Quite the Pickle

In “Anecdotal Tales”, stories will be told. Some will be fun, some will not. Some will be great, some will be less so. Some stories are true, some are merely possible. This is one of them.

Quite the Pickle

The Pickle Jar lived a life of seeming solitude.  Oh sure, there were others around it.  In fact, several shelves of the refrigerator were so crammed full of moldy leftovers sealed tight in their plastic containers that the back of the appliance could not even be seen.  Although, when one lived a life of almost complete darkness, there was not much to view at all.

From its entrance into this strange world seven months ago, the Pickle Jar had waited patiently for its turn to come again.  Its residential existence had all started out so promisingly.  The lid had been unscrewed, signaled loudly by the celebratory pop as the air rushed out to greet the consumer who loomed above the kitchen counter the Pickle Jar sat upon.  The vacuum seal was no more!  Life had begun!  No longer would the Pickle Jar be forced to sit and wonder when it would be bought off of the grocer’s shelf.  However, had the Pickle Jar known the dismal life it was to be sentenced to, it might have held out for a better offer.

Ever since those first two slices had been selected, the Pickle Jar had been waiting anxiously to be chosen again.  The Pickle Jar always fancied itself a rather delightful condiment.  There was no sea of seeds washing and swishing around in its jar.  All the slices had been uniformly cut for minimal effort on the part of the eater.  It was ready to go, its little glass container waiting for fresh air to greet it once again.  But this was not the common occurrence the Pickle Jar had once dared to hope for.

The Pickle Jar had its comrades in arms.  There were mustard bottles and ketchup that occupied the same shelf.  However they were constantly coming and going.  Just as the Pickle Jar thought there would be no more of them, a new recruit showed up, brimming and filled with tastiness.  The Pickle Jar wondered if it would ever be emptied, recycled, and sent back out into the world.

The lack of usage was hardly the Pickle Jar’s fault.  It did its best to reflect what little light the tiny light bulb provided each time the door was opened.  It used every little wobble and jostle of the refrigerator door to excitedly clink back and forth, making what little noise its glass surface allowed on the plastic shelf.  And yet, the Pickle Jar remained unwanted.  It started to worry if its contents were well beyond the point of anyone wanting to use them.  The Pickle Jar did not even have the ability to end it all.  How would a Pickle Jar throw itself off of a shelf?  It could not be done.  Powerless to terminate its stay, the Pickle Jar sat and sat and sat.  Trapped in a dark place, always waiting to be rescued and utilized.

At that moment, hope came to the Pickle Jar.  The door opened.  A bustling commotion of party guests blasted the contents of the refrigerator as the lights of the house and the sunlight teamed up to shine brightly on all the food.  Laughingly, The Hand started to select the usual condiments.  The Pickle Jar had spent its whole life waiting to be chosen again by The Hand.  The Hand was all-powerful.  The Hand took one to a better place.  Would The Hand be gracious and pick it today?  Was it possible a guest would want a cheeseburger fresh of the grill with extra pickles?

The Pickle Jar was ready to be picked.  It tried to lean forward, getting The Hand’s attention, but found it still could not move.  Stationary but jubilant at this sign of possibility, the Pickle Jar stared intently at The Hand.  Finally, the Pickle Jar saw The Hand move closer.  Ever closer!  This was it!  This was its time to soak in the real world once again!

Suddenly, The Hand veered to the right of the Pickle Jar.  The Pickle Jar was devastated.  Its neighbor was to be chosen, and the Pickle Jar could already hear the voices quieting and see the light dimming as the mammoth door began to close.  The Pickle Jar turned sour.  It pondered to itself why The Hand had not bestowed purpose unto it.  The Pickle Jar’s neighbor had been no tastier a condiment than it was.  What did that jar have that the Pickle Jar didn’t? 

The Pickle Jar continued to mull over the unfairness of the situation.  It contemplated the reasoning of The Hand, but knew it would eventually return to the lesson that everyone learns.  We can’t all live a life of relish.

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