It has been a while, hasn’t it? I have some stories to tell, supposing your standard for what comprises a story is very low. Life is pretty predictable for me, but it is your view of everyday occurrences that makes it special. Our perception is the only thing separating the interesting from the uninspired.
I have fallen off the health wagon. Actually, let’s take it one step further: I willingly leapt from the wagon, bathed it in gasoline, and lit it on fire, laughing from the sidelines with a massive bag of Taco Bell in my lap. It has been a hell of a couple of weeks.
Stressful events tend to bring out my worst behaviors, which, looking at them head on with honesty, seem pretty tame albeit a little harmful to my well-being. I can’t complain too much – eating junk food and binge-watching surreal comedy shows are about as harmless as vices can get.
Since crashing from the stress and excitement of the first two weeks of November, I have been embarrassingly lazy. This past weekend, my legs actually got sore from not moving them enough. I’ve had thigh soreness from exercise, but this was my first time experiencing leg cramps and pains from inactivity, and it’s not something I want to revisit.
Last night as work was coming to a close, I placed a massive Taco Bell order. Well, massive to me. I’m sure plenty of people have outdone this order, but for a nearly 30-year-old woman, it was a sight to be seen. Tacos, nachos, those cinnamon bite things – just awful garbage food.
I pulled up to the window, and I am met with a very smiley, happy looking cashier. He asks me how I’m doing, we exchange small talk, he asks me if I want taco sauce and I say yes, please. Then, he asks me about my weekend – if I had done anything interesting. I talked about Thanksgiving and then we began to talk about family time. I learned that his step-mother is not pleasant around the holidays, inside I am thinking “Yes, because she probably does everything for you all and never gets to sit down.” I could be wrong, but my anxiousness about him not preparing my food is rising with every sentence spoken.
He leans against the counter behind him – he is settling in. Gaia, grant me the wisdom to understand why this had to happen to me. I just want tacos, and I’m starting to wonder if this is my punishment. He says that stepmother’s stress level takes the homely feeling out of the holidays, then quickly and erroneously corrects himself: “Oh, not homely, that means ugly.” I respond with a nervous, “It means both ugly and ‘of home’, people just use it for the former more often.” He thanked me for teaching him something, and I eyed the counter and fake-laughed, all the while searching for any sign of progress of my order being filled.
Finally, a brown paper bag appears. He doesn’t even look at it or flinch – he is now asking me what I do for work. This young man is perfectly pleasant and I’m sure he’s a good kid, but I’m sweating. Put taco sauce in the bag and hand it to me. Put taco sauce in the bag and hand it to me. He doesn’t. We talk more about things that don’t matter and finally, he hands me the bag. I burn out of there, not looking back.
Initiate ‘Eating Taco Bell at Home’ ritual: change into pajamas, feed the cat, put on The Office or something like it. I sit down with my bag of garbage that has been shaped into food-like shapes with convincing food-like textures and flavors, and peek inside. Oh, there is no taco sauce. Oh, I wonder why not. In the words of MC Ride: “Oh.”
Of course there isn’t any taco sauce in the bag. I am all for friendliness, but when you forget to give someone taco sauce that is a definitive line you’ve crossed, from friendliness to an intentional act of aggression. We will never see each other again, but you bet your behind I would have eaten that taco sauce.