The Night I Ordered 100 Hamburgers—Hold Everything but the Pickles
It all started with what seemed like the strangest request—one that left the cashier staring at me like I’d lost my mind. Who walks into McDonald’s and asks for nothing but a container of pickles?
But that night, with my wife’s pregnancy craving tugging at my heart, I was ready to do just about anything to bring those pickles home. Little did I know, what began as a simple errand would become a story we’d tell for years.
It was late, and my wife—eight months pregnant—suddenly looked at me with those wide, serious eyes and said, “I need McDonald’s pickles.”
Not just any pickles. McDonald’s pickles.
Now, if you’ve ever lived with a pregnant woman in her third trimester, you know there’s no negotiation in these moments. So off I went, hoodie on, keys in hand, determined to bring home the sacred pickles.
I walked up to the counter and said as casually as I could, “Hi, this might sound odd, but… can I just buy a container of pickles?”
The cashier blinked. “Just… pickles?”
“Yeah. My wife’s pregnant. You understand.”
She smiled sympathetically, but explained they couldn’t sell pickles by themselves. It wasn’t “on the menu.”
So I grinned and leaned in. “Okay then—how about this: I’ll take 100 hamburgers, extra pickles. Hold the meat, bun, everything. Just the pickles.”
She laughed, but also looked a little alarmed, then disappeared into the back to find a manager.
A few minutes later, the manager appeared. I repeated my case, adding, “I can’t go home empty-handed. She’s been talking about your pickles for hours.”
He paused, then smiled and said, “Hang on.” He walked into the back.
When he returned, he was holding a large, sealed container—filled to the brim with fresh McDonald’s pickles.
“Take these to your wife,” he said, sliding the container across the counter. “On the house.”
I was stunned. I offered to pay, but he waved it off.
That night, I watched my wife sit cross-legged on the couch, dipping her pickles in peanut butter (don’t ask), absolutely beaming. And in that moment, it hit me—this wasn’t just about pickles.
It was about love shown in small, ridiculous ways. About kindness from strangers. About doing something silly just to make someone smile.
🔹 Conclusion
That jar of pickles wasn’t just a craving fix—it became a symbol. Of patience, of generosity, and of the strange, beautiful ways love shows up in real life.
The manager didn’t just give us pickles. He gave us a memory. One that still makes us laugh and smile every time we drive past a McDonald’s.
The craving eventually faded—but the story? That stays fresh forever.