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Peeve Farm
Breeding peeves for show, not just to keep as pets
  Blog \Blôg\, n. [Jrg, fr. Jrg. "Web-log".
     See {Blogger, BlogSpot, LiveJournal}.]
     A stream-of-consciousness Web journal, containing
     links, commentary, and pointless drivel.


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Monday, April 8, 2002
22:52 - The Anti-Pickle Conspiracy

(top) link
I think I know what the problem is.

The world is conspiring to deny Brian pickles.

About a week ago, I posted about my travails at the local Togo's with a server who seemed incapable of understanding that I wished him to put a large, plural number of pickles on my hot pastrami sandwich. I finally got my pickles-- oh yes, Brian will not be denied-- but not before reminding the guy no fewer than three times of my wishes that he should not only fail to ignore the giant bin of fluorescent salty green vegetable discs, but should fail spectacularly to ignore it. This he failed to do-- er, he failed to fail, I guess. He ignored me entirely, until I all but shoved two fingers up his nose and directed his head forcefully into the pickle hopper.

So I was in In-N-Out Burger the other day, with David. (In-N-Out, I should mention, for the benefit of those who don't live in the Southwestern U.S., is a rather spookily good burger chain-- spotless, spacious, all white tile with little red palm trees, with french fries that are fresh whole potatoes five minutes before they arrive on your tray and huge burgers with actual tasty cheese and with tomatoes and onions so fresh you can taste that they're cold inside. Their menu is almost a parody, comprising "Hamburger, Cheeseburger, Milkshake, Sodas, and Fries" like some kind of theme-park concession stand. But they also have unlisted "code" items: Double-Double (2x meat, 2x cheese), 3x3 (same thing times 1.5), all the way up through 8x8 (a friend of mine once ate one, very unhappily toward the end); Animal Style (with grilled onions), Protein Style (no bun, just a big leaf of lettuce wrapped around the innards, for those whose diets-- like the Atkins-- forbid them to eat bread), and plenty more that only the insiders know, like grilled-cheese sandwiches and salads and burger configurations familiar only to the elect few. In-N-Out employs clean-cut, white-bread, erudite, happy, eager-to-please, giggly but chaste high-schoolers from the 50s, plus happy-looking Anglo-Saxon family men who look like they must drive Lexuses, for $10 an hour-- almost twice the minimum wage. Every In-N-Out that has ever opened in California, Nevada, and Arizona has instantly had a lunch line that happily stretches out the door, around the parking lot, and down the street-- people are that enamored with the food this place serves, and for so little money too. And their soda cups and burger wrappers have little Book of Mormon verse references printed on them, hidden down in the corners and on the insides of the bottom rims. Make of this what the hell you will.)

...Right, anyway. So I was in In-N-Out with David, and I had just finished relating to him the hapless tale of Togo's and the Pickle Bait-and-Switch. I then casually mentioned how the last couple of times I had gone through the In-N-Out drive-thru, to get Protein Style burgers for my Atkins-Dieting roommates, In-N-Out had gotten something wrong in the order each time. First, they forgot Zjonni's chocolate shake. And on the subsequent time, they neglected (hey, surprise) to put pickles into my burger. Yes, I'd asked for extra pickles. Yes, they'd repeated extra back to me, quite clearly.

Just as I finish telling him this tale of woe, our orders are called. I go and pick mine up. We sit back down; he's rolling with silent laughter, and he reflects on the cruel irony of a worldwide conspiracy that seeks to deny pickles to me, the person who would cheerfully support the pickle industry singlehandedly if need be. Ah, life. He tears into his burger. I tear into mine. Wait. I pause, startled. I look closer. I look at David.

"Guess what they forgot to put on mine?"

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© Brian Tiemann