The Pickle Story

Many of my friends have been to lunch with me and taken notice of my ordering technique when I want a burger. It is always pretty much the same, "Bacon cheeseburger, medium-rare, lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, no pickle. Not on the sandwich and please no spear on the plate." I just cannot eat dill pickles and it goes back to a horrible experience I had as a kid. The following is my story.

When I was about 10-years-old, I came home from school one day and prepared to spend the afternoon in my favorite way. Turning on the television and watching Popeye trying to hook-up with Olive Oyl. On this particular day, I felt I needed a snack as I watched my cartoons. Rummaging through the cupboards really didn't produce and answer to my hunger, so I decided to check in the refrigerator. Again, nothing stood out as a viable snack, but as I started to close the door, I spotted it. A jar of whole dill pickles. You need to understand that these were whole pickles, not spears like they have today. Not that spears would have saved me from what I am about to tell you, but I feel you need to know the full story.

I call out to my mother who is in another room and ask, "Mom, can I have a pickle?"

She replies, "Yes."

"Nice," I say to myself.

After grabbing a paper towel, I pull my prize from the jar and head back into the living room. I don't remember the Popeye episode from that day, but surely Popeye and Brutus were getting after each other in some form or fashion. So I am watching my favorite show, chomping on my pickle and life is good. The first one goes down rather quickly and was quite tasty. Figuring my mother had already given me permission to have a pickle, I take it upon myself to have another. Life is good and I am noshing on pickles like there is no tomorrow. After the second pickle, I go to get another and notice there are only a couple left. At that moment, I have an epiphany and think, "It would be a shame to leave just two pickles in the jar at this point." With my mind made up that I was going to power all of these dill delicacies, I step up the speed with which I ate the first two pickles and start on the third. After all, I don't want my mother to come into the room and put a stop to my magnificent feast.

Two more trips to the fridge and I have completed my mission of putting down these pickles. Being a 10-year-old, I just place the empty jar back into the fridge and go back to watch my next cartoon. Please take this moment to note I powered all five dill pickles during one half hour collection of Popeye cartoons. Sitting on the floor watching my next show, it occurs to me that those pickles have now made me thirsty. I trot off to the kitchen and grab the refrigerator door to get a cold drink.

At this point, lets take a side bar and consider what we know about the average 10-year-old's mind. The average 10-year-old does not understand the concept of "too much of a good thing." They live in the "if it feels good do it" realm. So when I opened that refrigerator and saw that jar with the remaining pickle juice, it looked like manna from heaven to me. My 10-year-old mind is thinking, "I'm thirsty, the juice will quench my thirst and it will taste just like those wonderful pickles I just ate." And there my friends came my undoing.

I drank that pickle juice the way a convict drinks water on a chain gang. In the summertime. In the hot Georgia sun. While taking a break from digging ditches. They way they drank water in Cool Hand Luke. I think you get the point that I slammed the pickle juice home. Proud of myself at this point, I put the top back on the jar and throw it into the trash. Stealthily getting rid of all of the evidence of my pickle soiree. Little did I know, my mother would soon find out what I had done. She never even had to look into the trash or the refrigerator. It became all too evident.

I don't know, but lets call it about an hour or hour and a half later when the rumble in the jungle starts in my stomach. By this point, I am a little light-headed and starting to sweat a bit. But again, a 10-year-old does not know what is about to happen to his body after consuming five pickles and drinking the brine they have been soaking in for the last six months. I just know I am not on my A-game at that point.

I am going to spare you the details of what happened to my body that night, but I will tell you, a dill pickle doesn't taste as good the second time it hits your taste buds. To this day, I have never come close to repeating the events of that evening and I have had my fair share of bouts with tequila. I just know the next day I thought I never wanted to see another pickle for the rest of my life.

I went to Hooter's once and wasn't real hungry so I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich. I have never ordered anythng but wings in Hooter's, so how did I know all sandwiches came with a full dill pickle spear? I about fell off my chair when it arrived, but when I realized the pickle juice had soaked into the bread, I was done. It had to go back. To this day, I cannot eat, pick-up or smell a dill pickle.

So that's it. At 47-years-old, I remember it like it was yesterday. "No pickles please," is my new mantra.

Eat, drink and be merry!

Harry