Imagine you are a very loyal patron of a restaurant.
It is your routine, on a daily basis, to stop in for lunch and order the “Number Three” special.
You do this every day for a year.
Then, the day after your loyal customer anniversary, you see someone with what appears to be the Number Three. Except it’s different. It has a pickle.
Where the hell did that come from, you think to yourself. You ain’t never seen no pickle on the Number Three. You’re a loyal customer so you decide to ask. That pickle looks damn good and would go well with your customary bit of kibble.
“How do you get the pickle?” you ask like the naive idiot that you are.
That’s when your “friend” on the other side of the counter cheerfully replies, “Oh, the numbered combo specials always come with a pickle.”
MOTHAFUCKA!
That moment of discovery when you realize you’ve been getting screwed and didn’t even know it? That’s the story of my life.
Shouts from the Abyss 
My life is more of a “man bites dog” story.
Mmm…pickles…
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At least in “man bites dog” you’re choosing your own destiny.
Here’s what happened Sunday: I went into the trendy #PDX grocery store and bought a few things. The checker asked, “Would you like a bag?”
“Nope,” I proudly replied. “I brought my own.”
“That’ll save you five cents. Did you walk or ride your bike to the store today?”
My eyes squinted. “No. Why?”
“You get discounts for that, too.”
That’s new information! Especially since I’ve ridden my bike there many times. I wasn’t getting all the damn pickles I was entitled to. This checker was the first in over a year to ask.
That’s the kind of stuff I’m talking about.
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How fickle with their pickles.
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Squeaky wheels get all the grease. It’s an 80-20 kind of a thing. The 80 percent who are your support base get neglected because you give the squeaky 20 too much love.
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