This is messed up because I think the pickle in question actually responded to this:
I was incredibly hungry driving down Folsom Boulevard and really wanted a turkey sandwich. Here’s the problem: Outside of Mr. Pickle’s was a gigantic pickle waving at passersby to go inside. I could have stopped, but I kept going. I was starving, but to be honest, I didn’t want to have to interact with the pickle. Call me an elitist, but if I can go all day without schmoozing with a huge-ass pickle, then I will. I’d rather starve than chill out with a pickle. At Jamba Juice a while back, there was a dude dressed up like a banana, and it reminded me how lonely and sick this world can be. Yeah, it probably speaks to larger mental issues on my part, but if you have a mascot standing around on the street—be it a white guy dressed as a pickle or a black dude like a banana—I’m not going into your store.
May you never have to wear a pickle suit
Re “Pickle prejudice” by Josh Fernandez (SN&R Smorgasbord, April 16):
Pickle, banana … it’s called a job.
I’m happy that you don’t have to wear a food-related uniform, but some folks have those annoying bills like rent, food, utilities and, if they are able to own a car, gas. In these times that college graduates are applying at In-N-Out Burger and the Dollar Tree, I see little humor in your elitism.
Josh, I’m sorry you were hungry for a turkey sandwich, but at least you knew when you found a joint that you felt deserved your patronage, you could afford one. Get over yourself. Someday, sadly, you may be the man in a pickle suit.
Sorry pickle. But you are wrong. If I’m ever faced with the grim reality of having to don a pickle suit for cash, I’ll just hang myself.