In an attempt to save some cash on groceries, I recently bought a bulk sized jar of pickles. Subsequent conversations and thoughts about pickles ensued, until a pickle related memory came to the service of a walk I had in the Georgetown district of Washington, DC nearly a decade ago.
I was out with couple of good friends, just walking around town, popping into bars and shops or whatever. It was hot summer night, so we ducked into an ethnic deli to get a couple sodas or waters at one point. As we were checking out, one of my friends noticed a large jar packed with these monstrous pickles. For some reason, he found it particularly remarkable and bought one of pickles on the way back out to the street. We had literally taken about three steps when dude takes a bite and stops in his tracks.
“Oh my God,” he said, nearly shouting.
“This has got to be the best pickle that I have ever had in my life!”
My other friend and I gave him a quesioning look.
“Okay,” I said.
“No,” after another bite, still otherwise motionless, “Jesus, this is seriously a great pickle!”
At this point, he was clearly shouting, attracting strange looks from the passers by. He shook his head in wonderment and resumed walking, waving the pickle in the other guy’s face.
“I just can’t get over how great this-”
And he just carried on about the damn thing for the next three or four blocks, with no encouragement from either of us. I wonder whatever happened to that guy.