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Sweet Disappointment

September 17, 2014

Sweet Pickles**Before I begin, let me just preempt this entire debacle by saying I have no idea why this (THIS!) is what prompted me to blog again. It randomly came to me earlier at work this week and I thought, “Hey… that would make a good blog post” so here we are.**

When I was a wee lass of about 4 years old there was something that my mom ordered for me – Sweet Pickles Bus. Not only was it fun, it was educational! Hooray for my mom being ahead of the curve and going for the educational toys in the 80s as opposed to the ones that just made a shit ton of noise and lit up. (Or the ones probably composed entirely of lead paint or something equally dangerous.) Regardless, she came to me one sunny morning as I ate a delicious buttered Pop-Tart and softly said, “Sweetie, I bet your Sweet Pickles Bus comes today.”

The excitement… I can STILL remember how utterly and completely excited I was. But first, let’s watch a quick video:

I mean, how could a child not be excited?  The tune, so catchy! The games! They look so fun! Who cares if I’m learning?! I’m getting toys delivered directly to my door like I’m some sort of royalty! I calmly got up from the kitchen table and asked Mom if I could wait by the front door because in my head the mail comes in the morning and this just isn’t any mail… THIS IS A BUS FULL OF HUGE ANIMALS DELIVERING MY TOYS.

Did you catch that?

Four-Year-Old-Whitney was certain that the boring old mailman wasn’t worthy of delivering this delightful gift. NO, NO. This was a job for the characters of Sweet Pickles and no one else. At least, this is all what the commercial implied.

So, there I sat, patiently waiting for a giant bus, in the shape of a pickle to pull up to my house and a gaggle of animals to come clamoring out and bring me my goodies. A REASONABLE DREAM. I had, of course, devised a plan. I would charm them with my personality and wit, so much so that they would choose to stay and play the games with me.

What about the other kids that were waiting on their Sweet Pickles? SCREW ‘EM.

A happier time... A time before I was marred by the pain of disappointment.

A happier time… A time before I was marred by the pain of disappointment. Plus: Floating Head.

I waited… and waited… and waited… and oh! Some movement! There’s someone pulling up to the house! And he’s getting out and he has…a really dull looking brown box that has some sort of printed label on it and some worn off lettering. He very non-ceremoniously rings the doorbell as I look up at him with my giant, wistful eyes. (I don’t remember this but I like to imagine him puffing on a cigarette because this is the 80s and no one paid attention to things like chemicals back then and you could smoke on planes for God’s sake, so why shouldn’t the mailman be smoking a Marlboro in my flashback?) My mom comes and answers the door, thanking the man for dropping off the package and I stand there looking at him like, “What the hell are you doing here? You’re not driving a pickle. Also? You’re a human. This is all wrong.” My eyes slowly narrowing as the cold wave of disappointment hits me.

WHERE WAS THE DAMN PICKLE BUS?!

WHERE WERE MY ANIMAL FRIENDS?!

THIS IS BULLSHIT!

My mom, being completely unaware that her child had just experienced her first taste of real disappointment, ushered me away from the door, excitedly hurrying me to the kitchen table. As she pulled out the first packet of games along with the plastic bus, she noted the pitiful look on my face and asked me what was wrong.

That’s when the dam broke and the tears flooded down my face, “I THOUGHT THE GREEN PICKLE ON WHEELS WAS COMING TO OUR HOUSE AND I WAS GOING TO GET TO PLAY WITH A DUCK!!!!!!!!!!”

Utter confusion. That or she believed that her daughter had possibly ingested some sort of hallucenogenic and was considering a quick phone call to the Poison Control Hotline. (Wouldn’t be the first time with me… Had ’em on speed dial… Sparklers… I ate them once.) As she slowly realized what that wretched commercial had done she understood my disappointment and tried to explain to me that no, the bus doesn’t actually bring the games and no, those animals don’t actually come to your house to play. But seriously, try explaining false advertising to a four year old. You can’t. It’s impossible. I eventually got over my disappointment at the lack of talking animals in my house and my mom and I played Sweet Pickles for a good portion of the day.

But by God, if I wasn’t waiting at that door next month with a glimmer of hope that damn bus really WOULD show up this time.

Stupid kid.

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