Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7 The stink bomb's name was Nick McKelty. He was with his dad, who had a really unhappy look on his face. I couldn't blame him. I would have that same look, too, if I had to spend an entire day with Nick the Tick. Carlos was busy making a ham and cheese sandwich. "Do me a favor, Little Man," he said. "Go seat those people and give them a menu." Oh no. I was going to have to wait on Nick McKelty? I'd rather ski down Mount Everest naked. In a blizzard. "I see that Table Seven is empty," Carlos said. "Seat them there." Double oh no. Table Seven! Bad things happen there. That was definitely not my lucky table.

"How about if I finish the sandwich, and you show them to the table?" I suggested. "No can do," he said. "You can't use the knife. Mom's orders." I picked up two menus and walked as slowly as I could toward the front door. When McKelty saw me, he burst out laughing. "What a boring job, handing out menus," he whispered in my ear. "Thanks, Nick. It's nice to see you, too," I whispered back. "I thought you'd be spraying anti-stink stuff into bowling shoes." "Hello, Hank," Nick's father said. "I see you're helping your mom on Take Your Child to

Work Day. Nick and I were at the bowling alley having a fun day, too, until the automatic pinsetter broke. We thought we'd grab some lunch while they're fixing it." "Let me show you to your table," I said. "Really? You can do that?" Nick snorted. "Aren't you the one who always gets lost?" I didn't answer, just made my way over to Table Seven. I wanted to stick my foot out and trip the big creep, but I knew that wouldn't be right. "Is this the best table you have?" Nick asked. "It's too close to the door." On second thought, I should have tripped him.

Mr. McKelty didn't look pleased with his son. "This table is just fine, Hank," he said to me. "I'm sure Nick would agree. Don't you, Nick?" "Fine, let's just order," Nick said, taking a seat. "What do you have that's any good?" "Everything on the menu," I answered. "But today we're making some pretty great triple- deckers." "Sounds fabulous," Mr. McKelty said. "We'll each take one. Why don't you surprise us with your best combinations." As I walked back to Carlos, I thought about what I'd like to make for Nick's special sandwich. I came up with onion, mustard, crushed shrimp shells, and day-old baloney piled high on stale bread. Oh, and don't let me forget the moldy cheese. I gave my suggestion to Carlos, but he just laughed. "What do you have against those people?" he said.

"Mr. McKelty is really nice," I said. "But his son Nick is the class bully. And the person he likes to bully most is me." "I see where you're coming from," Carlos said. "But remember, we're the Crunchy Pickle. And we have a reputation to protect. You know our motto: Our sandwiches are almost too good to eat." "You're right," I said. "Besides, maybe one of our delicious sandwiches will put Nick in a better mood." "I like the way you're thinking, Little Man," Carlos said. "So what do you say we make your pal a nice pastrami, Swiss cheese, and coleslaw triple-decker. We'll make his dad a roast beef, cheddar cheese, and coleslaw. I have to go get some fresh rye bread. While I'm gone, you can get me that sliced pastrami over there on the wax paper."

That seemed easy enough. The piled-up pastrami was just a few feet away, sitting on the counter waiting for me. The walk over to it was smooth sailing. Three, maybe four steps. Picking it up was no problem. I grabbed the wax paper from the bottom. I could feel the steamy warmth of the pastrami against the palm of my hand. I leaned over and took a big whiff. Man, did it smell delicious. That was the exact moment I realized that I can't smell and watch where I'm going at the same time. I didn't notice that there was a slice of tomato that had dropped onto the floor. My feet went sliding out from under me, and the pastrami left my hands, all on its own, and decided to land on the floor.