Thursday, September 07, 2006

By Popular Demand

Given that one hundred percent of the current audience has asked for this to be reposted, I have obliged.

(Let’s all take a moment here and imagine that one hundred percent refers to an impressive unified coalition of thousands of far-flung readers instead of, um, two.)

Anyway: THE PICKLE STORY.



So. It's the week before finals. I have a shitload of work, so naturally, I've just spent the past hour reading about how to punch holes in quarters to confuse vending machines. I rule. In hopes of getting something done (HA), I decided that I needed an energy boost. As I'm already caffeinated well beyond any kind of legal or physical limit, I went for FOOD. My tongue, which was being subjected to the GROSSLY OVERSWEET HELL that is "Orbit Original Flavor" gum which I bought in a huge bulk pack in Costco without realizing that it was puke-inducing, so now I have to finish the pack, PLEASE KIll ME, that tongue flatly refused to eat anything sweet. And we have chips! Chips which are salty and crunchy and yummy and..deep fried. Right.

Ok, we ALSO HAVE PICKLES. Which have lots of sodium, but NO CALORIES!!! Really! It says "0" right there on the label, because cucumbers are one of those fake vegetables that are mostly water and aren't actually good for you, especially after they've sat in a vat of brine, but HEY NO CALORIES!

But first, ladies and gentlemen, before I could enjoy a crunchy pickle (and think of some Freudian imagery that I just got out of my head, THANKS A LOT ENGLISH CLASS), first, I had to face...the unopened pickle jar. Well. I don't know why pickle-jar-ers are still in the pickle-jarring business, because they could easily switch over to making and sealing DIAMOND VAULTS, because DEAR GOD, IS THERE A BLACK HOLE INSIDE CREATING THE VACUUM? Egad.

I attempt to open the pickle jar with my bare hands.
I attempt to open the pickle jar with my bare hands AND while making an intense face.
I naively attempt to use the jar-opener thing in the back of the kitchen drawer that LOOKS so much like it will work and I WANT it to work so badly, but it just kind of scrapes across the jar lid and then goes back in the drawer and MOCKS ME.
I run hot water over the jar, because I AM GOOD AT SCIENCE and the metal lid should expand when it gets hot.
I almost drop the jar because it's slippery when wet.

At this point, I was ready to admit defeat, and the thought flickered across my mind that I could go write a post about how I just lost to a pickle jar. I believe at this point the caffeine kicked in.
What? Lost to a pickle jar? I'LL BE DAMNED BEFORE I ADMIT THAT I LOST TO A PICKLE JAR! NO PICKLE JAR IS GOING TO BRING ME DOWN!

And armed with a crazed sense of determination that only the truly sleep-deprived and then caffeinated can understand, I fought the pickle jar. Bare handed. Whacked the shit out of the lid with a knife. Bare handed again. Hand cramping up, just a little more pressure, ow...did it move?

OH IT MOVED. And the seal was open and the jar made a satisfying pop, and I ate a pickle.

It was then that I realized that they were the kind of pickles that I don't like.

4 comments:

uptowngirrrrrl said...

YAY FOR THE PICKLE STORY!!!!

ziellezie said...

hey, i like your blog!! :)

Leina said...

NYOOO!! THAT IS THE MOST TRAGIC STORY EVER! i could go for some pickles now..WAY TO GO! they used to have them at the dining halls but they mysteriously disappeared and have been replaced with onions. not fair.

Anonymous said...

egad. good word.