Friday, January 3, 2014

Mini Tacos & Mini Sodas

            I like to think of my jokes like mini tacos.  They are small, awesome and are 10 times more enjoyable when you’re drunk.  But also like mini tacos, if you have too many of them, you’re left with a stomachache and a sense of self-loathing.  I guess what I’m really trying to say here is that it’s generally unwise to let me prattle on for too long, but also that you shouldn’t eat too many mini tacos because the calories in them are outrageous.

            Regardless of whether you gorge on 1600 calories of mini tacos or just let me talk for too long, it’s important to own your mistakes.  I don’t mean to admit when you’re wrong, because this is an awkward and uncomfortable thing to do.  I mean to pretend like it wasn’t a mistake at all because social anxiety won’t let you correct yourself.  What’s that you say? You’d like an example? Of course.

            I find myself in a position to own my mistakes most often when I’m out in public ordering food (this is likely because one of the only times I allow myself in public is while eating and drinking…and the laws of probability).  A few weeks ago I went out to a little burger place with some friends.  I ordered a burger, fries and a drink because this is the most stereotypical story ever.  The cashier asked me what size drink I wanted, and out of habit I replied “Medium” because this is America and our medium drinks usually come in 13-gallon trashcans.  The cashier, noticing that I’m a grown man, points at a tiny cup and says “Our mediums are 10 ounces, would you like a large instead?”  Now, common sense should tell me to accept her polite advice and upgrade to the large, but social anxiety stepped in and said, “You cannot let her know that you are uninformed on the drink sizes here.  That is a sign of weakness!”  I ended up replying with some idiotic mix of “Oh yeah, that’s fine.  10 ounces is plenty.  Perfect. Does anyone really need more than 10 ounces?”   I then grabbed my thimble of soda and quickly went to my table so I could be alone with my shame while everyone else ordered.

            The only way this drink could have possible lasted my whole meal would be if I was drinking it through a coffee stirrer.  So, I finished my drink and still had half a burger and a mountain of salty fries left.  But, it’s definitely too late now.  I have to continue to own my mistake.  And I can’t go up for a refill because then cashier-girl would know that I’m an idiot and that I didn’t really want a 10 ounce soda as I so casually and naturally implied in our previous conversation (which she totally bought, right?).  Instead, I’ve opted to take the lid off my cup and start chewing ice while simultaneously breathing hot air into the cup in hopes that it will cause the ice to melt into water more quickly.  At this point, if I hadn’t played Oregon Trail so much as a kid, I probably would have gone to the bathroom and stuck my head in the sink, but as it stands, I’m still terrified of dysentery so I don’t trust just any old water source.  I also never ford a river.

            On the bright side, I didn’t have to pee most of the night because I’m pretty sure the lack of hydration combined with the salty food shut down my kidneys.


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