Pickle Jar Homework

The following was homework was on the subject of the last pickle jar in the supermarket being snatched away…

IN A PICKLE.

Ten o’clock at night, and Margie was hungry again. Cauliflower pickles this time. I sighed.

Where was I going to get cauliflower pickles at this hour? I drove around the neighbourhood, and eventually found an open convenience store.

I was just reaching for the last remaining jar of Spring Gully cauliflower pickles on the shelf, when a rough hand pushed me out of the way, grabbed the jar and took it to the check-out counter.

‘Hey,’ I yelled. ’That was mine, I saw it first.’

He paid no attention, disappearing around the nearest corner. I had to face Margie with the news. No cauliflower pickles. She wouldn’t let it rest.

‘Track him down and offer him anything,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll die if I don’t have a pickle sandwich real soon.’

‘Right’, I grumbled, ’but you’re coming with me. Maybe a baby elephant will appeal to his better nature.’

Not far from the shop, we had an amazing stroke of luck. I spotted him putting his wheelie bin out front. ‘That’s him,’ I told Margie.

 

With that, she scrambled awkwardly out of the car, waddled to the front door, and knocked and jiggled about a bit.

The young woman who answered Margie’s pleas for a use of the toilet didn’t think it such a strange request.      Perhaps it was because she was pregnant too.

Her husband came in, and sized up the situation  ‘Care for some coffee and cauliflower pickle sandwiches?’ he asked me with an understanding grin.

Linda Sutton.

 

Pipped at the Pickled Post

Marigold looked up at the very top shelf and saw exactly what she wanted – a lone jar of the special Spicy Pickled Gherkins she particularly liked. Nothing else came close to them. She was very fussy and liked things just so.

“Good,” she thought, “I’ll get those lamb chops and come right back to get you!”

As she made her way to the meat aisle of the supermarket she thought fondly of her niece, Rosey, who was travelling to Darwin with her friend Helen. They were staying at the Patio Motel tonight before heading on to Darwin and Marigold had invited them over the phone to afternoon tea at her house today. She would bake a batch of her famous fluffy scones and top them with tasty Cheddar and those special Spicy Gherkin slices

Humming contentedly Marigold walked back to the soups and sauces aisle. She’d picked through the array of lamb chops and found some to her exact liking. Luckily the supermarket wasn’t busy today and there was only one young girl just turning out of the aisle way ahead of her as she walked up to collect the Spicy Pickled Gherkins.

WHAT???? Marigold couldn’t believe her eyes. The jar was gone

******

At 3.15pm Marigold answered the door to her niece and friend and ushered them into her warm and cosy country kitchen, clicking the ON button of the electric jug as she walked in.

“You shouldn’t have!” she gushed, as Rosey’s friend, Helen, put an alfoil-covered plate down on the counter.

“No trouble at all. It’s just a plate of Jatz snacks,” said Helen. She unwrapped the savoury Jatz biscuits, which looked very yummy with their topping of tasty Cheddar and Pickled Gherkins.

“We’re sorry we’re late. As a matter of fact there was a bit of excitement at the supermarket this morning when I was at the checkout. Some silly old duck in one of the aisles was making a fuss and bother and the checkout chicks all rushed over to her. I could hear her screeching and yelling something about “Mine! Mine! Gone!”

The two girls started to giggle uproariously at the thought of the silly old duck making a fuss.

Marigold looked at the plate of savouries. She could feel herself go hot and cold and a clammy sweat broke out on her face and hands.

As a loud click sounded, Marigold turned to pick up the jug of boiling water.

By Claire Bousfield

 

THE LAST PICKLE JAR

I reached for the last jar of pickles

That sat there alone on the shelf

For they were the ones that I loved most

I could eat the whole jar by myself

 

Suddenly a slim arm brushed by me

And purloined that precious lone jar

A rush of anger surged through me

It was the worst that could happen by far

 

I prepared myself for a battle

I could not let this sin go unchecked

Then a soft voice whispered, “I’m sorry!”

The result, I just did not expect

 

For that voice had a tone of seduction

A tincture of beauty and love

Like the call of a beckoning siren

Or an angel, come down from above

 

There was no way that I could deny it

She sounded so perfect and sweet

I would pledge her my love then forever

I would prostrate myself at her feet

 

For her I’d leave all that I cherished

Even though there’s be trouble and strife

I turned and was shocked as I looked in

The beautiful blue eyes of my wife

By Alan Hughes

 

I was at the supermarket in the condiments section, reaching up to get the last jar of my favourite pickles from the shelf when someone snatched it away, then………..

The woman raced off with her laden trolley to the checkout. I selected an alternative jar, reading without much enthusiasm, the spiel about the product on the label. It was guaranteed to contain organically grown produce of only the best quality. I looked closer. It was brown and congealed with lumps in it. I sighed and made my way to the cash register.

The woman who had filched the pickles from under my nose stood at the end of the checkout. Her huge pile of groceries flowing along the conveyer. I glanced at her and she smiled. My face heated as I saw the smugness in her expression.

The shop attendant was becoming flustered. She only managed to move a couple of items and then the woman would demand that she double check the pricing. Each time the cost was correct but the constant questioning made it a drawn out and painful affair.

I glanced at the other checkouts but they had long queues waiting. Once again I picked up my pickle jar. From the end of the checkout I heard the woman laugh. When I looked up she was staring right at me.

The label on the jar stated that if I pealed it back and found a gold star, then I had won an all expenses paid trip to New York. I scraped the paper away from the glass.

‘Oh my goodness!’ I put my hand to my mouth and looked at the check out girl. ‘I’ve just won a trip to America.’ I looked at the woman who had finally paid for her groceries. I was still grinning as she stormed from the shop.

‘Wow, you are so lucky,’ said the checkout girl. ‘I hope you have a great holiday.’

I left the shop feeling on top of the world and I whistled as I walked to my car. A four-wheel drive gunned past me and I grinned as I recognised the driver. Her tyres screeched as she took off into the traffic.

I paused a garbage bin and selected the pickles from my shopping bag. They made a dull thud as they his the bottom.

They’d looked pretty gross, and now my sandwiches would be bland, but they’d been worth every cent.

By Pam Farley