Everybody wants a Pickle!
Fridays are normally the day myself and a co-worker, (who I've just now re-named and hereby is to be known as GreenPod) reserve to use as our day out to eat things we've thought about all week. Sometimes I falter and I eat out more often, but Fridays are special.
I promised Mr. Morgan food so we hit up a joint not far from my LillyPad called Mr. Pickle. It's your run of the mill sandwhich eatery with half interested employees and food that I don't particularly care for. That means nothing. Most people love things that I do not, so it's not a slight at all.
We arrived and GreenPod pointed out that not only did they sell giant pickles, they also had a mascot. I'm not certain if she heard it happening but there was a five second meltdown pause of rewinding my day in my head, that began with me saying "I don't need my camera today."
When do I EVER not have my camera? When mascots are dancing on the curb it would seem. I began to frown and get really upset in an adult way, that were I 25 years younger would have landed me the ass beating of my life. I was that upset to have left my camera when a happy pickle was dancing on the corner, WITHOUT ME!
GreenPod readilly recognized my angst. I'm not sure if it was the same state of worry Mr. Morgan gets when I start yelling and he says he is scared, but she recommended we get that camera.
By the time we came back, the Pickle was gone so we went inside thinking he might have moved his jig into the eatery. No Pickle. We asked the cashier who -just so happened to be the owner- where the Pickle went and he lost his shit.
Both of us started to defend the Pickle. We didn't know.... was he on an unauthorized break? Seems so. We busted the Pickle and kept saying it really wasn't a big deal, while my wrenched mouth still insisted on my Pickle photo.
The bossman went towards a back room, demanding the Pickle, then said I was thinking about firing him anyway. Oh shit Pickle. Same mouth wrench. In my tiny selfish brain that man was already being fired or about to quit and relinquish the PickleSuit before we ever walked in.
Pickle didn't move fast enough so a second yell went down. The Pickle emerged. Can click to enlarge. The limp arm says it all. "I hate being the Pickle."
Little bit more passionate, because I LOVE Pickle.
I half want to think what happened next was because the boss wanted Pickle out of his sight.
He ordered Pickle outside to take another photo, although we were satisfied, and the entire trio of us walked out with our heads hanging, each for a different reason. Here I am dancing with Pickle, although it looks like I am grabbing for Pickle's pickle.
We left happy, only later did Bosslady's Daughter mention a tip and my level of guilt rose 15 levels. The only thing that made me feel better was GreenPod saying "Well..... where do you think he could have put it?"
-DM
I promised Mr. Morgan food so we hit up a joint not far from my LillyPad called Mr. Pickle. It's your run of the mill sandwhich eatery with half interested employees and food that I don't particularly care for. That means nothing. Most people love things that I do not, so it's not a slight at all.
We arrived and GreenPod pointed out that not only did they sell giant pickles, they also had a mascot. I'm not certain if she heard it happening but there was a five second meltdown pause of rewinding my day in my head, that began with me saying "I don't need my camera today."
When do I EVER not have my camera? When mascots are dancing on the curb it would seem. I began to frown and get really upset in an adult way, that were I 25 years younger would have landed me the ass beating of my life. I was that upset to have left my camera when a happy pickle was dancing on the corner, WITHOUT ME!
GreenPod readilly recognized my angst. I'm not sure if it was the same state of worry Mr. Morgan gets when I start yelling and he says he is scared, but she recommended we get that camera.
By the time we came back, the Pickle was gone so we went inside thinking he might have moved his jig into the eatery. No Pickle. We asked the cashier who -just so happened to be the owner- where the Pickle went and he lost his shit.
Both of us started to defend the Pickle. We didn't know.... was he on an unauthorized break? Seems so. We busted the Pickle and kept saying it really wasn't a big deal, while my wrenched mouth still insisted on my Pickle photo.
The bossman went towards a back room, demanding the Pickle, then said I was thinking about firing him anyway. Oh shit Pickle. Same mouth wrench. In my tiny selfish brain that man was already being fired or about to quit and relinquish the PickleSuit before we ever walked in.
Pickle didn't move fast enough so a second yell went down. The Pickle emerged. Can click to enlarge. The limp arm says it all. "I hate being the Pickle."
Little bit more passionate, because I LOVE Pickle.
I half want to think what happened next was because the boss wanted Pickle out of his sight.He ordered Pickle outside to take another photo, although we were satisfied, and the entire trio of us walked out with our heads hanging, each for a different reason. Here I am dancing with Pickle, although it looks like I am grabbing for Pickle's pickle.
We left happy, only later did Bosslady's Daughter mention a tip and my level of guilt rose 15 levels. The only thing that made me feel better was GreenPod saying "Well..... where do you think he could have put it?"-DM
posted by DMorgan's Zoo at
5:01 PM
3 Comments:
I hope you didn't get the pickle in a pickle! We have a Mr. Pickle near my house, but, alas, no pickle man : ( I much prefer Spicy Pickle anyway...yeah, I'm spicy like that. That's just how I roll (French roll??) Ok, enough of me being punny!
You are surely grabbing for Mr. Pickle's pickle! I hope that's kosher.
Lmfao...... kosher.
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