Today feels like a ‘quick hit’ sort of day. So I’ll start this post now, and update it later with more saucy snippets. Or I won’t; only time will tell. But here comes the first bit now:
The truck where I get my burritos — which seems like it should describe something far dirtier than my weekday lunch — is notorious around these parts for having slow service. They’re consistently outclassed by the pizza truck, the falafel truck, and yes, even the Chinese takeout truck. Only diehard fans like me are willing to endure the wait for tasty faux Mexicano goodness.
“Either speed up that burrito, or shake those chimichangas, amiga.”
This week, the burrito truck changed its operating procedures. In the bad old days, we stood in line, waited forever, ordered at the truck, paid, then waited another eternity to get our food. Now, they have an attractive young lady walk down the line with a pad and pencil and take orders from customers standing in queue. She then takes the book to the truck.
Where it takes exactly as long for them to make the food, thus cutting the waiting time not at all. Also, we’re now asked to pay when we pick up the order, so that part of the process takes longer, too.
Personally, I think they knew this going in. I’m pretty sure the goal wasn’t to speed up the process, necessarily, so much as to give the truck customers a little eye candy while they wait. It’s still the same fourteen-minutes-per-burrito line — but if a pretty girl talks to you in line, it’s apparently supposed to seem shorter.
Fine. We’ll play along for a while. But if the guys in the truck get any slower, they’re going to have to put that girl in a bikini and toss her on a trampoline. I’m willing to wait for a tasty lunchtime meal, but if the damned thing doesn’t arrive until two in the afternoon, there’d better be a floor show. Either speed up that burrito, or shake those chimichangas, amiga.
There are times — rare, frightening times — when a small bit of my brain might soften just a bit on the issue of having children. I’ve never wanted kids — and really, when you read the things on this site, would you want me to want kids? I’m not the sort of person whose personality screams, ‘POSITIVE INFLUENCE DURING THE FORMATIVE YEARS!!‘
But we all have our small moments of weakness. Or dementia, or irrationality, or tequila-soaked intoxication. And so it was I found myself wondering recently, as I talked to a friend of mine who has a young son, what it might be like to someday own a child.
It was at that moment my friend’s boy walked over, looked up at his father, and proclaimed loudly:
‘Daddy, my pee tastes funny.‘
Yep, that’ll do the trick. Excuse me while I go X-ray my crotch for a few hours.