I wasn't eavesdropping, per se

As a matter of fact, I didn't really want to hear the conversation.  At all.

How long can you talk about pickles?  I mean, if your directive was talk about pickles for as long as possible, then you could probably talk about pickles for a long time.  It's my guess though, that after a while you'd get repetitive.  Then we'd have to establish rules on what you could say about pickles.

Here.  Let's pretend you have to write an essay on pickles.  If you were lucky enough to attend Omaha Central High School, you would use the theme format you were taught.  I don't know if it's still the same as when I went to Omaha Central High School, but back then it went like this:

Outline.  This was a template for the theme.  It described the parts of the theme.  The introduction, the body, and the conclusion.  It was the old "Tell us what you're going to say.  Say it.  Tell us what you said."

An outline for a theme on Pickles might go like this

Introduction: Pickles -
 I. Unknown Origin
  a) A city in Crisis
  b) Farmer John to the rescue
II. Get those Cucumbers outta here.  We want pickles!
Body:
  I.  Granny is making stuff up

and so on.  You know, that's about as far as I ever got with outlines in school, so.

There's this guy at work (Brian).  He likes pickles.  He does not like cucumbers.  His wife doesn't like cucumbers either.  But she likes pickles.  If you're from the city, you may be asking yourself why the hell I keep bringing up cucumbers.  If you're from the farm, Shhh! don't tell them.  It's a surprise.

There's another guy (Rob).  He sits in a cubicle facing mine, but down the row one chair.  Pickle guy sits in the same row as me but 2 cubicles down.  Oh, I'm not explaining this well.  Hang on while I pay an expert sketch artist to illustrate:

That's me on the lower left.  The guy 2 down (Brian) is having a hard time concentrating on his work.  He's thinking about something much more delicious. Rob is facing us.

So the other day, Brian stands up and says to Rob "Do you like pickles, Rob?"  The only way I know he was asking Rob is because he said the name.  Otherwise, it was loud enough that he could have been asking anyone in the building.

Oh boy, I think.  This is going somewhere.  The following is not a word for word transcript.  Nor is it an exaggeration.

"Yeah, I like Pickles,"  Rob confirms, obviously happy for the break from the drudgery that is "I.T. Shit" to the promise of some thought provoking "pickle talk"

I should point out here, that they were literally talking about pickles.  This is not some sort of euphemism.

"Me and my wife [ sic ] we really like pickles.  I make my own. Have you ever had homemade pickles, Rob?  They're so much better than that store bought crap the Media is always trying to sell you.  I haven't made pickles in years.  But we always used to when I was a kid.  So I figured this year; it was time.  So I planted some cucumbers in my garden this year and ..."

At this point, I decided to go take a walk.  I got up from my cube and went into the break room where CNN was still talking about whatever it was before the Russians shot down that Malaysian Airlines flight.  I walked over to the fundraiser $0.25 machines and bought a handful of delicious almonds.  I really like almonds.  Usually, I just make my own ...

After about 10 minutes or so, I figured the Pickle Monologues must be winding down.  At still quite a distance from my cube, I could see that Brian was still talking to Rob, but I figured they'd moved on to how the colleges rip you off with the price of text books (another of Brian's favorites).

Nope.  Still pickles.

"So, I walk into the house with an armful of baby cucumbers - I like 'em young.  Big ones don't make good pickles, see?"

Rob is intent on listening to this story.  I must be too, because now I am relaying it to youz guys.

"And me and my wife [sic] see, we don't like cucumbers, remember.  We only like pickles.  Well, my wife sees those cucumbers and she just about hits the roof.  She says, 'What on earth are you doing with those things?  I thought you were going to make us [sic] some pickles.'

"She had no idea that pickles were made from cucumbers.  She was pretty embarrassed when I told her, but I promised I wouldn't tell anybody.  I lied.  Hardy har har.  It's really not her fault though.  She's a city slicker.  I grew up on a farm, so I know where stuff comes from.  City folk don't have a clue."

I'm  a little annoyed by this talk, not because Brian thinks people from the city don't know where pickles come from, but because he's affected a sort of hick way of speaking. "City folk."  Whatever dude.

"Rob, did you know that pickles were made from cucumbers?"

"Oh yes.  But you see, I spent a lot of time on my grandmother's farm.  She made all of that stuff. from scratch."

"Yeah, so you know what I'm talking about, Rob.  These kids today.  I'll tell you.  They wouldn't survive if they didn't have everything handed to them.  Fuckin' Obama ..."

Ahh.  And we're off of pickles.  Finally.  I know, right?