Emphatic about the Pickles

After a long day in History, how about a nice day by the lake, with the whole gang from AFIT, enjoying a nice Spring picnic?
In 37-degree weather?
I had volunteered to help with "the food" what with my vast Ponderosal experience, and showed up around 0900 on Saturday to help the organizer and the spouses (who knew this was a "girl" thing?) who had also volunteered to set up food prep dessert tables, mix lemonade, fill coolers, and organize condiments for the planned 1100 start time. Around 1000, I looked outside and noticed that the grill had six bags of coals sitting next to it, and no smoke coming out of it. I knew from the planning meeting that some dudes were in charge of cooking, but I suggested that someone mighta oughta hop to starting that bad boy-a-lit (to paraphrase myself) if they wanted to feed 300 people in an hour. "Good idea, sir -- will you do it?"
I poured the bags into the railroad car-sized barrel-cut-in-two, drenched the coals in lighter fluid, and tried to light some small matches away from the wind. But fire I made, which brought other men by to do the man thing: look at it and nod approvingly.
Despite the cold and wind, the sun was out and it didn't feel that bad; plus we were serving the food in a huge lodge, and most people kept inside anyway, so there was a pretty good turnout. I just floated around, keeping the chip bowls full, removing empty hot dog bun bags, sweeping up spills, mopping up around the coolers. About an hour in, I went back in the kitchen and grabbed another large jar of Vlassic pickle spears, but one of the lasses told me, "Since the lines are dying down, we're going to let the food stay as is instead of opening anything new." Are we now.
After another fifteen minutes, the few remaining half-pickles were looking like a sad inedible floating pile of alien stool samples, so I went back to the kitchen, dramatically swept up the jar, and through gritted teeth, told the girls, "I am ADDING more pickles." I would not be denied.
Facepainted children, Pinatas that wouldn't open, a whipped-cream pie to the face of the commandant, typical stuff, and the picnic was over at 1500. I knew all of two people there. Still amazed that people don't show more esprit de corps. Even Colonels in the unit didn't bother to make a half-assed drive-by. Boggles my mind. Professional responsibility, I've always felt. Dozens of people going through the trouble to make a nice day for the unit to get together, it's almost insulting to not show up. But I knew going in that it was going to be like that; it's why I volunteered to be on the food committee; so I wouldn't have to make conversation with folks I didn't know. Except about condiments. Of which I am king.