life is a banquet | 2002-02-18 - 9:36 p.m.

"Life is a banquet," says mi madre, completamente inconsciente of just how trite that sounds. "Y debes comer m�s. You should eat more." She eyes my torso warily, as though it belongs to a not particularmente appealing statue. "But not too much. Te engordar�s. Ya te pones un poquito pudgy." Just like mi madre to plunge from a hackneyed metaphor into the tepid waters of literalism. And she wonders why I don't hang with her?

She's right, though, for once, she's right. I am getting a little gordita, and it's not from overindulging at the banquet of life. Tampoco from eating all those chingado frijoles de Taco Bell. No, I lay the blame in its totalidad at the door of Ben and Jerry. Since I'd have to get off my ass and viajar all the way to Vermont to do that, however, I guess the blame ultimately resides here conmigo, with me. So I'm trying to eat more ensaladas and green shit like that.

Strange how lo m�s inatractiva you feel, the more hombres you seem to attract. I was working the night shift anoche and that busboy, the one that reminded me of the chihuahua, started hitting on me again. He started out kind of sweet, giving me una flor he'd picked from his abuelita's front yard, but then I guess the mescaline or airplane glue started kicking in, because his ojos began taking on this vacant, crazy look (like the eyes of John McEnroe!) and he started giggling behind his hand and telling me "I want to chew your eyebrows" and shit, and making suggestive signs at me with his fingers. It got pretty irritating, let me tell you; ya no estaba de chunga. "Por el amor de dios," I finally barked at him, "will you knock it off?"

Los borrachos at the counter all looked up and stopped what they were doing. The busboy laughed, a high whinny, like that of a caballo. Then a voice from behind me made me jump so high I almost dropped my tray. "Anything wrong?"

I spun around. It was Pedro, the esnobby singing cook who'd given me a hard time about Vockner the other week. I guess my mouth must have been hanging abierta, because the busboy starting trying to insert his mano into it. Pedro leaped forward and pulled the busboy's hand away. "D�jala en paz, caballero. Leave her alone." The busboy glowered at me, blew Pedro a kiss, then slunk off furtivamente, like a bad guy en una pel�cula.

"�Qu� demonios haces aqu�?" I asked Pedro, remembering to close my mouth at the end of the sentence. "Don't you work days?"

Pedro shrugged. "I came in to pick up my paycheck." He looked around the restaurant, his expression blank. "So you work las tardes?"

"S�."

Un silencio desconcertante billowed between us like a fart. You could have heard a pin drop. Somebody at the counter belched.

"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you again tomorrow," Pedro finally said, despu�s de una eternidad. "I'm working nights now, too."

"Oh, �de veras?" Mi corazon skipped a beat as I attempted to think of algo inteligente to say. Nothing came, so I ended weakly with a "Hasta entonces, then." Por los menos, I remembered to esmile my biggest and sunniest sonrisa, la sonrisa que dice, "I'm single!"

"See you." Pedro went to the back office.

As soon as Pedro had gone, I rushed to the ladies' room to see how I looked. Not bad, not bad! Hair OK, eyes not particularmente baggy, skin clear. I flashed my biggest and sunniest smile at el espejo, the one that says, "I'm single!"

Ay!! Ay!!! Right between my two front teeth, unmistakeable as a caste mark, was a dark green strand of vegetal matter. Ay, virgen, �por qu� me atormenta tanto? Why, en el gran banquete de la vida, must I always be the one with the spinach en los dientes?

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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