The Saturday Morning Breakfast Blog: Fear And Loathing Inside Of A Taco Bell Cantina

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Graphic design is my passion

Originally I was going to write this weeks blog about window curtains, but I changed my mind early this morning while I watched golf. I hope you can understand. I’m all for PDA. If you love someone, I don’t think there’s a better way to express that than by giving them a kiss in public or holding their hand. But there are limits to what I constitute as appropriate PDA, and I’m here this morning to tell you about an instance where PDA became something more than that.

I come to you live from my kitchen counter. The sun is just barely peeking out over the horizon, and steam is rising from my “I Love Cafe Bustelo” coffee cup. The clock on my stove reads 6:35 a.m. and my breath smells of ground beef and hot sauce. I hate myself with the fire of a thousand suns.

My head is pounding, I have a feeling I may have to make myself vomit at some point today, and I have just over an hour before I have to be at work. On a Saturday. Yes, you read that correctly. But I don’t want you to feel sorry for me – this is all my doing. It’s no one’s fault but my own that I got drunk last night and ate Taco Bell.

My mind should be on the tasks at hand for today, but I can’t get this scene from Taco Bell out of my head. I was supposed to be in my bed, sound asleep last night by 1:00 a.m. this morning. That was the cutoff that I gave myself.

Here’s the thing, though – you can repeat the “three drinks and then I’m going home” mantra as many times as you want. Peer pressure does not care about your mantras or your self-imposed bedtimes or work responsibilities. Let me say this loud and clear – tequila is a hell of a drink.

For a plethora of reasons too long to list, I did not adhere to my self-imposed curfew, and I found myself around 2:30 a.m. at the back of a very long line to get into what is referred to as a Taco Bell “cantina.” These differ from regular TB’s in that you can order booze at these ones. I don’t know who okay’d this at Taco Bell Corp, but it is equal parts genius and irresponsible.

My mother used to tell me that nothing good happens after midnight, and while I know that at the time, she wasn’t referring to standing inside of a Taco Bell at 2:30 in the morning, I think she’d agree that any time spent inside of a Taco Bell is not time well spent.

In hindsight, I probably should have left this TB when the girl in front of me threw up all over herself and started crying, but I didn’t because I was drunk, hungry, and not ready for my night to end. But that was only just the beginning.

Something happens inside of a place like Taco Bell after a certain time. I think it’s right around 1:30 a.m.- that sweet spot where people are just drunk enough to crave the ridiculous items that make up the Taco Bell extended universe. At 2:30 or 3:00 a.m., a Taco Bell smack dab in the middle of Chicago might as well be the wild west.

Rules and laws aren’t valid there. Take for instance, the man a few spots in front of me – he ordered a chalupa, three soft tacos, and a baja blast frozen slush. A pretty standard order all things considered.

But he did all of this while blatantly hitting a weed pen inside of the restaurant. The guy taking his order couldn’t have cared less and neither did anyone in his vicinity who could smell the oil burning in his pen. I know that weed is now basically legal everywhere, but this just seemed so cavalier, so cocky, so very clearly out of bounds that I could do nothing more than stand there with my mouth agape.

I somehow managed to spend fifteen dollars on four items, and I asked the guy behind me if they had raised the prices. He shrugged his shoulders and continued staring at his phone. After getting my order number, I moseyed over to the area where the soft drinks are.

I stood next to a couple pecking at each other, getting very handsy, and giggling like school children at everything.

I stood there trying not to look like a complete sack of shit, alternating between looking at my order number and refreshing Twitter on my phone. About fifteen feet away from me, in the corner of the restaurant, two men suddenly stood nose to nose, yelling at each other about God knows what.

I heard a crash, two chairs toppling over one another, and a quick succession of “fuck you” and “hit me pussy” before this all got broken up. I don’t even know if those two gentleman were able to eat. And all the while, the aforementioned couple next to me got closer and closer to third base without a care in the world.

At one point I remember nudging another guy next to me who was also waiting for his order and trying to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, saying something along the lines of “Can you believe this?” and again I got shrugged shoulders and no verbal response.

People inside Taco Bell after hours are zombies, save for this couple that I stumbled upon who were hell bent on getting off in front of 50 or 60 people.

I will never hate on two people that just want to get their rocks off. We’re all humans, baby. It’s natural and beautiful and if you want to hook up in a Taco Bell Cantina who the hell am I to stop you? It was just strange, in real time, to watch a guy get an over the pants handjob and a girl moan while getting a hickey.

By the time I got my food, I was sobering up, and I knew that my hangover this morning was going to be hell. I’m off to work now. I hate everything. I hope at least one of you reading this gets drunk enough tonight to hook up in a Taco Bell. Enjoy the day. I know I won’t..

Image via Flickr

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Johnny D

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• jduda@grandex.co