pintos 'n cheese | 2002-02-12 - 11:06 a.m.


Feeling un poco deprimida about the untimely death of Princess Margarita, I decided to go to Taco Bell for lunch. I can hear your snort of derision, but believe you me, I do not make a habit of eating there. Their sanitized version of la comida Mexicana makes me esneer with desd�n, too. When you eat at Taco Bell, you're not eating comida -- you're eating a *concept,* cooked up in Irvine by a bunch of aging white guys in business casual clothing and served to you locally by a monumentally inept crew of chuffy teens.

De todos modos, I confess that I *like* their pintos 'n cheese, inaut�nticos as they may be. And unos cuantos centavos seems like a small price to pay for a little soul-cleansing contempt.

When patronizing Taco Bell, most people take the drive-thru, so as to minimize their contact with the surly crew that lurks there. Yo, no. Having ning�n carro, I am forced to enter the "restaurant" on foot, where I must deal with the chuffy teens cara a cara. With some trepidation I push open el portal and cross the threshold, past the talla on the door that enables the crew to estimate your height so they can describe you to la policia.

As I approach the counter, the sixteen year-old goth behind the cash register shoots me this menacing look. It says, "Take one step closer and I will gouge out your ojos with a Taco Bell spork, you pathetic loser! I got a packet of fire sauce and I know how to use it!" En este momento, I feel suddenly very humilde and very, very afraid. �Qu� demonios am I doing here? me pregunto. I would turn around to leave, but I am afraid to offer goth chick my back.

There's this big esign looming behind gothy's head. It says "Winners eat steak" and it features una foto of an asquerosa, sweating, bigger-than-life steak quesadilla. Hmm, I think. If those hombres de negocios in Irvine want me to order a steak quesadilla, they got another cosa coming. Who cares what chingado winners eat! I'm scared!

Trying to defuse the tense situaci�n with a little humor, I draw gothy's attention to the sign in back of her head. Reluctantly, she turns her head to look. "So," I joke lamely, "if winners eat steak, what do losers eat?"

Goth girl doesn't smile. She doesn't so much as blink. "Pintos 'n cheese," she says.

anterior - siguiente

pride and prejudice - 2004-09-07
wherein I become a Yahoo! Search Result - 2004-06-23
like 9-11 all over again - 2004-06-20
enough said - 2003-02-05
tirar por la calle de en medio - 2003-01-28

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