Fun day at work. Glurp.

So there I was, minding my own business at the pickle factory the other day, when I began to become obsessed with world affairs. You know, who is Paris Hilton fucking, what's going on with Jessica's hair now that her marriage has fallen apart...that sort of thing. When suddenly, I realize that pickles aren't plopping out of the pickle plopper and into the jars. Something's gummed up the works.

So I get down off of my high chair, strip off my plastic gown and head into the machine room to see what's the matter. Yes, you guessed it. The pickle feed is clogged. So I climb up onto the pickle storage bin, open the hatch at the top and climb down inside. I'm walking on top of the pickles when -- Goddamn! -- I start to sink into them. Deep! Before I can say cucumber I'm up to my neck in pickles.

Good thing for me that my ever-present boot-licker Maxine has followed me into the bin. She gets on her cell phone, calls her mom, then calls her sister, and then calls the control room to have them shut off the bypass pickle feed, which has been causing me to get sucked down. So I'm stuck in there, soaked to the bone in pickle juice, while Maxine makes a few more personal calls (on company time!) before dialing 911. And just in time. The fire department shows up after awhile, and why not take your time because what fire department knows anything about pickles, you know?

Eventually, they haul me out of there, berate me for doing something so stupid and then take me out for beers. I had a few and got lucky with the waitress.

And that, dear children, was how I met your alcoholic mother!