Heather came by my work today for lunch. We decided on Schlotzsky's.
Neither of us ever eat the pickle spears that come with the meals, and this time Heather tossed hers onto my plate before I could form an adequate defense. That's okay though, because I love her and it's not like I had to eat it or anything.
Across from our table, sitting by himself, was a guy that looked like a biker. His large arms were plastered in tattoos, he had a grizzled face and was dressed in a biker fashion with his jean jacket over the back of his chair. I noticed that he didn't eat his pickle either as he got up to toss his wrappers in the garbage. Then he walked off into the bathroom, leaving his jacket over his chair. All alone.
I looked at it, and started smiling. Heather said, "What?"
"I was just thinking about putting a pickle in his pocket," I said and she just laughed and laughed.
I didn't of course. For one thing, I had no idea how fast he could eliminate his wastes. Some people are pretty speedy and we were only a few tables from the bathroom. I also realized that someone would likely see me do it and spill the beans, and then I would have to deal with a biker annoyed about his pickled pocket. Or, assuming nothing else went wrong, it would be my luck that his keys would be in that pocket or something.
We were still talking about it as he came back from the bathroom and I watched him as he put his jacket on. I guess it was a bit of a struggle to squeeze his large arms into the sleeves and I'm sure he would have found it at some point. And there we would have been, right next to him. I could just see me telling him, "Some guy walked over and dropped a pickle in your pocket and then ran off. I was going to tell you, but I was worried you wouldn't believe me. It wasn't me. See? I still have my pickle!" and then I would show him the remaining pickle on my plate. "She ate hers," I would say when he looked at Heather's plate. This would no doubt have been followed with, "Not the face! Not the face!" and cops and stuff.
No. That wouldn't have ended well.
Later, as we were driving back to work, Heather asked me what made me even think of putting a pickle in his pocket. I told her that when I saw him get up and leave his jacket like that, it made me think about how I could never do that. I would be too worried that someone would take it or mess with it. And then I saw the pickles on my plate and the whole plan came together. In my mind I saw him finding the pickle much later and thinking, "What the...?! I thought I threw this away!" and that just made me smile.
Have a great, pickle free weekend everyone!