It was a typical day for three teenage boys living in Southern California in the '80s. The summer had been good to them, and this day was no exception. It was sunny and 85°, with offshore winds and 6' perfect surf. In the midst of their daily ritual, the boys were surfing their favorite break in Newport Beach,
California. Just as they did every day after surfing, the pruned and exhausted boys headed over to one of their grandmother's houses for their daily homemade lunch. After rinsing off their feet, the boys followed the scent of fresh sandwiches into the kitchen and assumed their customary seats aroud the table. It took less than a minute for each of them to polish off their sandwiches, leaving only Grandma's traditional side of gherkins on thier plates. Grandma didn't know, but the boys routinely stuffed their portion of gherkins inside the pockets of their swim trunks to later be discarded in the trash. No one had the heart to tell her they couldn't stand the taste of gherkins, plus they didn't want to jeapordize their unwritten contract for fresh sandwiches everyday. Unfortunately, that plan backfired. Through the summer the portion of gherkins grew in size, Grandma had only to believe the boys enjoyed them.

So as they shoved their pockets full with the immature versions of pickles, one of the boys succumbed to an unstoppable bout of laughter over the abundance of gherkins in their trunks! And so it all began...a pickle fight. Gherkins soared through the air as the boys blasted them at one another in a fit of uncontrallable amusement. Just before their individual supply of gherkin ammunition was about to run out, they heard the footsteps of Grandma's clogs on the linoleum floor. They looked up to find Grandma with a displeased look on her face, hands on her hips and shaking her head as she delivered the classic line they would never forget: "What is this GHERKIN RUCKUS going on in here!!??"