The Pickle Story

No, not that pickle story, or that one either. Not even the The Andy Griffith Show Pickle Story.



This is my own personal pickle story, and before you get too intrigued, it's not especially interesting.

In the past, I would occasionally buy those humongous jars of pickles from Wal-Mart, the ones that sold for just a couple bucks. It's the "this is a deal too good to pass up" syndrome, compelling you to purchase more of something than you need or could possibly consume (I think this takes place at a lot of warehouse clubs such as Costco, too) but you end up with the item in your shopping cart anyway to "save money", ignoring the fact that you'll no doubt toss at least half of it into the garbage in the end.

And of course, when you get your big jar of pickles home, you have a hell of a time opening it.



I hadn't actually bought any pickles in a long time, but when looking over a jar in the store a few weeks ago, I was glancing at the label and noticed how few calories there were in an entire jar of the transformed cucumbers, or at least, in an entire jar of dill pickles.



Since I tend to snack too much at night, after coming home from a hard days work and sitting my ass down in front of the TV, I figured, hey why not pickles? I can satisfy a little of those munchies without adding on the pounds. So, looking at the shelves full of the different varieties of pickles, I selected a small jar, but then immediately noticed that for literally a few cents more I could get the much bigger jar of the same kind of pickles. I put the smaller one back and grabbed the big one.

Later that night, I discovered something curious about pickles: you can only eat a few at a time before getting sick of them, especially when eating them just by themselves. I went to put the jar in the fridge (I should say that I have a roommate at my second home, and instead of one regular-sized refrigerator, we both have one of those small, college dorm types). Struggling to get my new jar of pickles into the space between the two shelves, I found out that it was not possible. I did find, however, that by laying the jar on its side, I could make it fit quite easily. This I did.

The next day, on my way home, I got to thinking that those weight loss pickles just didn't cut it as a snack food, but if I added a ham and cheese sandwich and some potato chips to the equation, I'd be in business. So I stopped off at the local anti-capitalist workers supermarket and bought a loaf of bread, some mayo, mustard, ham, cheese, and a big bag of Lay's.

When I finally got home and went to my fridge, I saw a large towel on the floor right in front of the refrigerator door. It was wet and smelled funny. What the hell? The thought briefly crossed my mind that my fridge was somehow on the blink and that my roommate had put the towel there (who else, since it wasn't there when I'd left that morning) but then said roommate called out, just as I anxiously opened the door to my cool goodies, "Pickles!"

I looked inside and saw things rearranged, and when Roommate appeared in the kitchen, I got the explanation. The pickle jar had leaked while on its side, getting all over everything and spilling out the door and onto the kitchen floor. My pickles, if they could still be called that, were just not the same. I threw them out.

Later I made a sandwich and ate it with some chips, sans pickle.



I then made a vow not to ever buy pickles again without having access to a normal refrigerator.