Whoops, now I got cancer.

RIP

I walk into the taco joint down the street. You might know the one. It’s got all the white people in it. That’s how you know it’s good.

Anyway, I’m standing in line and they’ve got this weird setup. It’s like a stainless steel diner thing going on, as if they moved into the place and never bothered to shed the stink of the previous failed establishment. They kept the little display cases for the desserts at the front too like certain diners did. Only this time it was for tacos, enchiladas, some quesadillas, most of the mainstay.

I’m not sure why you would want to waste food and money and time and effort and everyone’s time by cooking a plate of food that you’re going to leave in front of a fluorescent light bulb for about 12 hours a day. Whatever, at least I have an idea of what I’m getting.

Hi, I say as I walk up like a completely normal fuckface. I’d like to order a few tacos.

“Sorry,” The lady behind the counter says. “We’re out of tacos.”

What do you mean, you’re out of tacos?

“We’re out of tacos.”

How can you be out of tacos?

“That’s just how it goes, sir.”

No, how can you be out of tacos? You’re a taco place. You’re still open.

“We’re out of tacos.”

I look down at the display. I point across to each item. Well, let me get one of these, I say. I’m hungry enough at that point I’m willing to have my insides take the L for the evening. Not like I can afford a doctor. I’m dead anyway. Might as well go out with cumin.

“You can’t.”

Why not

“Those aren’t for sale, sir.”

Well can I talk to manager?

“You can’t – they’re not here right now.”

Look, I just want a taco, there’s other people in here, right now, eating some fucking tacos, so are you going to give me a good reason why you can’t fulfill this request?

She can’t give it. There is none. Needless to say I gave the place a 3/5 on Yelp and complimented their toilet.