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Category: Tales From Tables
It all happens in Mexican Restaurants
All I knew was he went by Rod. I found him through a friend of a friend of an acquaintance after I couldn’t find a granny witch. Everybody said I didn’t want to open that door, and I tended to agree. So straight-up murder, no magic, then. I assumed he came from a neighboring county that had, shall we say, less stringent laws? The authorities would turn a blind eye to lots of misdeeds…especially if you feathered their nest if the public got to lookin’ too close. But I wasn’t going to ask him about his family and politics. The less we knew about each other, the better. It’s surprisingly easy to put a hit out. And cheap! Less than what you’d pay for a mediocre used car. The details were simple: meet in a corner booth in a Mexican restaurant. Wear a black shirt (how original, I know). Order a burrito with extra sour cream. Slide the money under a stack of napkins at the earliest convenience. Finish the meal, and get the heck out. Leave first and don’t look back. So that’s what we did. Rod was sturdily built, with a goatee. He looked like any number of guys in these parts. Not a killer. He was wearing a plaid shirt with pockets and blue jeans. Lace-up boots. A pack of cigarettes in one pocket, sunglasses in another. He…
An electrician, a felon, a lawyer, and a secretary were crammed in a booth, gobbling chips and salsa. Nope, this isn’t a joke. You’re probably wondering what they all have in common. I ask myself the same thing. The electrician and the felon had grown up together, and we might as well say they were the best of friends, even though the felon had stolen his identity. That was sometime back, and not what he’d gone to prison for. The lawyer was the felon’s girlfriend. You probably thought I was gonna say lawyer, didn’t you? Because that would make a sight more sense. But life doesn’t make sense, don’t you know anything by now? The secretary was just along for the ride, wondering what she’d married into most of the time. She would wonder for the rest of her life. The felon had been free for one whole day. He’d spent some time re-adapting to “normal” life in a sort of halfway house in Nashville but today he was officially “out”. And celebrating by eating the food of his people. Just kidding. He was a white guy. The electrician was pointing out the finer points of manners, becoming agitated when the felon rushed off to the head before even ordering his drink. You would think the lawyer would have schooled him, but she probably had her hands…
“Anybody down that way got 1000 tacos and margaritas?” I read the text and rolled my eyes. That was just like him, incommunicado for a month and then pop back into my life like two hours had gone by. I typed out a witty response, smirked, and hit send. The problem was we were both in denial. But I was wearing a new dress and the fact was, I didn’t have dinner plans. So why not? He pulled in about an hour later. We left right away, with me behind the wheel because I knew where we were going. And because he drives slow and it makes me a little crazy. It was the first time we’d gotten together for supper in a Very Long Time. Lunch, yes. But lunch is somehow different. Broad daylight doesn’t make for sliding glances and double-entendres. Daytime lunches are for catching up and griping about work issues. But take away the sun and replace it with a moon…things take a more serious note. So we slid into a booth with all the things left unsaid between us. Things we hadn’t discussed at our lunches. and it was going to be said because enough is enough and I’m not known for my passiveness. We broke the ice by tormenting our poor hapless waitress, who, as it turned out, could hold her own. “What can I get y’all…
Sometimes we eat Mexican because there’s nothing else to do. And it’s cheap. I don’t understand these people who get hung up on the menu. It’s all the same: beans, rice, cheese, and either chicken or steak. Just randomly point, it’ll be fine. I’m looking at a girl, maybe 25, clearly at a loss on what to order. She’s dithering. All the advice I have is probably don’t try the molcajete. it comes in a cauldron and has tiny squid in it. I feel a little sorry for her boyfriend, but not too much, because it looks like he’s accustomed to her level of pickiness. He looks bored and slightly stressed because the waiter is having to answer fourteen thousand questions about rice, beans, and cheese. The boyfriend is probably thinking their food will be spit on. I would spit on it if I was their waiter. Heck, I might spit on her. That’s why I’m not a waiter. She looks kinda high maintenance. She’s got one of those “I need to speak with the manager” haircuts and a big nose. I hear hear say, “No guacamole. Nothing green,” with a cutting off motion of her hand. She’s wearing some very fancy shoes for this kind of establishment. The boyfriend is wearing a ball cap, cargo shorts, and a t…
Lisa and I have this game we like to play when we’re out. All we do is try to guess the occupation of the people around us. Sometimes we even ask the ones we’re talking about if we’re not in agreement. I don’t like that part, because I understand that not everybody is approachable. Also, after so many years in a retail environment, I don’t fancy striking up a conversation with strangers. But Lisa has virtually no filter and she really likes talking to new people (and subsequently challenging them to a debate). Additionally, she likes telling people she teaches kickboxing. But anyway, it’s a fun way to pass the time and speculate. We get it right more than you would think. I’ve played a version for years in my head everywhere I go. But mine is more of a first date/ just friends/ work colleagues/ affair/ married an eternity version. Careers typically don’t enthuse me. And you know what I see the most? People sitting across the table from one another, on their phones. Completely ignoring the person they’re with. This drives me mad. Surprisingly, you don’t see as much of it at the bar. Patrons watch sports on the TVs, or they’re engaged with the people around them, strangers or not. There is a camaraderie. Blame the alcohol or praise it; I know I prefer interaction…
