Hold the Pickles Read Online Free PDF Page B

bound to come in. He’ll usually be pushing a cart full of mops and brooms and cleaning supplies. He might be whistling the type of song your grandfather whistles—something loud and happy but without much of a tune.
    If you’re small and quiet, and of course desperate, you can sometimes hide until the janitor is busy trying to unclog one of the toilets. Then you can sneak behind him, grab a giant garbage bag from his cart and slip back into your cubicle unnoticed.
    At least that’s what I found.
    I waited until the janitor left the washroom, then took off my slippers and climbed into the garbage bag. This was a new low even for me.
    I yanked out a mile or two of paper towel and stuffed it around me. I wanted the bag to look full.
    Now came the hard part.
    I pulled the bag up to my shoulders and ducked my head inside. I fit—but just barely. I poked my hands out through the sides and tied a knot in the top of the bag. It was pretty sloppy, so I could break out if I needed to. I pulled my arms back in. I used my thumbs to make two big eyeholes and then, just to be safe, a whole bunch of airholes too.
    I bounced over to the door. By the time I got there, my knees were killing me. If I ever wanted to walk again, this wasn’t going to work.
    Luckily, I hadn’t cut my toenails in a while. I used the sharp edges to make two more big holes in the bottom of the bag and wiggled my feet out. I must have looked like an egg about to hatch.
    I stuck a hand out and opened the door. I checked to make sure the coast was clear, then waddled outside.
    My plan was to be as inconspicuous as possible. I figured no one would notice another garbage bag—as long as the garbage bag didn’t go and do something stupid, of course.
    I crouched against the wall and inched my way toward the main hall. I tried to keep my toes tucked under the belly of the bag. (I also tried not to squeal when I stepped on cold, mushy French fries, but it wasn’t easy.) Nobody pointed at me or screamed in shock. Everyone was more focused on the free samples than on garbage.
    Whenever I came to a trash can or a vending machine, I hid behind it for a break. Crouching was hard on the legs. And garbage bags are even hotter than foam wieners.
    I was catching my breath behind an overflowing trash can when I found Brooke. I heard her before I saw her. “I’m Frank Lee Better! All natural! High fiber!” She’d lowered her voice so she sounded kind of like a guy.
    I stretched the eyeholes open a bit more so I could get a good look.
    I was so relieved—not only to find her, but to see her doing such a good job. She didn’t have any samples to give away, but people still crowded around her, all dying to find out more about Hogg’s Doggs. Maybe Hammy wouldn’t be mad after all.
    Kelsey was there too. She hovered at the edge of crowd like she was just another bystander. As usual, she was rooting around in that big purse of hers. Something about it irritated me. It was like a person texting someone else while they were supposed to be talking to you. She should have been paying more attention to her friend.
    â€œC’mon, folks. Don’t be shy,” Brooke said. “Step right up. Let me tell you all about the Healthy Hottie!”
    It almost seemed wrong to stop her. She was doing so much better than I ever had. I looked up and checked the big clock in the middle of the hall. It was only two forty. Hammy wouldn’t be here for a while.
    I was trying to decide if I should wait here or go back to the washroom when the decision was made for me. I heard whistling. It was loud and happy, but without much of a tune.
    The janitor.
    I looked out the eyeholes.
    He had his cart with him. He was emptying the trash cans.
    My first thought was to stay where I was and let him throw me in his cart. I’d wait until his back was turned, then make my escape.
    I watched him toss a bag into his cart, and two things struck