else. But those feelings gave way to fear as the limp gloves in the shopping cart rose into the air and filled out to the shape of hands. Then, as those gloves hovered to the front of the shopping cart, where there would normally be a visible shopper directing it, the man's shoes broke contact with the floor.

"Hey!" he said. "Put me down!" The second pair of gloves, the ones that were still in the shopping cart, rose up and stuffed themselves into his mouth. He felt a little silly, not knowing who or what he was dealing with, but he had to do something to make it clear he didn't want to be played with. He also noticed that he didn't feel anything lifting or pulling him -- it was as if gravity just stopped working on him.

But he knew that wasn't the case, because he floated over and into the cart, which then rolled down a merchandise aisle and made its way into a stock area. He noted with fear that the doors to the stock area swung open on their own. He knew, as any shopper would, that stockroom doors are not automatic -- they have to be pushed.