Eventually the guy stopped turning to his left and just stared at the menu. What could be making this man ponderfret so much? I mean, I know this taqueria has exceptionally good food, but it's not like it's his last meal or anything. I was about to make a suggestion--try the lengua, perhaps?--when I heard a female voice emanating from our left. It was sharp and shrill, like a bullet whizzing through the air. You could actually kind of see it moving through space a la "bullet time" from The Matrix. When it finally hit the guy, it was as a ton of bricks; with a violence such that you could feel all the malice and spite packed into such a tiny little word.
"Hey!"
After flinching a bit, the guy turned to his left (as did I). Standing in the previously empty space was a pretty nondescript woman pushing a humongous baby stroller--the Hummer H2 of the baby stroller world. Tucked away safely inside was a child too old to be in a stroller. I checked both of their ring fingers and confirmed that they were occupied. Ah, so this must be the wife. And the pieces suddenly start to fit together.
After making her presence known, she begins shooting laser beams of displeasure from her eyes. Having an intimate knowledge of this woman, the guy knows she is displeased that the line hasn't moved fast enough for her liking. It's really not his fault--he can't make the people order any faster--but I guess that's all irrelevant at this moment. He calls out to her, "Do you want to come look at the menu?" She nods and approaches the line with her giant stroller acting as a plow to forcibly move people out of her way. The too-big-to-be-in-a-stroller child looks amused, an evil grin on his face. After scanning the menu for a second, she commands her husband--"Ugh. Just get me whatever, okay?" For good measure she adds a little "Can you do that?" with an air of condescension. And with that she vanishes back to whence she came.
The look on the guy's face is hard to describe, a strange cocktail of anger, fear, and confusion that--after a huge sigh--calcifies into defeat. I guess I can empathize with him. I mean, I don't like to use this word a lot, but his wife was a bitch. She really was. I didn't see any need to berate this poor guy in public. Not only that, but give him a hard time for not ordering for her. You could almost see the internal debate in his mind:
Ok, she said get me whatever. But I know that she won't eat everything on the menu. So she'll be unhappy if I order something she doesn't like. I'll get her something that she likes. She likes carne asada. Oh, but I also know that sometimes she doesn't like carne asada, depending on her mood. Today might be one of those days. Damn. But if I don't act quickly, she'll be mad that I didn't pick something for her, as she directed me to. Will I get more shit by picking the wrong thing? Or by not picking at all?
As the lines inches forward, I see the guy staring at the menu much more intensely, like you did with those "Magic Eye" pictures from back in the day--"If I stare hard enough, this amorphous grouping of letters will turn into a vision of a fish taco or a carnitas torta!" Beads of sweat start forming on his brow. A mild panic sets in. Suddenly, his wife reappears with her stroller to fire another bullet--"Hey!" She is displeased. When the guy turns to acknowledge her presence, he asks, "So . . . what do you want to get?" She explodes. "WHY IS THIS SO HARD!? Just get me two tacos!!!" Again, the too-big-to-be-in-a-stroller child looks amused. Again she vanishes to whence she came.
The guy eventually (mercifully?) makes it to the front of the line, orders, and takes a position at the pick-up counter. He occasionally peeks through the tiny little window, but soon realizes that doing so will not compel the workers to make his order first. As he waits for his order, I see him staring off into space. A wistful look on his face, "What the hell did I sign up for?"
This guy was probably only a few years older than me, so I soon got to thinking whether this is what I had in store for me as well. Is this what marriage is? The wife slowly chipping away at the husband until he is little more than a servant? You wonder, especially after hearing so many of the speeches to newly-minted grooms along the lines of, "The two magic words to a happy wedding are: 'yes' and 'dear.'" And of course each time the crowd goes wild. Are they laughing with the joke teller? Or at the groom? It's a moment whose ambiguity gets lost in the haze of celebration and alcohol. I guess it's really nothing to be concerned about at the moment, seeing as I'm pretty far from all that becoming a reality. Before a wife can peck peck peck you into oblivion, you need a wife, right? So I breathed a sigh of relief and headed back to meet The Girlfriend, a mission accomplished. Thoughts on marriage can wait for another day. For now, there are delicious tacos and burritos to be enjoyed.
--KM
"There is no spoon."
The look on the guy's face is hard to describe, a strange cocktail of anger, fear, and confusion that--after a huge sigh--calcifies into defeat. I guess I can empathize with him. I mean, I don't like to use this word a lot, but his wife was a bitch. She really was. I didn't see any need to berate this poor guy in public. Not only that, but give him a hard time for not ordering for her. You could almost see the internal debate in his mind:
Ok, she said get me whatever. But I know that she won't eat everything on the menu. So she'll be unhappy if I order something she doesn't like. I'll get her something that she likes. She likes carne asada. Oh, but I also know that sometimes she doesn't like carne asada, depending on her mood. Today might be one of those days. Damn. But if I don't act quickly, she'll be mad that I didn't pick something for her, as she directed me to. Will I get more shit by picking the wrong thing? Or by not picking at all?
As the lines inches forward, I see the guy staring at the menu much more intensely, like you did with those "Magic Eye" pictures from back in the day--"If I stare hard enough, this amorphous grouping of letters will turn into a vision of a fish taco or a carnitas torta!" Beads of sweat start forming on his brow. A mild panic sets in. Suddenly, his wife reappears with her stroller to fire another bullet--"Hey!" She is displeased. When the guy turns to acknowledge her presence, he asks, "So . . . what do you want to get?" She explodes. "WHY IS THIS SO HARD!? Just get me two tacos!!!" Again, the too-big-to-be-in-a-stroller child looks amused. Again she vanishes to whence she came.
The guy eventually (mercifully?) makes it to the front of the line, orders, and takes a position at the pick-up counter. He occasionally peeks through the tiny little window, but soon realizes that doing so will not compel the workers to make his order first. As he waits for his order, I see him staring off into space. A wistful look on his face, "What the hell did I sign up for?"
This guy was probably only a few years older than me, so I soon got to thinking whether this is what I had in store for me as well. Is this what marriage is? The wife slowly chipping away at the husband until he is little more than a servant? You wonder, especially after hearing so many of the speeches to newly-minted grooms along the lines of, "The two magic words to a happy wedding are: 'yes' and 'dear.'" And of course each time the crowd goes wild. Are they laughing with the joke teller? Or at the groom? It's a moment whose ambiguity gets lost in the haze of celebration and alcohol. I guess it's really nothing to be concerned about at the moment, seeing as I'm pretty far from all that becoming a reality. Before a wife can peck peck peck you into oblivion, you need a wife, right? So I breathed a sigh of relief and headed back to meet The Girlfriend, a mission accomplished. Thoughts on marriage can wait for another day. For now, there are delicious tacos and burritos to be enjoyed.
--KM
"There is no spoon."
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