There was a time in my life when I thought that nothing bad could ever happen in a Taco Mayo. In fact, both prescription and nonprescription drugs could be purchased via drive-thru at the Taco Mayo located in my hometown. I felt the same way about Taco Mayo as Jim Varney once said he felt in a commercial about natural gas.
“Hot, fast, cheap; kinda like your first wife.”
This visit was different. As soon as I walked into the restaurant, I was met by two very powerful odors. By itself, the smell of cheap, unauthentic Mexican food can be a wonderful thing. However, it was intermingled with the scent of old people. The place was packed with them. The death-like odor of the ancient people mixed with spicy food was a slap to the face. The pungency had to be nearly equivalent to that of a crematorium. I would have left, but I knew the chances of me seeing someone die that day would be increased exponentially if I were to stay.
I was waiting in line to make my drink when an old lady in front of me turned and asked me in a helpless voice, “Where is the water?”
I pointed to the selection on the drink dispenser labeled “WATER.”
“Thank you sweetheart,” she squeaked.
I watched in amazement as she slowly turned her brittle bones back toward the machine and filled her cup to the rim with pink lemonade.
I received my tray of tacos and proceeded to a booth. That’s when I noticed the painted figures on the walls. There were dancing totem poles and grinning chili peppers complete with arms and legs. The hellish creatures had surrounded me.
Then I remembered the old lady. Where was she? Had she taken a drink yet?
I spotted her sitting at a booth with three other decaying elders. She was pointing to her cup as she gossiped to the others. I knew what that dinosaur was up to. She was blaming her drink all on me!
I bit into my crispy tacos as loudly as possible hopes of riling up the tooth-envying heart inside that antique of a woman. By the time I finished, the whole experience had left me with the urge to bathe.
