Cargo Embargo

Darion walked slowly out of the cold, corporate lobby rubbing his temples gently with both hands. He thought things would have gone differently. How had he been so wrong? As he ruminated, a gust of wind sent red autumn leaves falling down on his head.

The perfect pitch! Who could resist zippered cargo shorts, able to turn into underwear at a moment of need? Maybe the demonstration was a bad idea. He remembered the way they had cringed. Darion walked on. Autumn was his favorite season, but this year was different.

Darion had been dreading the fast-approaching fall season this year because he fell in love with his invention -and it would be MONTHS before he could zipper off the legs of those shorts again. "What will I do with all these pockets?", he thought, as he sauntered by a new bakery.

“Perhaps I don’t need bags anymore. A few alterations can turn cargo pockets into grocery pockets!” Darion set to work creating a watertight, foil-lined, and cooling pockets on his pants. He even made long pockets in the calves for baguettes. He was ready for a test run.

Darion marched into the supermarket with purpose. Most days he’d have needed a list to get things right but not today. Without so much as looking at it he grabbed salami and slipped it in his pants. He did the same with carrots and leek stalks. Darion felt adrenaline building.

“Excuse me, sir?” It was the stockboy, had he seen him slip that last handful of onions into his pants? “Today it’s 20 percent off our seasonal produce, Aisle 7” He smiles. “Thank you” Darion mumbled. As he turned away he could feel one of the pickles start to slide down his leg.

He spotted the door & limped his way over to it. "Are you injured? Let me help you!" Darion heard from behind. "No no!" he shouted & stumbled. Just then, a dozen pickles slumped their way onto the floor, directly from Darion's pants. He looked up to see who tried to help him.

Colonel Sanders stood over him, resplendent in his white suit. “I insist, young man! I hate to see a fellow pickle aficionado in distress!” The Colonel waved his cane, and the pickles floated through the air onto a silver serving platter. Then Darion knew his mind was gone.